Her Wicked Ways Page 14

  Mother withdrew her hand and stood straight. “Yes.”

  “Come then, dear.” Father went to the door and held it open. “We need to pay a visit to this Stratham fellow on our way to Wokingham.”

  Miranda cringed thinking about them calling on Stratham. Mortified, she considered retiring to her room for the rest of her banishment.

  Her mother paused at the door. “Do remember what your father said. Don’t encourage Mr. Stratham or any other socially inferior gentlemen you may encounter.” And they were gone.

  SEPTEMBER was supposed to be a cheerful month. Warm, late summer days, the orchard brimming with apples, happy tenants celebrating the harvest. Fox turned his horse into the drive at Stipple’s End. The road was as wet and rutted as late October.

  His dismal mood matched the weather. He usually looked forward to being at the orphanage, even after Miranda had refused his marriage proposal. Just being in her orbit made the day a little brighter. And this summer he’d needed all the light he could get.

  He led Icarus to the small barn and situated the horse before turning toward the manor. Wind buffeted the canvas covering the hole on the roof. As if the leaky roof wasn’t bad enough, three children had arrived last week, all of whom needed new clothes and shoes, and one of them, medicine. He’d tried to turn them away—he was simply at the breaking point already—but they had nowhere to go. Every time he got close enough to see a light ahead, blackness closed in once more. He needed to consider resurrecting the highwayman.

  Warm laughter rushed over him as the children rushed into the yard, their bundled-up bodies eager to be outdoors despite the overcast sky and cool temperatures. At least it had stopped raining.

  Fox trudged to the back steps and stood at the threshold before he saw her standing at the door.

  Miranda.

  He stared for a moment before finding words. “You didn’t leave?”

  She quirked a smile and held the door for him to walk inside. “No. My parents didn’t come to fetch me. They came to tell me I’m to be married.”

  Fox froze in the middle of knocking dirt from his boots. His heart thundered and a loud rushing noise cascaded in his ears. “When?”

  Miranda waved a hand and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I’ve no idea. They haven’t selected a bridegroom as far as I know.” She appeared utterly unconcerned. Fox, conversely, wanted to put his fist through the nearest wall.

  He finished cleaning his boots off and met her gaze. They stood in the dim light of the back hallway, on either edge of the tattered carpet running the length of the corridor. To Fox, it seemed as if heat collected between them, forming an almost solid mass that would inevitably draw them together. He pushed everything else from his mind and allowed himself to sink completely into this moment with her.

  “I think we should have an orphanage meeting.” Her business-like tone doused his mood.

  He blinked. “A meeting?”

  She turned then and led him toward the small office. “Yes. We need to come up with a plan for raising the money to fix the roof.”

  “We?” Fox shook his head as he followed her into the office. “But aren’t you leaving to get married?” The words cut into his chest.

  “I didn’t say so. Anyway, never mind that now.” She went to stand by the window and gazed outside at the children playing. Such a lovely domestic portrait she presented…“Tell me, Fox, why is there never any money?” She pivoted and the milky light from the window made her eyes an arresting gray-green.

  Fox shifted his weight and pondered her question for a moment. He picked up a quill from the desk and rolled it between his fingers. “My father gambled it away. The reserves, that is. I inherited a mortgaged estate and a nearly destitute orphanage.”

  She sat in a small wooden chair. “Why didn’t you close it?”

  He’d considered it. Instead, they supported fewer children than in the past, but he could never bring himself to close permanently. “Surely you’ve been here long enough to answer that yourself.”

  Her eyes widened briefly and then she nodded. “Yes. You need a lot of money then. Don’t people make donations like Mr. Stratham did?”

  This would be the perfect opportunity to tell her Stratham’s donation had been an insult, but he couldn’t draw attention to the fact since he had come up with money after robbing Stratham.

  “Few people have made donations this year because of the harvest.” He glanced outside at the meager fields.

  “We need to target wealthier people. I’ve yet to meet Lord Norris. Does he give money?”

