Chapter Eleven
Miranda’s intention onsending Lissy off to show Harry the gardens had not been to remain in the parlor with Sir Julian, however, the best laid plans could go awry. Once they were alone, Sir Julian got up and came and sat in the place Lissy had vacated on the settee. Far too close for comfort. Crawford brought the tea in and Miranda would have asked him to stay had not Sir Julian waved him away before she had the chance.
She was experiencing an overpowering sense of being cornered, only good manners preventing her from shuffling away from Sir Julian. He’d used far too much of a strong cologne this morning, perhaps with the misguided intention of making himself more attractive, and the overpowering scent made her want to cough. If anything, it had only succeeded in rendering him less attractive.
“My dear Lady Madeley,” Sir Julian said, passing her a cup of tea with a smile that could only be described as lascivious on his rather pockmarked face. “It is most fortuitous that I now find myself alone with you, and I cannot but be grateful that you engineered it thus.” He licked those overly-moist lips. “And I hope I am not too forward in asking if I might at last address you by your lovely Christian name. I have long cherished the hope that I might do so.”
Good heavens. Miranda set her teacup down on the table, her brain in a nervous whirl. Did he think she’d sent Harry and Lissy off together expressly so she could be alonewith him? How dreadful. And now he wanted to take the liberty of addressing her with a disturbing familiarity. How to undo his false assumption?
“I can assure you I had no intention of giving you the wrong impression,” she said, trying hard to keep the disgust out of her voice and only succeeding in sounding frosty, which, to be honest, wasn’t a bad thing. “It is just that dear Lissy has taken a little more than a passing fancy to Sir Henry, and she asked me this morning if I might encourage him to keep her company on our visit. Of course, as a loving mama, I wished to oblige her if I could.” An outright lie, but some situations required them, so she didn’t feel at all guilty. Well, perhaps a little bit.
Sir Julian, however, seemed impervious to her frostiness, so set did he seem on pressing his suit. “Nevertheless, your kindness to your daughter has left us most conveniently alone together, something I have longed for, you must know, for some time. Since your husband died, in fact. And, before they return, I feel I must take the opportunity to inform you of my regard for you. A regard I have nurtured in my heart for many years now. A regard I feel sure you must have recognized. Your secret smiles for me, even when your dear husband was alive, did not go unnoticed.”
How awful. The man had to be demented. He was the last person she wished to nurture anything for her, especially not regard of this sort. And what was he even talking about? She’d never given him a secret smile in her life. The thought was repugnant. She might never have been in love with Geoffrey but she’d been very fond of him and had never so much as looked at another man. The idea that Sir Julian thought he was the sort of man she’d been yearning for even when she was married made her suppress a shiver of horror.
How was she to disabuse him of this idea?
“How kind of you to say you hold me in such high regard,” she said, trying to shuffle away from him on the settee without making it too obvious. What she needed to do was get up and go and sit on asingle chair. “I’m afraid you have mistaken me, Sir Julian. I have always been devoted to Geoffrey and am still in deep mourning for him. However, I am sure your late wife must have been so pleased to know how highly you esteem me.”
Sir Julian had the grace to blush, which only clashed badly with his general gingeriness. Miranda had met his late wife a good few times at select social occasions in the neighborhood and formed the opinion that the lady was of the most jealous variety, for she’d always kept a strict eye on her husband, who was renowned for his wandering eye…and hands. So it was most unlikely Sir Julian had confided in her concerning his long regard for their neighbor.
“Estelle is long gone now,” he said, brushing the poor lady, whom Miranda had quite liked, under the rug with frightening ease. “And I know she would not want me to go through life without considering her replacement.” He smiled. His teeth were stained a rather unattractive brown. “And I am certain my dear friend and your husband, Sir Geoffrey, would not wish that for you, either. It’s not natural for a man and woman to be alone, especially not when they are as close to one another as we are. We are meant to be together. And when I say we, I mean you and I, dear Miranda.” Just in case she hadn’t realized where his meandering speech was going, no doubt.
