Chapter 4

It warmed Anthony's heart when Miranda got irritated on his behalf. When he had first gone out in public after his injury, it was the shock he'd seen on the faces of others that had made him don the patch. But when he saw them stare at him regardless of whether his eye was shielded, he had decided to suffer the consequences.

Now, he hardly even realized that he was the subject of such interest. In truth, it hadn't fazed him in some time, but through Miranda's eyes, he recalled the way it had initially felt, as though he was someone to be shunned, to be hidden away from the rest of the world. It had taken some time before he'd realized he had as much right to be there as anyone else. If anything, his differences set him apart from the rest of the hypocrites that ruled over the rest, the ones who believed they were doing God's work, while at the same time, warning those who were different to stand aside. Perhaps someday, he could open those closed minds to compassion and understanding.

Once they had finished their meal, he asked, "Are you ready to get started?"

"Of course." As they stood, he reached down and grabbed Miranda's valise just as she started to reach for it. "I'm quite capable of carrying my own things, Mr. Gravehill."

He kept his firm hold on the bag. "I have lost sight in one eye, not my ability to act as a gentleman." With that, he started walking, giving her no choice but to follow.

"If memory continues to serve," he noted. "You are not averse to the water."

"Not at all. I used to swim in the pond at the estate, and later, when Jacob was in London before he wed, we would sail on the Thames." She peered at him askance. "Why do you ask? You don't intend for me to paint in the water, do you?"

He laughed, surprised to find that it sounded a bit rusty, but then, it wasn't often that he found much of anything very humorous anymore. But a few moments alone in Miranda's company was vastly changing that. She truly had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. She had made him chuckle as a child, entertaining him with her various antics, but as a woman, she had the same delightful wit. "Do not concern yourself in that regard. Although I did have a certain area in mind. However, it is only accessible by boat."

"I see." She appeared to mull this over, and then she said, "I'm fine with that. I dressed warmly today, since I wasn't certain what you had planned."

He glanced at her attire—the fur trimmed pelisse in dark burgundy that easily complimented the chestnut curls peeking from beneath her black velvet bonnet. "Don't worry. I would have found something else to do if not. I wouldn't have allowed you to catch a chill."

They made their way to the river's edge, a short walk from the inn, where there was a simple, wooden boat, ready and waiting. "Is this yours?" she asked.

"No. I borrowed it from a friend." He didn't want to admit that it was his, because how would he explain why he traveled with a boat? And he wasn't prepared to tell her all about his life thus far. It had become complicated in areas that still were not particularly easy to discuss.

He climbed in first, set down her bag, and then offered her a hand to assist her. Once they were settled, he pushed off from the bank and then sat down and gathered the oars on either side. The day was bright, but a slight chilly breeze made the brilliance of the sun a bit deceiving.

"How are you doing?" he asked, hoping that she wasn't overly cold. Her nose and cheeks were starting to turn a bit pink already. He realized that he should have had the foresight to bring along a blanket.

"I'm fine. Don't concern yourself with me. I always preferred the cold to the summer heat." She tilted her head to the side. "I'm surprised you don't remember that about me."

He offered a crooked grin. "I suppose it would be impossible for me to recall every detail."

Silence fell for a time, and then she said, "I seem to remember that you liked the cold too."

He inclined his head. "The same is true now. With all of the layers that gentlemen must wear, it is much nicer to wear wool in the winter season."

"I imagine it is just as tedious as wearing restricting undergarments," she murmured with a teasing mien.

He smiled as their eyes met and held for a time. Thus far, it was the best time he'd had in a long while. But then, there had always been something about this impish lady that made his spirits brighten when he feared there was no hope of doing so again.

He thought about the bundle of letters he still kept at his modest house in Braithwaite and how they had kept him from doing something foolish more than once. Whenever the despondency in his heart had become too much to bear, he would take out every single letter and read them over and over again, until he told himself that he had to live long enough to see her—just one last time.

Now that she was here with him, he was very glad that he had kept that promise.

Miranda wasn't sure what to make of the sudden spark that lit Anthony's gaze. She wanted to believe that he was enjoying their time on the water as much as she was, but he looked so… far away in that moment, that she wondered where his thoughts had traveled off to. But perhaps it was best she didn't know. If he had disappeared to some dark place in his mind, she didn't want to disturb him. He would return to her soon enough.

They had been floating along the water for some time now, and she was wondering how far he intended to go. At the same time, she was reluctant for the day to end. It had been ages since she had spent time with anyone of the opposite sex, other than Jacob, and since he was her brother, it didn't really count. She had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed this sort of companionship. Perhaps after the holiday was over, she might consider returning to London and laying aside her mourning clothes and rejoining society, and perhaps even find a husband.

She had always said she would wed Anthony or no one at all, but those had been the ideals of young love. It was time to start thinking rationally. She enjoyed her books very much, but did she truly want to be alone for the rest of her days? Or did she desire to have someone to share these little moments with? Although she would have to leave the bittersweet memory of Anthony behind, at least she could do so knowing that they had shared a lovely Christmas season together. She might still ache for him, but at least she could close the book on their time together and move forward with the rest of her life. Perhaps it was time for her to start reconsidering her spinster status at long last.