  Fox looked back to her, seated in the chair with her ungloved hands resting on her lap. Her nails were not quite as pristine as when she’d arrived. Oh, they were still well-tended, but not as long and not all the same length. They were the hands of a genteel country lady and the sight of them drove a stake of wanting directly into his heart.

  “Lord Norris is more interested in his antiquities than with local affairs.” With the exception of ensuring he had everyone’s money via the tributes Stratham collected for him.

  “But there must be other people who could give money?”

  “Could, but don’t. What are you scheming in that pretty head of yours?”

  She looked up at him and raised her right brow in the quintessential Miranda look that nearly always made him smile. “I’m trying to figure a way to raise money for this place. I’m thinking we need to do something to encourage people to part with their purses. I know it’s a lean year, but presumably there are people with reserves—unlike you—who can help the orphanage.” She tapped her finger against her lip.

  Fox went back to looking outside because he couldn’t stare at her mouth.

  “What have you done to raise money in the past? Aside from donations?”

  Committed highway robbery. Fox stifled a laugh. “The orphanage has always lived on the kindness of my family and others. Unfortunately, my father wasn’t as kind as our forebears.”

  “Yes, so it would seem.” The chair creaked, but Fox didn’t turn.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her slide up beside him at the window. “This year more than ever, people won’t want to part with their money unless they can get something in exchange.” If he reached his hand out, he could touch her, draw her to him, bind her to him…

  “I see.” Miranda paced behind his desk and around the other side of the small room. “We ought to have an event then, something diverting like an assembly. People will pay to attend.”

  “And how will we afford to put it on?” He turned to watch her move about the room. She looked so comfortable here, as if they often spent time in the office discussing the orphanage’s business. He pushed the warmth away from his heart, lest it become too comfortable. He mustn’t forget this was a temporary thing—she would be married soon. God, he was going to lose her, not that he ever had her. He looked at her hair, her face, the column of her throat. He was willing to compromise his morals to have her, but what kind of marriage would that be? Oh, but he would have a lifetime to make it up to her…

  “I may have a solution.”

  Fox dragged his mind back to their conversation. She had an idea about how to raise money? He shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d reminded him of covering the roof with canvas when he and Rob had been too preoccupied with an outright repair.

  He opened his mouth to ask, but she shook her head. “No, don’t ask just yet. Leave this to me.” She resumed pacing. “I wonder if we might have some sort of fair as well. We could sell the girls’ soap. And a group of them have taken to embroidering.” She arched a brow as if daring him to say something to disparage their needlepoint. “They can make handkerchiefs.”

  Fox allowed himself to smile. “You seem to have everything in hand.”

  “Not yet.” She glanced up at him and grinned in return. “But I shall.”

  In that moment, he resolved to find a way to make her marry him. Whatever the cost.

  Chapter Ten


  THE next afternoon, Miranda’s boot sunk into the mud to her ankle. With one hand she held her skirt up in an attempt to keep it clean, but a ring of dirt clung to the hem despite her efforts. With the other she gripped an umbrella she now wished she hadn’t brought. With two hands, perhaps she could have saved her dress.

  She could scarcely believe she dared show up at Stratham Hall or any other place looking like this, but what choice did she have? The walk from Birch House to Stratham Hall stretched two miles, and she and Beatrice had undertaken it on foot. The alternative was to ask for the carriage, which meant revealing their destination to Mr. and Mrs. Carmody, and since Miranda wasn’t allowed to pay social calls…well, there was no alternative.

  “Is it much farther?” Miranda squinted against the sky. Clouds covered any trace of blue, but it was a light cover at the moment and the sun glared brightly behind the gray.

  Beatrice walked a few steps ahead, swinging her umbrella at her side. “No, we’re on the Stratham estate now.”

  “I appreciate you coming with me today.”

  “What could I do, let you visit him alone?” Beatrice looked back, criticism lining the flesh around her mouth. “I agreed to accompany you because you have an excellent reason for paying this call. Even so, the fact you are forbidden from socializing with Mr. Stratham and are ignoring that directive does not sit well with me.”