Uh oh, though. Miranda’s stomach sank. She had a nasty feeling about what was coming next. It now seemed to have been a terrible idea to send Melissa and Cousin Harry off together. She should have waited for a more opportune moment.
Sir Julian reached out and took her hand in his. She had great difficulty not snatching it back. He smiled again, his pale eyes earnest. If she hadn’t disliked him so much she might have felt sorry for him. “I had not intended to ask you this here, but as we are alone and I suspect that in your new accommodation that would be a situation unlikely to occur, I feel constrained to raise the subject now. Might I be allowed to call upon you?”
Miranda swallowed. “Why, have you not already been doing so, when I was at the Hall? Just as you did this morning? I am happy to have my friends calling upon me from time to time in what is now my more humble abode.”
Why couldn’t she just say a plain no to the man? He wasn’t her friend, she didn’t want to count him as such, and the last thing in the world she wanted was to give him the idea his attentions would be welcomed. But no was not in her vocabulary.
She found herself smiling her usual gentle smile. A very useful smile as it could hide a thousand secret thoughts. “However, I think it important that we, that is my daughters and I, should be allowed the opportunity to find our feet in our new situation. Our circumstances are much changed, and I’m sure are not at all what you are used to. So perhaps you would like to wait a while before calling again.”
There, she’d almost managed a no, in a roundabout fashion.
It didn’t work. “Your circumstances make no difference to me,” Sir Julian said, leaning a little closer.
How warm and damp his hand was, and now she could smell his breath. He’d clearly been drinking more than tea on his way over to the farm.
He smiled that horrible smile again. “You must know, Lady Madeley, that this regard I have for you is so great I would wish, if you were agreeable, to translate it into something more permanent. In short, to press you to make a happy man of me. If you can find it in your heart to do so, I would very much like to make our association a lasting one. I would like you to accept my hand in marriage. You would have all of Thornby Grange and my fortune at your disposal. I would provide dowries for your charming daughters. I can give you anything you might wish for.”
Oh no. A proposal. It might have been tempting had it been anyone else. And had she been a mercenary woman. But it was Sir Julian, and he was not tempting in any way, and she was not mercenary andhad decided already that if she had to go on living at the farmhouse for the rest of her life, then she would. And she would enjoy it.
But what to do right now?
She needed a way to deflect this and one came. She managed another of her sweet smiles, in direct contrast to the panicked beat of her heart. “I fear I must disappoint you, Sir Julian. It is scarcely four months since my dear husband died and, as you must know, I am still in deep mourning for him.” She touched her black armband, rather wishing she’d gone for a black gown as well, and paired it with a black bonnet and a veil. Much better armor against a man like this. “I could not possibly countenance any kind of proposal for at least a year.”
Sir Julian’s face fell and she almost felt sorry for him. He must not have thought this through very well. “But after a year?” He was almost pleading, his expression verging on the desperate. “Might I have your promise that in a year’s time I might press my suit? You would make me the happiest man on earth.”
A year was a long time. A lot of things could change. If she had her way, Lissy would be married to Cousin Harry by then. That annoying inability to say no rose its ugly head again. She smiled as graciously as she could. “I suppose that in a year, or perhaps two would be better, I might have a better idea of how I shall feel as a widow.”
Suitably noncommittal, and she’d managed to hint at a much longer waiting period.
Sir Julian nodded, more than a little crestfallen. “I shall continue to hope, dear lady.” Or not; was that a cunning expression swiftly hidden?
She dismissed her worries. A year was a long time in which she could think of tactful ways to escape his proposal. But for now, she needed to escape him in the present, as she really didn’t want to have to talk to him any longer, or even suffer his over-scented proximity. It was going to make her feel ill in a minute.
She put her fingertips to her temple. “I’m terribly sorry, Sir Julian, but I’m afraid I feel a megrim coming on. In my widowhood I’vebecome most susceptible to them. I fear I need to rest my eyes lest it worsen. Might I prevail upon you to allow me time alone to recover? I’m sure if I sit here in silence with my eyes closed it will pass. I fear, on account of the sudden pounding in my head, that I cannot possibly converse any longer.”
