Page 54 of Refining the Debutante
“I am beginning to think love is also pain and heartache,” she added. She felt his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. “But what do I know about the subject? You must know a great deal more, as you are courting Miss Withers. Are you soon to be engaged?”
Surely she must enjoy torturing herself. She was eager to talk of only the most awkward and distressing topics. Ethan was quiet, so she stole a glance. The tips of his ears were already red from the cold, but Miranda sensed his embarrassment. It was only fair he feel as anxious as she did.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, I believe we will be engaged soon.”
She’d known his answer before she asked, and yet, hearing it was so final. She had to look away so he did not see her eyes shining with emotion. She was a fool.
“Unfortunately,” Ethan started, “she doesn’t seem to know the language of the fan. If she does, she is always saying the most irrational, hateful things.”
Miranda did not laugh at his attempt at lightheartedness. She didn’t want to talk about Miss Withers anymore. Not every debutante knew the language of the fan. It was complex and rarely useful, but it had been their special connection, and that made it personal.
After a moment of silence, Ethan chuckled.
She snuck another glance at him. “Why do you laugh?” How could he find anything humorous about a subject that wrenched at her insides?
“I just remembered seeing you in Folkestone for the first time, covered in mud.” Ethan shook his head. “You actually imitated a peasant’s accent. I can hardly believe my memory.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “The accent was absolutely authentic. I must have been a sheep farmer in another life.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ethan said, eyeing her. “You? An animal farmer? Instead of sending them to the butcher, you’d probably try to dress them up as pets in frilly dresses and yards of ribbon.”
“You know,” Miranda said, warming to the new topic, “I think I could even improve a pig’s appearance.” They both laughed. But pigs made her think of Sarah, and she sobered. “To be frank, I don’t care to think about my time in Folkestone. I have enough nightmares to fill my mind on the subject.”
Ethan covered her hand on his arm with his own. It was hardly proper for him to do so, but he did not seem to care. “You are a part of Society again. Back to the old Miranda. There is no reason to think on it again.”
He couldn’t see that she had changed at all, but she had. She could never forget her time at Gray House. It haunted her. It drained her joy and smothered out all the light and hope inside her, but it had changed her. It might not be enough to win his affection, but she could never be the old Miranda. She knew it the same way she knew she wanted to be like Lady Callister. The way Miranda spoke and thought were not the same as before. Her perspective on life itself had altered.
She dropped Ethan’s arm. They were nearly back to the others anyway, and Jane would take it as a dagger to an already open wound. “You must be happy to have Miss Withers in your life. She will make a lovely lady of Stonebrook Hall.” Miranda did not know why she said it, but she could not retract her words now.
Ethan’s eyes darted everywhere but to meet hers. “I agree.” He swallowed visibly, his voice far too soft.
Miranda’s heart settled heavily in her chest, and the emotional distance between them grew as wide as a chasm. By not denying his intentions with Miss Withers, Ethan had severed the last thread of hope Miranda held for him. A special place in her heart would always belong to him, but it was time to move on.
Chapter 23
November approached like a stalkinglion. Reports said few managed to harvest anything, and the heavy rains destroyed the rest. Even Miranda, untouched by hunger and poverty now that she resided with Lady Callister, could feel the uneasiness in the air. On the first of the month, she received a letter while taking tea with Lady Callister.
She gaped at the wax seal. A largeA. She had seen it before. Her stomach clenched. It was from Lord Aldington.
“What is it?”
“It’s from my uncle.”
Miranda fumbled while she attempted to break the seal.
“Do you need my penknife?”
“No,” Miranda said, breaking it free. She pulled open the paper, and a few banknotes fell onto her lap. She smoothed the paper but found no written correspondence. “He sent me money.”
“I can see that. The question is why.”
Miranda’s throat itched, and she reached for her teacup. “I can hardly understand it. I did not ask him for it.”
Lady Callister was quiet for a moment. “Some people aren’t good at communicating their feelings. Take it as a sort of peace offering.”
Sighing, Miranda folded the money back into the paper. “I confess I don’t know what to think.” A winter had settled inside Miranda since she had told herself not to hope for Ethan. She should be thrilled to have received a letter from Lord Aldington at all, but it was too confusing for her to decipher, and it did little to bring her joy.
All day and well into the evening, the letter was on her mind. After finishing a chapter in their book, she noticed Lady Callister observing her with a keen eye. “What is it?”