  “I’m not socializing with Mr. Stratham. I’m conducting orphanage business. Whatever you may think of me, Beatrice, I’ve no desire to place myself in a compromising position.” Miranda recalled Frannie and her marriage to Lord Dunbar. It could have been her in the parson’s trap.

  Beatrice slowed her gait. “Truthfully, I am constantly revising my opinion of you. Three months ago I never would have believed you would be planning a benefit for the orphanage. I still don’t believe Mr. Stratham will agree to your scheme.” She stepped through a stand of trees. “There it is.”

  Miranda came abreast of Beatrice and paused. The drive leading up to the manor was to the right. Constructed of stone with tall windows along the front, Stratham Hall presented an imposing façade. This looked much more like the houses Miranda typically visited.

  “Why don’t you think Mr. Stratham will help us?” Miranda gestured at the looming manor as they walked onto the drive. “He has a large estate and from what I can tell, the means with which to host a decent rout, even by London standards.”

  Beatrice shook her head.

  “What?” Miranda stopped, aware of the fine gravel of the drive adhering to the soles of her boots, or rather to the thick cake of mud coating the soles of her boots.

  Beatrice turned to face Miranda, pursing her lips. “There you go again. Just when I think you’re not nearly as arrogant as I originally perceived, you say something like that and verify my first impressions.”

  A fat drop of rain hit Miranda’s cheek. “What did I say?”

  Beatrice opened her umbrella against the coming shower. “You insinuated no one in Wiltshire could have a ‘decent rout’ even at one of the nicest houses in the district.”

  Miranda put up her umbrella as well. “That’s not so. I said Mr. Stratham likely could host a decent rout.”

  “But you give the impression such a thing is an unexpected boon.”

  Miranda twirled her umbrella over her head. “And isn’t it? We’re in rural Wiltshire. There are people in London who can’t even host a decent rout by London standards. I’m still not at all certain what was wrong with my statement.”

  Beatrice shook her head again and began walking toward the house. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. I’m sure you’re right.”

  Frowning, Miranda continued up the drive. She knew Beatrice had passed judgment on her as soon as she had kissed the highwayman, if not before. They’d never discussed the specific reasons behind her banishment, but Miranda could only assume the Carmodys had told their daughter everything they knew, which was probably a complete catalogue of her transgressions.

  “I’m a good person, you know.” Miranda spoke before she realized she’d planned to.

  “Because you’re helping the orphanage? I was given to believe you had no choice in the matter.”

  Miranda stopped and reached out to stay Beatrice. “I could just as easily go to Stipple’s End and do my work with nary a word about anything. Instead, I am trudging through muddy fields and multiple rain showers to organize an event that may save the orphanage. Really, Beatrice, you’ve been working there for years, and it doesn’t bother you to see the trouble they are having?” Irritation corroded Miranda’s good humor.

  Beatrice froze. After a brief moment she turned to look at Miranda. “Yes, it bothers me. I just never…ah, I never considered how I might contribute something other than what I already do.” Her cheeks were red, but Miranda suspected the color resulted as much from emotion as from their exercise.

  “I never meant to suggest you were somehow lacking.” Miranda patted the other girl’s arm and then withdrew her hand. “Together we will put on a grand event, and money will flow into the orphanage.”

  Beatrice shrugged. “You say together, but I scarcely know what to do.”

  Miranda turned toward the house and started back up the drive. They couldn’t stand outside and talk all day. “There will be plenty for you to do. In fact, this will be an excellent opportunity for you to plan a grand event, a very useful skill for a wife.” She winked at Beatrice. Unfortunately Miranda would need to flirt with Stratham today to achieve their goal for the benefit, but she would do what she could to further Beatrice’s interests in that direction.

  Beatrice stopped. “Are you making fun of me?”

