Glimmer of Hope by Sarah M. Eden

didn’t entirely stop loving him, but that moment and so many others that followed taught her a painful lesson: she simply couldn’t trust him.

Chapter Six
    The Duke and Duchess of Hartley, with their small children, and Lord and Lady Percival Farr had been at Clifton Manor for three days. The staff had performed their duties flawlessly, and Miranda was doing admirably as hostess. Carter doubted anyone but himself had noticed Mother’s occasional corrections and reminders.
    The tentative peace he and Miranda had found in those first days was holding. They didn’t speak much, and when they did, their conversations were unexceptional and short. As near as Carter could tell, Miranda didn’t intend to make a scene in front of the guests. And though he knew she didn’t feel comfortable in his or the guests’ company, he was almost certain she wasn’t going to run off again.
    For the first time since realizing Miranda was at Clifton Manor, Carter began to relax.
    He knew Miranda had no experience with being a society hostess, having been raised away from the ton —that aspect of their marriage had concerned him in the beginning. Mother would have been a good mentor for Miranda, walking her through the first few soirées and political dinners until she found her footing. It would have been difficult, especially for someone as shy as Miranda had always been, but she would have learned. And he would have helped.
    But Miranda left before they’d hosted a single gathering. They hadn’t even been married six months.
    Carter walked past the door to the book room and happened to glance inside. Hartley sat in one of the leather wingback chairs, a book open in his hand. He looked up and gave a quick nod of acknowledgement.
    “Is there anything you need?” he asked, stepping inside.
    Hartley lowered his book. “I’ve found a comfortable chair, a warm fire, and a quiet room. I haven’t been this content in some time.”
    “Good.” Yes, the house party was proving a success.
    Hartley glanced past Carter then met his eye once more. In a lowered voice, he said, “Adèle and I were surprised to see Lady Devereaux here. I’ve known you nearly three years and have never once met the lady.”
    “Miranda prefers the country,” Carter said.
    Hartley set his book on the nearby end table. “You’ve worn that explanation to shreds over the past three years, my friend.”
    Carter didn’t ever talk about his problems with Miranda. Not with anyone. Keeping up appearances was essential to surviving in society. It was more than that though. Talking about Miranda meant thinking about her. Remembering what they’d once been to each other, the dreams he’d once had for their future together, and it was too painful and too maddening to bring up.
    Hartley’s comment made Carter realize even more intensely that he’d been wound tighter than a pocket watch the past days with no way to release the tension. There hadn’t been time for a bruising ride, and Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon was all the way in London, too far for working out his frustrations with a bout of fisticuffs. He couldn’t talk to Mother of his distress, and Father had always listened, but he had passed on over a year earlier, leaving Carter without a confidant. He’d felt for some time that he had nowhere to turn.
    “Shut the door, Carter,” Hartley instructed. “It’s time you spilled your budget.”
    He didn’t need to be invited twice. If he didn’t talk to someone, he was likely to explode.
    With the room cut off from the ears of any passersby and only the two of them inside, Carter dropped down into the chair across from his friend’s. “I didn’t know Miranda was here,” he confessed.
    Hartley looked a little surprised but didn’t say anything.
    “She has been living with her grandfather in Devon, though it seems she has come here before or is on an extended visit. I haven’t determined which.” In all honesty, he hadn’t put any effort into