Throughout his entire speech, Miranda’s body had begun to vibrate with anticipation, her insides warming with every touching word that fell from his lips. The weight of what he was saying fell on her with that final utterance of love.
“Roger,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to confess to any feelings that aren’t real,” he replied. “For now, I would be honored if you would at least tell me you will marry me. Not just because of the scandal, but because I would do my utmost to make you happy.”
A sudden and overwhelming feeling of joy overwhelmed her, as Miranda realized she wanted to say yes. It was sudden, downright ridiculous even. She’d only just met Roger, and still had so much to learn about him. Yet, her first marriage had been built on far less. If she said yes, they would have all the time in the world to deepen their connection and come to know one another better. It was the perfect solution to her problem. And perhaps taking this chance could lead to the kind of future she could never have imagined.
“Miranda?”
She blinked, realizing her wandering thoughts had taken her away from him for a moment. Miranda parted her lips to offer the response lingering on the tip of her tongue, when the sound of a knock echoed through the room. She flinched, while Roger whirled toward the door with a scowl pulling at his lips.
“What the devil?” he murmured, turning back to her with wide eyes. “No one can see you here.”
He was right. After what had happened, she was already tainted in the eyes of the ton. Turning in a swift circle, she pressed a hand to her churning belly as the knock sounded again, more urgent this time. Spotting an armoire across the room, she darted toward it. Turned so that she would be shadowed by its side, it was as good a hiding spot as any. Miranda pressed herself as tightly behind it as possible and gathered her skirts close to her legs. A moment later, Roger’s footsteps thudded across the room. She held her breath and listened as the door creaked on its hinges.
“Angus,” Roger said, sounding irritating. “Now is not a good time.”
The door slammed shut and Angus’s noisy footsteps paced across the floor. “I only need a moment to congratulate you, you sly devil! Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?”
“What are you talking about?” Roger snapped. “Angus, I told you—”
“I knew you were sniffing about the Hughes widow, but never imagined you could be so daring.”
“Angus.”
“Compromising her to secure a proposal? You’re a genius!”
“Angus!”
“You told us you would find a solution to our problem, and you did it. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Angus!” Roger roared, his voice fairly shaking the walls. “Stop. Talking.”
Miranda pressed a hand over her mouth, choking down burning bile, certain she would be ill any moment. Disbelief and hurt rippled through her at the evidence of Roger’s betrayal. All this time, she’d been convinced they had found something real together. Something new and frightening yet exhilarating. Yet now it would seem he had merely been after her fortune. Perhaps his earnings as her courtesan weren’t good enough for him. Knowing that her husband had left her well-off, he had decided to take it all for himself.
“What is the matter with you?” Angus said with a disbelieving laugh. “I came here to thank you for doing what was necessary for our family.”
Deciding she had heard enough, Miranda stepped out from her hiding place. Both men turned to face her, Angus’s jaw dropping while Roger stared at her with morose resignation.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, lifting her chin. Humiliation washed over her when her voice wavered, but she managed to otherwise keep her composure.
“My lady,” the viscount said, eyes growing wide. “I … my brother and I—”
“Are sure to be disappointed,” she said, clenching her hands into fists. “There will be no wedding, now or ever. The two of you will have to find someone else to dupe with your little scheme.”
Hurrying toward the door before either of them could see her tears fall, Miranda came up short with Roger’s hand wrapped around her arm.
“Miranda,” he said, his voice quavering. “I c-can exp-plain. It isn’t wh-what y-you think.”
Snatching her arm free, she glared at him, annoyed when the first tear splashed her cheek. “All has been made clear to me. In case you still expect an answer to your proposal … the answer is no.”
Swiping at her damp face, she fled the room at a near run. Her chest burned as she came to a stop halfway down the corridor, leaning against the wall as a sob welled up in her throat. She didn’t care if anyone saw her now. Social ruin made it difficult to think of niceties and decorum when she felt as if her entire life had begun falling down around her. And all for a courtesan she had known barely a fortnight. A man she’d thought to be honest and good, open to loving her and being loved. It had all been a lie.
The hope and anticipation she’d been feeling earlier felt like a distant memory, and all she was left with was uncertainty and hopelessness.
Miranda spent the remaining days of the house party shut away from the rest of the guests. She took meals on a tray in her room and refused to see anyone who came to visit her other than Mary, Maud, or Joan. They each took turns looking in on her, staying for games of piquet or needlepoint sessions. Once she had filled Mary in on what she had overheard between the Thornton brothers, no one forced her to speak of it again. She assumed Mary had told the others, but even Maud made an effort to keep conversation light.
On the morning of Twelfth Night, she ordered her maid to pack her things for the journey home and sent word to the governess to prepare Ursula. Wearing her carriage dress and matching pelisse, there was nothing left for her to do but sit and wait. The other guests would remain for the evening’s festivities before departing the following morning, but Miranda had no reason to stay. She ought to have left after her falling out with Roger, but had been too paralyzed with sadness and disbelief.
Staring at the bed, she studied the stack of notes that had come from Roger over the past few days. Anger heated her face and the back of her neck, but it was the surge of longing that bothered her the most. Each note had been short but concise, apologizing for what he called a ‘misunderstanding’ and asking her to give him a chance to explain. Each one had been signed ‘Love, Roger’, making that sickening feeling return to her belly.
Why did she feel this way? Their affair had lasted such a short time. Had he really gotten so far under her skin that she would now sit around bemoaning his loss? It made no sense.
Standing, she paced to the window and heaved an exasperated sigh. This was ridiculous. Roger Thornton was a liar and, apparently, a very talented swindler. She ought to be relieved to have escaped his trap.
The snow had ceased days ago, and the sky was clear for once. She hoped for a swift journey home so she could closet herself away with Ursula and nurse her wounds. Perhaps in the spring they could escape to the cottage that had been part of her dower’s portion. It was small but efficiently staffed and perfect for her and her daughter to find some peace. By then, she might have decided on how to live out the rest of her life. Talk would die down, and a return to London would be possible, eventually.