her dark blue eyes glossy. She motioned for Miranda to come closer.
“It’s all right to love Miranda, Davey,”
Lady Ruel said. “You won’t be punished for finding happiness again. Your Mama
would want you to be happy.”
“My brother is angry with me.” Davey
lifted his head and gulped another sob back. “That’s like a punishment.”
“Davey, sometimes the people we are
related to don’t support our full happiness.”
Davey turned towards the sound of Ruel’s
voice.
The earl stood close to them, holding
Lady Georgette in his arms. Her little head rested against his shoulder, her
pale, pale ash-blonde ringlets appeared fine as angel’s hair against his dark
blue coat.
“Sometimes, we have to go our own way,
despite a bond of blood or family name.” Ruel said this with resolution, as
though he knew this with some personal and painful experience. “However, I
think your brother is simply distraught about the changes that life brings and
that he cannot alter them to his own liking. He is young. I think he will come
around in time.”
“You really think so?” Davey asked then
gave a loud sniffle. “Really and truly?”
Lord and Lady Ruel exchanged an amused
yet fond look, the kind that parents often do, but Miranda had previously found
herself so rarely in the company of family people. The moment hit her with a
piquant bittersweet notion. She blinked and swallowed hard.
Lady Ruel smoothed Davey’s hair off his
forehead. “Why don’t you go to Miranda now and tell her that you love her?”
Lady Ruel released Davey and gave him a
nudge towards Miranda. Davey stared at her, uncertainty in his eyes.
Miranda knelt and held her arms open.
He continued staring at her then suddenly
he threw himself at her, the impact of his little body rocking hers.
She clasped him. The scent of clove and
citrus soap wafted from his shinning hair, mingling with ginger biscuits and
the scent of his new wool suit. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
Tears of relief.
Joy.
And something much more.
“I love you, Davey,” she said, giving him
a quick squeeze.
“I love you, too, Mama.”
****
Surrounded by the high stone walls of
Blackmore Castle, the howls of wind seemed exaggerated. They trailed off into
almost an echo, a hissing sort of whisper. One could almost imagine it sounded
like distant, feminine cries of pain. Miranda shivered and pulled the blanket,
draped about her shoulders, closer together.
She was almost glad that she’d been
ejected from Lady Ruel’s bedchamber. The old nurse and the younger, yet
practical, Lady Drake had decided that as a woman who had not yet birthed a
child, Miranda ought to be sheltered from the experience. Lady Ruel had
wholeheartedly agreed.
Miranda found their concern for her tender
innocence both amusing and touching.
Not being able to sleep, she had come
here to main hall to read yet she couldn’t concentrate on her book.
The sound of boots on the floor made her
raise her head.
Lord Ruel was approaching her. Yes, she
had noted his naturally fierce expression; it was hard to discern his moods.
But he did look a tad fiercer than normal.
Her heart seemed to jump.
Why would he be here in the main chamber?
Was he coming here to give bad news?
She raised her brows. “Lady Ruel?”
“As tart-tongued as any wayward wench,”
he replied.
While somehow managing not to spill a
single drop from the full glass in his left hand, he dragged wing chair over to
the side table near her. Then he sat.
It suddenly struck her that she was
completely alone with him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
She started. “Like what?”
“Like I’ve grown horns.”
She released her tension in a quavering
laugh. “I didn’t expect to see you here in the hall. Not tonight.”
“My part was done many months ago, so my
lady tells me.” Ruel chuckled softly then he pulled a bottle from inside his
coat and himself another drink.
Miranda registered her shock as
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