Chapter 3

She was beautiful. It was the only word he could use to truly describe the woman Miranda had become. She had blossomed like a flower in the spring and brightened up the room with her brilliance. He was thankful that he had one good eye with which to see her, because to have missed her smile and her grace would have been a true shame. He would have lamented his wounds much more than he already did.

At times, he closed his eyes and listened. He had heard that, with the loss of one sense, one or more of the others became heightened. He could pick her laugh out of the assemblage, and it flowed over his skin like the finest spun silk. But it was nothing compared to witnessing her charm firsthand. He had long admired her courage and determination when she'd been young, but now, with the maturity of age, she had proven what a worthwhile lady she had become. No doubt her parents had been proud of her accomplishments.

"How long have you been published, Miss Applegate?" he asked. He hated using her surname, but he knew it was best if he gave her some proper space, some sense of normalcy.

"About five years," she replied politely.

"How many books have you written?"

"Seven, so far, but I hope to complete the eighth while I'm in Cumbria."

He smiled. "I'm sure you will be able to find the right amount of inspiration here."

"Yes," she concurred. "It is rather serene."

As her sister slid into the conversation, Anthony wondered if she was similar to him, in that she was looking for a temporary escape from her life. He had also been searching for that blessed feeling of solitude, a place in which to restore his soul. He had found the answer to his long-awaited prayers in Cumbia. Perhaps she would as well.

"There's two weeks until Christmas," Miranda was saying. "That should give me ample opportunity to complete several watercolors for my next book."

Before Anthony quite knew what he was about, he said, "Allow me to offer my assistance in showing you around Keswick." As the table quieted, he cleared his throat. "I have become acquainted with the area in recent months and have found some rather interesting places that should be brought to life by your paints."

He noted that Miranda didn't seem all that thrilled to spend any more time in his company than she had to. Her sudden inability to speak when he had always known her to be quite vocal proved that. He just hoped her reluctance wasn't because of his eye. If so, he would be willing to wear that dreadful eye patch, just to put her at ease.

"I think that's a capital idea," Jacob noted. When Miranda turned to him with an outright glare, he dared to add, "Think of all the benefits it would give you, Randie. Not only would you have an expansive area in which to paint, but it would give you and Anthony a chance to catch up."

"I fear there isn't much to catch up on, Jacob," she returned stiffly. "You would surely have more to discuss with Mr. Gravehill. I was fifteen years old the last time I spoke with him." As if realizing she was speaking of Anthony as if he wasn't in the same room, she looked at him and said, "Pardon me if I sound crass. I just don't wish to take up any of your time."

He smiled in understanding. "It's not a burden, I assure you. I would be glad for the distraction."

After his explanation, she seemed to relax slightly. "Then I shall accept your generous offer."

Miranda sighed as she set down her hairbrush. She was in her room, getting ready for bed, but her mind was elsewhere. She wasn't sure if she would sleep a wink at all this night. More than that, she didn't know whether she should start to panic now or later. Dear God, she was going to be alone with Anthony after all these years. It was almost too unimaginable to believe. She had long dreamed of this bittersweet reunion, but now that it was at hand, she wasn't sure how to behave.

Her brother certainly hadn't helped matters. No doubt he was grateful to find a way to entertain Anthony at the same time he could be rid of her. This way, he could spend time with his family without being bothered by his spinster sister.

Miranda closed her eyes. Now she was just being unfair. Neither Jacob nor Elaine had ever done anything to make her feel as though she was set apart from them. They never failed to invite her to any gathering that they held.

And yet…

Miranda was the one who had started to slowly distance herself from her married siblings. They had families and responsibilities to see to, while Miranda had nothing but her books now that their mother was gone.

Although she might be terribly uncomfortable around Anthony again, she would deal with those dreaded silences, because she owed it to her brother and sister. She had always vowed that she wouldn't become a burden to them, and so she would remain true to her word.

She climbed into bed and turned down the lamp on the table next to her.

For a time, she stared at the flames in the fireplace, but when sleep would not come, she got back up and walked over to the terrace doors that overlooked the valley below. She was fortunate to have a room that faced the lake beyond, rather than the quaint village.

She gathered her art supplies and moved the desk before the window. Although it was nighttime, she was blessed with a nearly full moon. With the snow helping to illuminate the countryside, it was the perfect way to begin with a magnificent, Christmas Eve setting. And that was when she knew she would write a holiday themed story. With a blank page of woven paper ready and waiting for her to create the art that her readers seemed to enjoy, she dipped her brush in the black pigment and after considering where she wanted to begin, she started to make a few strokes.

After a fashion, contentment settled over her. This was the only time that she could truly relax and allow the cares of her life to melt away. When she was painting, she could almost imagine herself transported inside the scenes she created. She was always enthusiastic to draw inspiration from other works of art and was eagerly looking forward for the Dulwich Picture Gallery to open to the public in London the following year. Of course, she had traveled to Paris after the war and visited the Louvre before most of the works inside were returned to their countries of origin, leaving only a few hundred left in France. But with famous pieces like the Mona Lisa, and the sculpture of Venus, it was no wonder she had found it fascinating. The connections she'd felt with these artists of the past were undeniable, and she vowed that one day, one of her books would be listed among the classics.

Miranda took care to make an appealing outline of her current painting, before she reluctantly washed her brush and left it to dry for the night, to be picked up again in the morning.