As they came to a bend in the lake, Miranda caught sight of a hidden cove. However, it wasn't the initial scenery she saw that caught her breath, but rather, what lay beyond. It was as if she had caught a glimpse of paradise. "How did you find this?" she murmured in awe, her focus riveted on the tall, evergreen trees that lined the water's edge. Their branches were covered with snow, but the most amazing part was the way the sun shone upon the side of the mountain opposite. It glowed with a sort of red fire that she was eager to paint.

"I thought you might like it," Anthony said quietly, as he moored the boat next to the edge, and pulled it onto the bank. He got back into the boat and sat down, but Miranda was already digging out her materials to start putting this wonder down on paper.

She gathered her things and held out a glass for him to fill with water. She was already starting to mix some of the colors together to try to duplicate the glow before them. "I can't believe how majestic it looks." She shook her head. "I could stare at it all day."

"As could I," he returned. "In fact, I have."

At this, she paused in her task. "I can certainly understand the appeal. It's quite magical, isn't it?"

"Indeed, it is."

Miranda had the feeling that he was speaking of more than just the scenery, so she paused and glanced up to find that his gaze was upon her. She quickly lowered her gaze back to the blank paper she had set on the portable desk. "It's regrettable that you won't have anything to occupy your time while I'm painting."

"On the contrary, I came prepared." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a miniature book. He also withdrew a set of glasses and perched them on the bridge of his nose.

Keeping her attention fixed on the landscape, she set her brush and made the first strokes.

There wasn't any sound for a long time while she created her latest masterpiece, other than the gentle lapping of the water, although it didn't rock the boat to the point she was afraid she might make an error. For now, all she was doing was creating a general outline. The fine touches would come later when she had a steady hand.

For the most part, Anthony hardly read a single word of his novel. He had read it so many times already that he could nearly recite it. He just held it now so it wouldn't be so obvious that he was observing her. There was certainly something enchanting about the way she carefully studied what she was doing. When he thought he might be caught looking at her, he would allow his gaze to fall back down to the page, which he occasionally turned it to make it appear as though he was fully engrossed in the story.

He imagined this becoming a habit between the two of them. It would be a calm, winter's night, and he would sit by the fire with a book while he was lulled into sleep by the gentle sound of her brushstrokes.

But then, that was wishful thinking. He knew it would never come to pass. His injuries in the war had made him unfit for any woman. Granted, he could still perform any marital duties with ease, if he were to feel the inclination again. His mentality had been too unstable for the past several years, such that he hadn't engaged in a brief liaison. He was sure that no one would be able to stomach his appearance long enough to engage in an affair should he be struck with the urge. Although Miranda had been the first who had been able to look past his disfigurement, she had also been a friend long ago. No doubt she was coming to his defense on behalf of their former acquaintance, even if she had no reason to do so.

"I'm sorry for not returning your letters."

He hadn't meant to speak aloud, had intended to keep anything intimate buried in his heart under tight lock and key, but for some reason, the words spilled forth.

She had been in the midst of a firm concentration, but now she paused abruptly and glanced at him. She said nothing, likely assuming that there was more to come.

He took a heavy breath and looked out over the lake, rather than meet her gaze and show his cowardice. It was bad enough that he would be relaying it in words. When he started speaking, he found that he couldn't stop the deluge. "I did enjoy writing to you at first. But once the severity of battle hit me, I couldn't find the proper words to send to a child. It was horrible, full of bloody violence. I wanted to spare you that." He had to pause and gather himself, the horrors of that time still hitting him in the center of his chest. "When I got injured, I found that I didn't care about anything, or anyone. I wanted to die because I was in so much pain, and I hated to think that I would be a monster for the rest of my days. It took me a long time to get over that feeling of despondency. When I did, it just didn't seem right to drag you back down into the mire of my existence."

For a time, the only sound was the slight breeze rustling the branches of the evergreens. But then there was the soft touch of a hand in his. Surprised, he looked at Miranda to see an empathetic expression on her face. "I admit that I was hurt when you didn't return my letters. I thought you had… forgotten about me. I suppose for a while you did, but through no fault of your own. I can't imagine the hardship you must have endured during that time." She paused, her voice lowering to a soft whisper, "I wish I could have been there with you."

He regarded her steadily and replied truthfully, "I wish you would have been there too." Their eyes held for a time, and then he gently pulled away from her with a lopsided grin. "I didn't mean to put a damper on such a lovely day."

She smiled. "It's time we should be getting back anyway." She turned the woven paper around to show it to him. "I got most of the landscape finished. I'll do the rest later this week."

He stared, spellbound, at the colors she'd produced. "It's remarkable. You have quite a talent, Miss Applegate."

"It was wrong of me to suggest we address each other so formally. Over the years you've been as close as a brother to me. I would like it if you called me Miranda again."

He tried to tell himself that when she'd referred to him as a brother it didn't sting, but then he would be lying. "If only you will do me the same courtesy and call me Anthony."

"Of course."

He shoved off of the bank and set the oars into the water, steering them back toward the inn.