Page 22 of The Earl and Miss Muffet
Elena shrugged. “I don’t mind. I only wished to please you.”
“Well, of all the silliness. I only wished to pleaseyou!” Mary came over and linked arms with her. “I know you were planning on leaving before the wedding, but perhaps you could stay a few nights longer.”
“Oh, yes,” Sophia added. “It is such a small party. I don’t know many of Terrance’s friends, and I should like to have some of my own there.”
“Me?” Elena whispered, disbelief stealing over her.
“Of course,” Sophia said. “And I think we ought to have a dress for you commissioned for the occasion.”
“It isn’t as if I am the bride,” Elena said, shaking her head.
Mary and Sophia looked at each other conspiratorially. “Not yet, anyway,” Mary said.
Elena wished for a glimpse of their thoughts. “My mother did send some pin money with me. A new gown sounds terribly exciting.” She couldn’t hold back her grin.
Sophia rubbed her hands together. “We haven’t long to get one made. We had better find a dressmaker right away.”
Mary squeezed Elena’s arm. “I was looking forward to the wedding before, but now I might just be looking forward to Elena’s dress.”
Sophia snorted and Elena had to cover her mouth to suppress her giggles. Banbury Castle might just be her favorite place in the world. What would Anton think if he saw her in a beautiful new gown? Would it even matter? She glanced at Sophia, with her golden curls and perfect complexion, and her smile drooped. How could Anton ever love Elena when Sophia, the most perfect person, still had his heart? She forced her smile to return. Nothing need diminish the joy of a new dress.
Chapter 11
Antonwanderedthecorridorsof his house hoping, but almost dreading, to run into Miss Muffet. He thought a quick trip to see a friend at their request would have cleared his mind. But he had never been so confused over a course of action in his life. When he thought of something amusing, he wondered if she would think the same. He even wanted her opinion about the concerns he had for his friend.
Miss Muffet was not who he ever thought he would fall in love with. He remembered her odd mannerisms at the house party— the way she would turn away from every conversation, hide in a book, and avoid anything living. Surely, such behavior was abnormal. His recent time with her contradicted all those previous thoughts. The odd, petite woman had become attractive to him. He needed to see her again to understand exactly how he felt about her.
He turned the corner and froze. It was as if his wish had brought her presence. There she was, standing a few feet from him in the corridor, wearing one of her drab, brown dresses,her head bent over a letter. The ivory, crocheted collar added a spinster look to a person so young. She had not seen him yet, and his pulse thrummed as he studied her profile. Gone were the curls in front. She had pulled all of her hair back from her face, accentuating her creamy skin and neck. Instead of the tight little bun, soft curls now piled at the crown.
He took a cautious step toward her, his heart finally agreeing with his head. He didn’t care what the world thought—this was the woman for him. She had changed in so many ways and had blossomed into someone he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life getting to know better. His shoes were damp from walking the grounds with Patches and squeaked with his footfall.
Her head whipped toward him, exposing a tear-streaked cheek.
“Miss Muffet?” His hesitant step took purpose, and he strode toward her. “What is the matter?
“Nothing.” She clenched the letter to her chest.
Why was her guard back up? Was it because he had been gone? “Have you received bad news?”
“No. It is from my home. Why should such news disturb me?”
“You must be homesick then.”
“Yes, that is it. I miss my home. It won’t be long now, and I can return. Excuse me.” She pushed past him and hurried away.
He stared at her, his mind racing. What had just happened? He had been anxious to greet her, but she did not seem to return such thoughts. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck under his cravat. Didn’t she trust him yet? Maybe this was not meant to work between them. He couldn’t force her to bring him into her confidence, nor to care for him.
An hour before dinner, Sophia’s parents and grandmother arrived. Lord Neeley was similar in age to what Anton’s father would be, if he were still alive, and Lady Neeley held her youthmuch like his own mother—with hardly a gray hair between them.
“Welcome,” Mother said to their guests. “We have been so eager to have you come. Sophia just went to change for dinner, but I shall send a maid to tell her you have arrived.”
A footman held Sophia’s grandmother’s arm, a woman unstable even with her cane.
“Thank you,” Lord Neeley said, putting his arm around Sophia’s grandmother. “This is my mother, Lady Margaret Neeley. She prefers everyone to call her Marg, as she is hard of hearing and often gets lost in such a long title.”
“We are pleased to have you, Marg,” Anton said in a loud voice before bowing.
“Is this Mr. Hastings?” Marg asked, her voice as wobbly as she was.
