Miranda nodded. “And a wounded soldier. He was a military doctor at Waterloo, and before that no doubt in the Peninsular Wars.” Not that she was sure of the latter herself, but it made sense. Living in the wilds of Northamptonshire one did not receive much in the way of news, but she did know a little about the wars that had been ongoing for some time.
Sir Julian’s face took on a sulky expression of displeasure for a reason she couldn’t fathom. “A doctor, you say? And wounded. Not severely, I trust.”
He sounded more as though he would have liked Cousin Henry to have been killed. Something she herself had not been innocent of before she’d met him. Now she could put a face, and a handsome, kind one at that, to the name, she no longer felt that way.
She gave a delicate shrug, glancing at the kitchen door. “I have noidea. We had very little time to talk, which is why I am calling upon him today.” If only he would just go away, but she’d never been any good at getting rid of unwanted callers. Now, if she were feeling spiteful, here was someone she might recommend Megs should shoot.
However, it seemed Sir Julian was as curious about his new neighbor as the girls had been. He rose to his feet. “Then with no more ado, let us go, Lady Madeley.” And he held out his arm for her to take.
She widened her eyes to him. “Did you not arrive on horseback, Sir Julian? Your horse must be waiting patiently for your return. We, on the other hand, are walking up to the Hall as it is close.”
Miranda might be someone who found it hard to be anything but nice to people, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think things that weren’t always nice. She just didn’t put them into words. And right now she was thinking that the last thing she wanted to do was take the arm of a man she didn’t much like. A man who made her skin crawl, in fact, and even frightened her a little.
“My horse?” He appeared to have forgotten how he’d arrived here. “Oh, of course.” His brow furrowed as he must be scurrying for an answer to this problem. “Why, I’ll lead him over with you while we walk. That should be just the ticket.” And he gave his arm a little jerk as though wishing to encourage her to take it.
She didn’t.
“I’ll just fetch Melissa and find us both shawls, as the weather can be so changeable in September, and then we’ll be ready to go.” Before he had any chance to suggest anything else, she hurried into the kitchen where she found all three girls in a gaggle around the table with Betsey. All four of them had suspiciously guilty expressions on their faces, as though she’d surprised them in some mischief. She’d have to leave dealing with that until later. For a moment she wondered if other mothers had as many problems with their daughters as she did, then dismissed the thought for now. She had other things to worry about, not least having to accompany Sir Julian all the way to the Hall.
She picked up their shawls from where they hung near the hearth. “Come along, Lissy. Sir Julian has very kindly offered to escort us to the Hall, as he too would like to call on Cousin Henry. Do up your bonnet and put this shawl around your shoulders.” She couldn’t resist tweaking Melissa’s curls and smoothing her fichu. “You look pretty as a picture.”
For the first time she noticed that Mims’ and Megs’ faces possessed expressions of horror. No time to tell them off now or Sir Julian would be following her into the kitchen. She’d have to have words with them later. Really, their behavior since Geoffrey died left a lot to be desired. Not that he’d ever been the sort of father to bother much with disciplining them, but clearly his presence in the background had been enough to keep them subdued. Even though she was aware her daughters had a healthy and not unreasonable dislike for Sir Julian, she would have been surprised to know the reason for their horror this time.
“I’m leaving Betsey in charge of you,” was all she could think of to say. “So behave yourselves in my absence. Come along now, Lissy.” And she took Lissy by the arm and ushered her into the parlor.
Sir Julian, who seemed to fill any room he was in, turned to face them, a smile on his face that anyone less forgiving might describe as a leer. “Miss Madeley.” He bowed to Lissy. “How charming you look, and so like your mother.”
Lissy lowered her eyes and curtsied, for once not her outspoken self. Thank goodness. Raising one’s children to think for themselves had its drawbacks.
“I’ll just untie my horse from the gate and we can be off,” her unwanted escort said, and hurried to do just that.
As soon as he’d gone outside, Lissy leaned towards Miranda. “Do we have to? With him? Whatever will Cousin Henry think?”
Miranda took her daughter’s arm. “Yes, we do. It would be rude to refuse. And for all we know Cousin Henry will like him. It’s not for usto judge. Come along.” Although surely Cousin Henry would have the common sense to see through Sir Julian.
