“Sterling. Good morning.” He bowed to them both, taking quick stock of the woman, ignoring the dog.
While it was clear she was older than Francis, she could not be considered old in the truest sense. Still lovely, still attractive, and still full of life and energy. And, if the twinkle in her eye was any indication, some mischief.
Francis bowed in return. “Radcliffe, this is Tony’s stepmother, Miranda, Mrs. Sterling. And that’s Rufus. He’s done for.” That earned the peer a sharp look from his companion.
“He is not! And you could just call me your aunt.”
“You always tell me not to,” Francis protested, eyes wide, but smiling wryly. “You say it’s unflattering.”
Mrs. Sterling rolled her eyes without any delicacy and looked at Graham frankly. “How very ungallant he is, my lord. I don’t know what to make of him.”
Graham almost grinned, surprising himself. “I believe that is a commonly held understanding, Mrs. Sterling, if Tyrone Demaris is to be believed.”
“I always believe Tyrone, no matter what he says,” Mrs. Sterling admitted at once, lips curving.
“Well, there’s your first mistake,” Francis muttered. “Miranda, this is Lord Radcliffe.”
“Yes, thank you.” Mrs. Sterling widened her eyes in exasperation. “How I managed to be coerced to walk out with you, of all people, Francis, I will never understand.”
Francis looked up to the cloudless sky and seemed to be silently praying.
Graham chuckled, strangely loving this dynamic between relations. “It is a fine day, Mrs. Sterling. I cannot blame you for wishing to partake in a walk, no matter whose arm you are on.”
“Call me Miranda, my dear,” Mrs. Sterling told him at once, her smile turning almost matronly. “I know formalities and politeness mean well, but I prefer to tear down the barriers preventing me from forging true connections with my friends.”
No doubt sensing this conversation would not be a passing one, Rufus groaned and flopped himself down to the ground, apparently comfortable enough to wait them out.
“Radcliffe isn’t much for familiarity, Miranda,” Francis warned, eyeing Graham with a warning in his expression, though what precisely the warning was for remained less clear.
Graham raised a brow at the statement. “Am I not? How interesting.”
Miranda tossed her head back with a throaty laugh, then surveyed Graham through her crystal blue eyes. “Brava, Radcliffe. So droll, I approve.”
He gave the woman a half-bow of acknowledgement. “Thank you, Miranda.”
“Spare me,” Francis groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“If only we could, my love,” Miranda quipped without sympathy. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Radcliffe, you recently inherited, yes?”
Graham stiffened but did his best to hide it. “I did.”
Miranda’s chin dipped just a touch. “Then, it was your brother before you.”
A swallow trapped itself in Graham’s throat. “It was.”
“I didn’t know him,” Miranda murmured, stepping closer and resting a hand on his arm, “but I knew his wife. Lovely woman. Very charming. Very popular.”
“She was, yes.”
There was nothing else to say. Penelope had been universally adored, and even Graham had thought her the best of all women. Had he been given a sister by birth, she could not have been so close in his affections as Penelope. In losing her, he had not simply lost his brother’s wife, but a sister as well.
Twice the loss.
But how to admit just how much their relationship had meant to him without it being taken as holding a passion for her? He hadn’t done, couldn’t have. He would freely admit she had been beautiful and enchanting, but their feelings for each other had always been safely platonic. She had been his brother’s perfect match but could not have been Graham’s.
Who could fully comprehend that?
“A terrible loss for you, I’m sure, to lose them both. You have my deepest sympathies.”
Graham came back to the conversation at hand and saw understanding in Miranda’s countenance.
“Thank you,” he told her, stunned by the sincerity in his words.
“I am of the opinion,” Miranda continued in a much lighter tone, stepping back, “that family ties can be much closer, much more binding than we are generally willing to admit. Myself, I would be nearly as devastated if Mr. Johnston died as if his wife, my sister, did. But I understand that not all families are as fond of each other as mine.” She smiled as though she had been indulging her own feelings in her words, though Graham knew better.
Somehow, this new acquaintance had seen beyond his reserve and into his heart within moments.
He wasn’t sure if it was unnerving or consoling, but he liked Miranda better for it. That, he could freely admit to.
Miranda suddenly cocked her head. “Correct me if I am wrong, but did they not have a child?”
“Miranda…” Francis warned at once, sounding severe for the first time.
“Hush, Francis,” she replied, holding up a hand to him. “I have a reason for prying. Radcliffe?”
Graham hesitated. This was not universally known, though Matthew and Penelope hadn’t taken particular pains to hide the fact. Were they in full public, he would refuse to discuss it. As they had no other listeners, he exhaled shortly and gave a brief nod.
“They did.”
Miranda did not react to the revelation. “And the child is…?”
“At Merrifield,” Graham told her, unwilling to give the specific details Miranda was undoubtedly looking for. “Under my guardianship.”
“So, you have inherited the role of parent as well as a title.”
That took him by surprise, and he shook his head. “Well, I…”
Miranda frowned at him. “Call it what it is, my dear, the challenges are the same. Do you have help with the child?”
“Of course,” he nearly stammered, the statement settling in uncomfortably. “A nanny, and my aunt…”
Miranda’s gasp made him jump. “Don’t tell me Eloise is also at Merrifield!”
His jaw dropped. “You know her?”
“Adore her, my boy. Utterly adore.” Miranda laughed again and clasped her hands together. “That settles it. I must come to Merrifield. Invite me, won’t you? I’m sure you can find a reason soon enough, or else I can invent one.” She turned to Francis in her excitement. “You should see the estate, Francis. Utter perfection out there in Berkshire. Glorious landscape and gardens, and Merrifield itself is one of the loveliest houses ever constructed. I am quite in raptures over it.”
Francis raised his brow. “So I gathered. You invited yourself to it, after all.”
“Oh, tosh,” Miranda sputtered with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Radcliffe will invite me, won’t you, Radcliffe?”
“I…”
“What a lovely way to reopen the place!” Miranda exclaimed, whirling as though she could see the estate beside them. “A house party, Radcliffe! It would be so inviting, and I know exactly who we could invite to keep things intimate yet polite, tasteful, and respectable.” She gestured wide at the imaginary house. “The ivy would be such a lovely color, and those wildflowers would be of such a shade…”