Chapter Sixteen

Things were going swimmingly.

Pun intended, of course.

All things considered, Miranda felt that the day had gone extremely well indeed. Beatrice Langley had been the predictable darling she was and offered Miranda a bed at her home for as long as she needed it, and Miranda intended to drag it out for as long as she could.

The half-drowning part had been a little worrying, not to mention that the boat was ludicrously hard to tip. It wasn't as though Miranda could be too obvious in making it go over. Still, she'd done it, Arthur had rescued her as Miranda knew he would, and they both managed to look good. The hero and the damsel – it was the stuff of legends.

Not to say that everything was perfect, of course. For one thing, Arthur had mostly avoided her. Miranda hadn't expected that he would instantly fall back in love with her after saving her, but it would have been nice. No, there would be work to do, and now she was perfectly placed to manage it. She had Mrs. Langley exactly where she wanted her, too.

That dull little spinster, Lucy, seemed to be able to see straight through Miranda's games. She'd caught the woman looking at her as she lay on the beach, expression blank and entirely unsympathetic. It hadn't helped that Lucy found her jumping up on and down on her new bed, when she was meant to be resting.

Annoying, but it was hardly a game-changer. Besides, Lucy didn't seem to have told anyone about it. They wouldn't believe her, anyway.

The day I tiptoe around a plain, unwanted old spinster is the day they can drape me in a black stuff dress and a veil and cart me off to a nunnery, Miranda thought sourly.

But back to the problem at hand.

Miranda glided into the room, glancing regretfully at the empty fireplace, and chose a sofa large enough for two people to sit side by side.

Felicity Thornhill had been suitably baffled by Miranda's friendliness, and even more baffled at being dragged off to the library for a private conversation. Miranda had hung back enough at the drawing-room door to hear the girl's mother haranguing her, which explained the pale cast to Felicity's face.

If Miranda was a different sort of person, she might have felt sorry for her.

But she was not a different sort of person. She was Miranda Sinclair, and she was a here for a reason. To steel herself, she remembered how Felicity's face had lit up when Arthur asked her to go boating, and how the two of them outpaced everybody else, lost in conversation.

Wretched girl.

I'll teach you not to steal another woman's property.

"Come, sit by me," Miranda said, smiling sadly up at Felicity, patting the sofa seat beside her. "This is such a darling, comfortable library, isn't it?"

Felicity sat down with a graceless thump that made the sofa bounce. Miranda bit back an exclamation.

"It's very soothing in here," Felicity admitted.

There was a long pause. Miranda let the silence draw out as long as possible. Silence was always good. People moved automatically to fill the silence, and that was when they were most likely to say something they ought not. Something useful.

"So," said Felicity at last, as Miranda had known that she would, "You said you had something to say to me? Something about Lord Lanwood?"

Aha. There it was. The almost imperceptible hitch in her voice, the tremulous hesitation when she mentioned Lord Lanwood.

It's Arthur to me, she thought smugly.

Sighing again, Miranda reached out, taking Felicity's hand.

"I hope you don't consider me to be overstepping, but I really felt that I must say something."

The air in the library seemed very heavy and cold. Miranda regretted throwing off her blanket, but then it was very important to look her best at the moment. She had to seem regal, beautiful, confident, and most importantly, in control.

It wouldn't do for the girl to call her bluff.

"I have known Lord Lanwood for a long time," Miranda said at last, with just the right touch of reluctance. "He is a dear, dear friend of mine. I knew him when he was simply Arthur. To be frank…" she added a wistful, half-laugh, "… to be frank, I'm not sure he would be anything to me besides plain old Arthur. We know each other entirely, inside and out."

"Like brother and sister, I imagine."

That was a careless jab on Felicity's side, and Miranda almost grinned at it.

"Not entirely like brother and sister," she said, adding a touch of bashfulness. "The fact is, Felicity – and I don't know whether you knew this or not – but Arthur and I were once engaged."

She was looking out for a widening eye, a touch of dismay, or something similar, but she was disappointed. Felicity's mouth tightened a little, but she only nodded.

"Yes, I am aware. I believe it was Lord Vincent who told me."

That threw Miranda off a little. She conjured up Lord Vincent's smug, handsome face, and felt a powerful urge to slap him, or throw something heavy at him. Unfortunately, that would not become a woman who was nigh dead from drowning, so she'd have to resort to more subtle methods of revenge.

Felicity was telling the truth, she could tell. The girl couldn't lie if her life depended on it, which was always pleasant. There was nothing better than questioning a terminally honest fool.

Miranda smiled, patting Felicity's hand. "I daresay you've heard all sorts of stories about why our engagement ended."

"If I had, I wouldn't pay any attention to them. It's not my business, after all."

Miranda pretended not to hear. Pushing aside Felicity's hand, she bounced to her feet, pacing up and down the room.

"It was all such a mess," she said, as if speaking to herself. She was not, of course. Miranda had planned this interaction almost to the world. People were difficult to control, she knew that better than anyone, but not impossible. Say one thing, and people would feel themselves obliged to respond in a certain way. While it didn't cover every possible response, naturally, it was better than nothing.