  Miranda paused long enough to link her arm through Beatrice’s, then dragged her toward the manor. “Goodness no! I’m quite serious. When you’re married, you’ll need to plan parties, balls, routs.”

  “Nonsense. If I do marry—and that is debatable—I doubt I’ll need to do any of those things.” Beatrice started up the stone steps leading to the house.

  Miranda squeezed Beatrice’s arm, not liking the way she disparaged herself. “Don’t speak that way.”

  Beatrice slid her a skeptical glance. “Do you really believe people will come to the benefit?”

  Miranda couldn’t see why not. It wasn’t as if Wootton Bassett and its surrounding area boasted a plentiful social calendar. Still, she needed to ensure an appropriately attractive event so that people not only wanted to attend, but felt as if they simply had to. All the best parties in London were have to events.

  “Trust me, Beatrice. Everyone will be clamoring to be at the social event of the Season.” She dropped Beatrice’s arm and curved her mouth into a smile. “And, you’ll marry.”

  The front door opened. Pristine marble gleamed beneath a large Aubusson carpet whose oranges, reds, and browns warmed the entry. A gorgeous Rococo painting adorned one wall. The comfort of being in such a grand home drove away the discomfort of her discussion with Beatrice in the drive.

  Beatrice collapsed her umbrella and handed it to the footman. She turned to address the butler in the center of the oval room. “We’re here to see Mr. Stratham.”

  The butler nodded. “Allow me to show you to the Gold Room.”

  After delivering their umbrellas and pelisses to the footman, they followed the butler through a sitting room into a large drawing room where the upholstery, carpet, window hangings, even a tapestry over the fireplace were all predominantly gold.

  Miranda found the display garish. The butler departed and she took a wingbacked chair near the crackling fire.

  Beatrice positioned herself on the settee facing the hearth. Her gaze traveled over every wall and piece of furniture as if she were memorizing each detail. “I’ve never been here before. It’s very, er, gold.”

  Mr. Stratham entered through another door. He was smiling, as usual. “Good afternoon, Lady Miranda, Miss Carmody. It’s been too long since I visited the orphanage, but I’ve been away on busin
ess. I’m glad you’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed you.” He went first to Miranda and took her hand, giving it a perfunctory kiss.

  Given his behavior, Miranda had to assume her parents had not found him in residence when they’d called at Stratham Manor. Thank goodness she didn’t have to explain that nuisance. “Your presence has been missed by all.”

  Mr. Stratham bowed over Beatrice’s hand. Then, with a flick of his coattail, he sat in a chair adjacent to the settee. “Brooks is bringing some tea. He said you walked here. Very industrious of you.”

  Miranda clasped her hands in her lap, intertwining her fingers. “We have an urgent matter to discuss, Mr. Stratham. We are in dire need of your assistance.”

  Mr. Stratham looked from Miranda to Beatrice and back again. “Your visit sounds critical indeed. How may I help?” He leaned back in his chair and draped one hand over the arm.

  Miranda glanced at Beatrice. She gazed at Mr. Stratham and didn’t turn her attention. Miranda plunged onward. “I know you are aware of the leaky roof at Stipple’s End. There are other needs as well, and we are planning a benefit for the orphanage.”

  Mr. Stratham’s brows drew together. He seemed very concerned. In fact, she’d never seen his face so pinched before. “I’m sure I don’t know how I can be of assistance.”

  Smiling brightly, Miranda put her attributes to best use. She blinked, knowing her lashes fluttered in a becoming manner and drew attention to her blue-green eyes. Mr. Stratham’s attention was riveted, as it ought to be.

  “Mr. Stratham, I need a place in which to host this benefit. Stratham Hall is the perfect location. You have ample space and, judging from your excellent appointments, you are no stranger to entertaining. Tell me, do you have a ballroom?” She leaned forward and settled her lips into what she knew to be an arresting moue. Predictably, Mr. Stratham stared at her mouth. Miranda didn’t dare look at Beatrice, lest she see the other woman’s certain jealous anger.