Page 67 of Refining the Debutante
Captain Grant studied her. “What is it? My situation? My family?”
“No.” Miranda could answer honestly there. “You are above reproach. It isn’t that. I have loyalties to a friend who cares deeply for you. If you think on our past conversations, surely you will discover whom I speak of.”
His frown melted into his crooked smile. “I am flattered”—he studied her for a moment—“but also selfish. I would rather her heart be broken than mine.”
“There is more.” Miranda fiddled with the music again, hardly believing she was laying her cards on the table like this. She was giving up a proposal to a perfectly good man, which would give her all the security she needed—and she had no guarantees for something better. “My feelings are otherwise engaged.”
Captain Grant took a step backward. His mouth worked around as if he could argue with that too. Finally, he sighed. “There were times I wondered why you kept holding back, but then you would do something to encourage me.”
Miranda dipped her head. “I am sorry I confused you. I wanted to care for you, but in the end, I cannot be disloyal to my heart. I hope we can still preserve our friendship.”
Captain Grant cleared his throat and nodded with reluctance. “I will see myself out. Please make my excuses to Lady Callister.”
“I will tell her that you came to say goodbye but were pressed for time.” Miranda reached out and touched his arm. “My opinion has little value in this neighborhood, but from me you will hear only praise for you. Thank you for being my friend.”
Captain Grant bowed and turned to leave.
Miranda squeezed her eyes shut. Could she not do anything right in her life? The list of people she had hurt seemed only to grow.
Chapter 27
London wasn’t the home Mirandaremembered. No one from her past life wanted to call on her, nor she them. If only she had splurged her careful savings on a few new gowns to boost her confidence. She gazed at the streets of Mayfair through the window of Lady Callister’s town house, remembering what had happened that morning. While walking with Lady Callister, one of Miranda’s former friends and the lady’s mother had given her the cut direct. They had averted their gazes and crossed to the other side of the street with nary a word. This had not come as a great surprise, but it was surely just the beginning of what judgment Miranda would receive from Society. Fortunately, securely tucked inside Lady Callister’s London town house, Miranda could pretend all was right in her little world.
“Now that you are here, what do you plan to do about it?” Lady Callister asked.
Miranda dropped the lace curtain and put on a practiced smile. “I plan to be an excellent companion, same as I was in Crowfield. Despite the overwhelming amount of people who live in London, you shall not feel lonely with me by your side.”
“How very comforting,” Lady Callister said dryly. “What I meant is what do you plan to do about your father?”
“My father?” Miranda asked, her brow furrowing. “I can go by a false name and always keep my face down, if you feel his reputation would bother you.”
Lady Callister pinched her lips with annoyance. “I am asking if you mean to visit him.”
“In Spain? What an idea.” Miranda laughed off the notion.
“Dear girl, you are beginning to worry me. Did you or did you not know your father never left London?”
The blood drained from Miranda’s face. She gripped the back of a chair, her legs shaking. She took several deep breaths. “No, that is not possible. That would mean—”
“He is in debtors’ prison.”
Shock consumed Miranda, and for a moment, she could not even breathe. She raised her eyes to Lady Callister; her words came out in a croak. “Which one?”
“The Marshalsea.” Lady Callister whispered the name, and Miranda recoiled.
“Do... do you know if he is still alive?” Stories of starvation, beatings, and other horrors followed every prison.
Lady Callister came to her and took her hands. “He yet lives.”
“He never wrote to me. If he was here all along, why did he not write?” Miranda tasted her tears before she registered she was crying.
Lady Callister coaxed Miranda into an embrace. “Most men in his position could not write if they wanted to. It takes money to post a letter. You know that.”
Miranda had not hugged anyone since Hannah and Sarah. She needed this. Craved it. She breathed in Lady Callister’s sweet floral scent, wondering how she could have ever thought it was anything but comforting and perfect. Miranda’s tears flowed more freely, and she mourned what this meant for her father... what it meant for her.
After a few minutes, Lady Callister pulled back. “There, there. Dry your eyes, and let us make a plan. No good will come of keeping focused on his bleak circumstances.”
Miranda pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. She followed Lady Callister to a settee and sat down beside her.