She spun around to face Felicity again, letting her skirts swing dramatically around her. The candlelight in here was flattering, and Miranda was pleased at the picture she must make, surrounded by buttery candlelight and the impressively decorated library.

That's right, you plain little thing, she thought spitefully. Take a good look at me. I'm beautiful, and charming, and fascinating. How on earth could he love you, when he could have me?

"I loved Arthur more than my own life," Miranda declared, letting her voice pitch. "And he adored me. Oh, we were going to be so blissfully happy. And then…" she let her voice crack artfully. "He returned from war. You can imagine the sleepless nights I spent, the panic, the prayers all spent for his safe return. I hardly closed my eyes all the time he was away. And then when he came back, he was…"

"Scarred?" Felicity interrupted, throwing Miranda off her stride.

It was one of the great regrets of Miranda's life that she had never been able to learn to cry on command. Imagine how powerful it would make her, if she were able to summon tears whenever she felt like it!

Unfortunately, it was never a skill she'd had, and so now she had to be content with a tiny, hurt gasp, and pressing her fingers to her mouth.

"Oh, Felicity, how could you be so cruel? As if I would have cared! He might have come back to me without a face at all, or his arms and legs, for all I cared. I was just glad he'd returned. But he was different, you know. He had the most horrifying dreams – sleeping and waking – and he acted differently. He stared at me with such anger at times. It never made sense to me. Dear Beatrice – that is, Mrs. Langley – told me that war changes men. I tried my best to love him as before, but frankly, he scared me. I felt as though I was no longer the woman he fell in love with. So, it seemed to me – and you, my dear friend, can imagine the tears and agonies I endured, I'm sure – that the best thing for him would be to be freed. To meet another woman, one who could truly make him happy. Because I knew then that I was not making him happy."

Miranda drew a finger across her cheek, underneath her eye, in a way that just hinted that there was a tear there.

"So," she continued, bravely, "I ended the engagement. I know, in my heart, that he understood. We've always known each other innately well. I'm sure you can understand."

"That must have been difficult," Felicity responded. "I'm sorry for it."

Liar, Miranda thought, but that hardly mattered anymore She was coming to the end of her story.

"But when I came here and met him again," she said, speaking slowly, "I was shocked to find that he had no wife, no fiancé. I was sure he would be engaged immediately after ours ended – he is such a wonderful man. But he seemed more himself again, only… only lonely. I saw at once that I'd made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and doomed us both to a life of misery without each other. It takes a great deal of courage to admit when we are wrong, do you not think?"

Felicity said nothing. She was sitting bolt upright, her face pale, hands knotted together in her lap.

It was time to make the definitive move.

Miranda swept back to the sofa, depositing herself beside Felicity again, grabbing at her clenched hands.

"He has never loved a woman aside from me," she said seriously. "We love each other in ways you cannot understand, Felicity. Arthur and I are soulmates. Now, I see the way you look at him… no, I do, don't pull away… and I simply could not stay silent any longer. Arthur still loves me. I know it. I see it in his eyes whenever he looks at me. He resents me for breaking the engagement, and for that I cannot blame him. But I intend to overcome his anger. I will make things right between us. I believe I can do it, too."

"So you're telling me this for my own good?" Felicity said, an edge of bitterness in her voice. Miranda's grasp on her hands tightened.

"I know it sounds harsh. We are both women in this world, are we not? We know how fickle and strange men can be, how cruel the world is to women who make mistakes. I will have Arthur, Felicity. I don't mean to be unkind, but the bond between us is such a one you cannot imagine. He loves me, Felicity. Me. Dear Beatrice – Mrs. Langley – supports our union, and I have reason to believe that if Arthur can simply overcome his last ridge of pride, he will make me another offer. And this time, I will not be so foolish as to let love slip away."

She gave a sigh at the end of this speech. It was a good one, Miranda thought. One of her best. Convincing, to say the least. She almost convinced herself. A few tears of happiness would have sealed the deal, but that couldn't happen, so Miranda contented herself with pointedly squeezing Felicity's hands.

"So, you're warning me away?" Felicity said, her voice thin.

Yes, you little fool.

"Only to save yourself heartache, my dear. To lose a man you've let yourself hope for… well, it's a hard thing. But all is not lost. You're remarkably pretty, people all say so, and you have family, and friends. Lord Vincent is paying you particular attention, and he is a handsome enough man. Not as handsome as my Arthur, of course," Miranda added, almost forgetting herself.

Felicity rose abruptly to her feet, dragging her hands away from Miranda's grip.

"Thank you for your honesty," she said, her voice quiet and subdued. "I think I'd like to go to bed now. It… it has been a long day."

"Oh, it certainly has." Miranda rose smoothly to her feet. She took up her discarded blanket and swept it around her shoulders. It wouldn't do to go skipping through the hallways looking like the picture of health. "Do think on what I've said, Felicity. I think it would be the wisest course of action for us both."