His having to lead his horse rather scuppered his wish for her to hold his arm, thank goodness. Miranda kept her arm linked with Melissa and they set off along the lane to walk the short mile to the manor, Sir Julian to one side with his big black hunter, and Miranda and Melissa trying to walk as far away from him as possible and failing.
Miranda took a sideways look at Lissy. She’d chosen a simple pale blue gown with a demure lace fichu for her, with just a black armband to indicate her mourning. This was something they’d moved on to after three months in full black. Black gowns, she’d declared, at the end of the three months, were for old people and far too dreary for girls their age to have to wear for any longer. What a good thing she’d done so as black was inclined to wash out the color in any girl’s face.
She’d spent some time arranging her daughter’s honey blonde hair to leave just a few stray curls escaping onto her slender shoulders, nicely framed by her straw bonnet. And she would have liked the opportunity to admire her own work had Sir Julian not commanded her attention with inconsequential talk that she had to smile and nod to and pretend interest in.
Her own gown, by contrast, was a much more staid dove gray, most befitting of a matron and widow. Lissy had unaccountably made a last-ditch attempt to persuade her into one of the prettier sprigged muslins hanging in her wardrobe, but Miranda had resisted, a little confused by her daughter’s behavior. It would not at all have been proper to have gone out looking as though she considered her late husband’s death was inconsequential. And the wearing of plain unadorned grey made her feel a little armored against the attentions of gentlemen like Sir Julian.
Sir Julian matched his and his horse’s pace to Miranda and Lissy’s, regaling them with all the details of his recent trip down to London and whom he’d met, all of them names that meant nothing toMiranda. And she was sure Lissy wasn’t even listening. At a break in his monologue, she managed to insert a question. “Tell me, Sir Julian, how it is that you knew to call at Rampton Farm today? We’ve been there only a day ourselves.”
He smiled down at her out of his pale, slightly manic, eyes. Possibly the fact that he had pale ginger eyelashes added to his oddly colorless appearance, as though his mother had left him in the wash too long and he’d been bleached. Even his carroty hair was looking faded in the sunshine. “Word travels quickly here, Lady Madeley. I think everyone of importance knows that you have moved out of the Hall and that you and your daughters are now in residence at Rampton. I was most eager to call upon you as you are now a whole mile closer to my house. Which makes us even nearer neighbors.” He licked his already too-moist lips. “And as I said earlier, I also wanted to enquire if there might be any assistance I could render. And I wanted to invite you to dinner at Thornby next week, as well.”
Oh no. The last thing she wanted was to have to go to his house to dine.
Why did she always have the uncomfortable feeling he could see through her dress, and probably her underwear as well, and knew what she looked like naked? This horrible thought, familiar as it was, made her suppress another shiver. He’d been careful when Geoffrey was alive to keep his longing looks under control, but now it seemed he felt he didn’t need to. The solid barrier that had been Geoffrey was gone.
She smiled sweetly again. “How very kind of you to offer, but I can assure you, we have no need of any assistance, and at present we’re not going out, as we’re still in mourning for my husband. But thank you for the kind invitation. Perhaps in a few months. We’re quite well here, as you must have seen. The farmhouse is most comfortable. Smaller than we’re used to, but that has the advantage of making it easier to manage.”
He seemed to take her refusal in his stride and instead raised one eyebrow suggestively. “Come now, Lady Madeley. A woman alone with three young daughters? And I gather just one rather elderly maid to look after you. I cannot in all conscience agree with you when you say you are managing. I worry about how safe you are with no gentleman to take care of you. Not even a yard hand on the place.”
He seemed to know an awful lot about her situation. The feeling that he was the sort of person she needed to fear arose.
“I have my husband’s pistols,” she said, with some asperity. “So you need have no fears for our safety. I am judged quite adept with a pistol. My own papa, God rest his soul, was quite forward thinking in teaching me to shoot. He described me as a crack shot.” Just as her girls were. She softened this rather bald statement with a sweet smile. “I’m more than capable of keeping us all safe at Rampton.” She wasn’t about to tell him the guns were all, except the pistols, locked up at Windrush though. Perhaps she ought to at least get the pistols out and keep a loaded one beside her bed.
