Miranda. His heart executed a leap of excitement.
She stood on the doorstep for a few seconds as though she, like he, was appreciating the freshness of the morning. She was too far away for him to be able to divine what she was wearing, but it looked plain and workaday. The right sort of clothing for a lady who lived in a farmhouse.
She had a basket with her. As he watched, she strewed corn for the chickens, and no doubt leftover food from the kitchen. They came running, hitching up their feathers like a lot of peasant women in the fields. On top of the stables a cockerel crowed its greeting.
Miranda. He loved the sound of her name. So much so he had to say it out loud. “Miranda.”
Down in the farmyard her head swung round and she appeared to be scanning the view as though she could have heard him speak. But he was surely too far away for that. She was certainly gazing in his direction. He sat very still, confident that against the backdrop of the woodland he was invisible in his dull coat and breeches.
She looked back at the house for a moment, then, still carrying herbasket she vanished from view into the yard. Perhaps she was checking on Dick’s work, or giving orders for her horse to be prepared for her after breakfast. Perhaps she was thinking of riding over to see him—to take him to see the battlefield they’d spoken of last night. It was a day for riding as much as it was a day for walking.
But no. She appeared at the gate into one of the meadows, only unlike Dick she opened it rather than climbing over. She was a lady, after all. Although he wasn’t at all sure she might not, if she thought no one was looking, behave a little like her daughters. And all of them would certainly climb over a gate rather than open it.
He watched her slow progress across the meadow. She appeared to be picking something here and there and putting whatever it was into her basket.
She reached the far side of the meadow where a stream ran and skipped across it on stepping stones, looking as light-hearted and light-footed as a girl half her age. Once on the other side, she climbed over a rickety stile and set off up the field that bordered on the woodland where he was sitting. She was considerably closer to him now.
She walked with a loose-limbed style, swinging the basket in her hand and occasionally gazing up at the blueness of the sky as though she couldn’t believe the rain had vanished. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Miranda had wokenbefore sunup. She couldn’t get up this early though. So she lay in bed, watching the light change outside until, at last, the low morning sun was shining in through her window. Then, almost as though she’d been catapulted, she jumped out of bed and pulled on her clothes. No stays or petticoats today. Just an old gown and some old shoes.
She tiptoed down the stairs. Mims and Megs had been awake when Harry’s coach had returned her and Lissy to the farm last night, sitting on the stairs waiting to quiz their sister about the evening. For somereason they hadn’t wanted to ask her though and had scuttled off up to Lissy’s room for what looked like a secret meeting. Betsey, who had also still been up, had given an eloquent shrug of her shoulders and proceeded upstairs to divest her mistress of her evening gown. “I never know what goes on in their heads,” she remarked, and Miranda had to nod agreement.
This morning all three girls must surely be too tired to be up early, so she might have some reflective time for herself. Not that she hadn’t been reflecting as she’d lain awake in bed. But she wanted more. And a restorative wander through the fields was just the thing for that. She was in luck as Betsey wasn’t in the kitchen either. Perhaps she too was exhausted.
She picked up the scrap food basket, added a scoop of barley, and let herself out into the farmyard. Whistling from the stables told her one person at least was up and about. The chickens, spotting the basket on her arm, came running, and she scattered their food across the yard for them. They were laying well and deserved this largesse. Their splendid husband crowed from on top of the stables.
For a moment she stood drinking in the beauty of a day with no one else about in it. A day that would never come again. A unique day, as every day was unique, only this one felt better than the one before it for some reason.
Her mind, not for the first time that morning, wandered to thoughts of Harry.
And as she did so, something made her swing around and stare up the slope towards the little wood on the brow. She frowned. Nothing there, and yet she could swear she’d heard something carried on the wind. Had it been her name? She shook her head to free it of such a fancy and looked back down at the empty basket. She had a longing for mushrooms for breakfast, which would give her walk purpose.
She walked across the yard and out into the meadow into which Dick would be turning out the horses shortly. Better check formushrooms here before the horses danced on them, as they so often did at the Hall. And yes, there were plenty, their clean white caps poking up from the ground and enticing her to gather their largesse.
It didn’t take long to cover the meadow, though, and she was sure there’d be more over the stile and up towards the woods. She wasn’t so experienced she could pick out anything but field mushrooms, so she had no intention of entering the wood, where less than edible things might grow. The last thing she wanted to do was poison them all. Although the temptation to poison Sir Julian left her feeling guilty. She was going to have to be more than firm with him. It wasn’t fair to let him go on nurturing the idea she might change her mind if he waited long enough.
There were more mushrooms in this field, and in picking them she didn’t notice how close she’d come to the wood until someone coughed.
Her head shot up as alarm flared, her first thought having been that somehow Sir Julian had sneaked up on her.
But no, it was Harry sitting on a substantial log, leaning his back against the trunk of a tree. He looked very much a part of the wood in his old coat and muddy boots. All he needed was a piece of straw to chew and the bucolic picture would be complete. Her frightened heart began to beat faster for a different reason.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” he said. “You were so intent on your harvesting I didn’t want to disturb you.” He leaned forward and peered towards the basket. “What is it you’re collecting?”
Her unruly heart gave a little leap at the sound of his deep voice and flatly refused to return to normal. To her embarrassment, heat rose from her breasts to her cheeks in one bound. “Mushrooms. For breakfast. These fields are always full of them. All the meadows round here are.” She held out the basket for him to see, aware she sounded a little defensive.
He smiled. He really did have the most attractive smile. If only hedid it more often. As in all the time. At her.
No, she simply had to stop this train of thought.
Despite her strong wish, her blush refused to subside. “What are you doing sitting up here?” She definitely sounded flustered, most likely because she was. How very vexing. Or not. She quite liked the way she was feeling, if she was honest with herself.
“That would be a delicious breakfast indeed,” he said, ignoring her question.
He was looking at her out of those intense dark eyes as though he’d never seen a woman before. The realization dawned that she was standing with the sun behind her which no doubt rendered her simple, petticoatless, gown practically see-through. She moved over to the side of the wood, hoping for shade but finding none as the sun was in entirely the wrong position. Oh, how she wanted to invite him back to the house with her to share her breakfast. But what about Lissy? And what about what he’d told her about not wanting to marry anyone? And on top of that, she might like him in what had to be the wrong way, but she felt sure he didn’t feel the same way about her. Not a widowed mother of three children, one of whom was old enough to be married herself. Indeed, she was almost grandmother material, not bride material at all.
She had to stop this. Only she couldn’t.