She glanced at the clock on the mantel and winced when it showed it was nearly half past two. Whether she felt as though she could sleep or not, she needed to try. She was due to meet Anthony in the lobby around nine o'clock. Then again, she was used to rising early. Although she lived in London, she chose not to keep town hours. Her mother had enjoyed rising with the sun, and after a time, Miranda had started to as well.

This time when she climbed into bed, she had no trouble falling asleep.

In her dream, Miranda frowned, because she wasn't ready to rise, but that persistent noise in the background finally roused her. Her eyes opened slowly, but as soon as she realized that the sun was streaming through her window, she sat up quickly. She looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly ten.

Her mouth promptly fell open. She rarely overslept, and yet, she had done so today of all days.

As another brisk summons came from her door, she threw off the covers and grabbed her robe lying over a nearby chair. "I'm coming!" She quickly tied it about her waist, and with her hair flowing about her shoulders, she quickly opened the door.

She expected to see Elaine standing there, but when she spied Anthony, she froze.

His lips twitched as his gaze swept over her. "I'm either too early, or you're late."

She put a hand to her forehead, temporarily forgetting that she was in a state of undress. "Forgive me. I had trouble going to sleep last night, and so I started to paint and—" She offered a sheepish grin. "I fear time got away from me."

"It has a way of doing that," he agreed.

She felt foolish standing there and having this conversation it the hallway, where anyone might come upon them. She opened the door wider. "Please, do come in."

He hesitated for a moment, and then walked inside. She shut the door behind him, and then realized she didn't know what to do with him. She wasn't generally in the habit of entertaining gentlemen in her bedchamber. This was a hotel with a modest sitting area and a privacy chamber blocked off for bathing, but otherwise, it was very much the same, as the unmade bed was clearly in plain sight.

Her cheeks warmed when she thought of their precarious situation, but he didn't seem to mind as he walked over and grabbed the poker and stirred some of the smoldering ashes of the waning fire, bringing them back to life and adding some much needed warmth into the air.

When that was done, he turned to where she continued to stand, unsure of what to do next. He smiled, as if understanding her hesitation. "Why don't you make yourself more presentable, while I order us some tea and perhaps a bit to eat? I'll meet you downstairs."

She quickly latched on to the invitation to gather herself. "Yes. That would be ideal. Thank you."

He inclined his head and walked out the door. When he had closed the door behind him, she reached out and attempted to steady herself on the back of one of the chairs. She had to stop doing this. She couldn't fall apart every time she encountered him.

Steeling herself, Miranda gathered her things and quickly made herself ready. Again, all she had was muted tones, but she donned a simple, dove gray dress and told herself she wasn't there to impress Anthony. He was acting as a guide so that she could work on the paintings for her book.

After gathering her supplies in her valise, she patted her hair then walked out the door and headed downstairs.

She found Anthony sitting at a table for two. It also didn't escape her notice that people around them were glancing at him and whispering. That made her bristle immediately, because she knew what he'd gone through to get those scars. He was a war hero, had fought valiantly and nearly given his life so that these people could sit here and eat their breakfast without concern.

She set her valise down with a decided thump. Anthony glanced at her with a twitch of his lips. "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

"No," she stated firmly. "It just annoys me that some people can be so rude."

"Ah."

Her brows furrowed. "How can you be so placid about it? Doesn't it bother you?"

He snorted. "I have been through more than anyone should have the right to bear. I've watched gallant men fall all around me, lost my vision in my right eye, and as well I shall carry a scar with me for the rest of my days from an enemy's sword. What need do I have to worry about other people's opinions?"

Miranda swallowed. "You are absolutely right, Mr. Gravehill. I just wish people wouldn't be so judgmental when they see something they know nothing about."

"I have learned to live with it," he returned evenly. "It is in our human nature to peer at the unusual and extraordinary. What is the purpose of a freak show but to entertain with the oddities that certain people possess? It is intriguing to some people to try to understand the abnormalities of nature."

"You are not an abnormality," she returned heatedly. "And neither are those poor souls that are stared at and mocked by the general assemblage."

"And yet," he asked slowly, "how else might they support themselves if not by catering to the public's insatiable curiosity?"

Miranda had nothing to say to that, because, like it or not, he made a valid point. She sighed heavily. "I just wish there was another way."

"I'm sure if there is, you might find a solution."

She glanced at him. "I fear you are directing your faith in the wrong direction."

"I'm not," he countered. "I remember several times I came to visit your family and you were always solving some trial or another. I recall one instance in particular. There was a cat stuck in the tree and you had the idea of climbing the tree to free the frightened creature. Jacob asked how you might manage such a feat, so you gained the assistance of the stable groom, who put a ladder next to the tree and allowed you to save the day."

Miranda laughed. "Oh, my. I had nearly forgotten that. It has been so long ago. I couldn't have been more than nine at the time."

"I believe you were eight."

She blinked. "I'm impressed by your memory to recollect such trivial instances in my past, when I fail to do the same."

His eyes fell on her, and although one was white and unable to see, it caused her to shiver with intensity, just the same. As if he had more power to peer into her soul than with the ability of actual sight. "I remember everything about you, Miranda."

She wasn't sure how to reply to that, but she was saved by the arrival of a member of the hotel staff, who had brought their food. She turned her attention to the fare at hand. "It smells divine. Thank you." She carefully concentrated on her plate, rather than the words that were still suspended in the air between them.