Chapter 5

Miranda needed some time to think. It had been so much easier to hold on to her hurt over the years, to imagine that Anthony had forsaken her. However, to hear that he had never forgotten her, but rather he had lost himself—it was almost too much to bear. As he'd told her his story, the breath in her lungs had tightened. It pained her greatly to picture him in so much abject misery. She had always known he'd suffered, but she hadn't made herself face the harsh reality of it. She'd found a way to dupe herself into believing that it wasn't as bad as Jacob had claimed.

But it was.

She packed her things away in her valise as they returned to the inn; however, she kept the painting out to let it fully dry. Anthony offered to carry it for her as they walked inside. When they did, he asked if she would like to join him for lunch.

"I would like that. Just let me put my things in my room."

She started to leave, but he fell into step beside her. "I'll walk with you."

They said little on the way, mainly remarking on the inn. When she unlocked her door and went inside, he surprised her by following. She set down her things, but when she turned to go, he had found his way to the painting she'd been working on early that morning.

"Is this the reason you were still abed this morning?"

"It was," she concurred.

He bent down to inspect the work more closely, and she wondered if it was because of his poor eyesight, or if he wanted to gain a better perspective. Either way, it was almost surreal to see him standing in the same room with her again after all these years. So much had changed, and yet so little. She still adored him as much as she had when she'd been a child, but now that she was a woman fully grown, the awareness of a man in her chamber was rather… unnerving.

"It's enchanting." He straightened and looked out the window, as if trying to picture what it was she had seen. "You have a keen eye, Miranda." He turned to her. "Did you always want to paint? Or write?"

She shrugged. "I never thought I was very good at poetry, but there is something about painting that brings the words to life for me. I might not have any idea of what I intend to say, but when I finish a scene, like the two I've started, it will start to come together, like the stories in my books."

He smiled. "I imagine that many children are entertained by them."

"And adults as well," she pointed out. "I've had many women come up to me and tell me what an enchanting story I've written."

"I'm not sure it has anything to do with your books, but more to do with the fact you are enchanting."

Miranda's heart faltered, but then she reminded herself that this was Anthony. He was merely being kind. She waved a hand with a laugh. "Don't be nonsensical. Of course it's the entire story I've put together that gathers the reader's attention. Most don't know me."

"I do," he returned softly. "And I guarantee that a part of you reflects in your work. You would not be as successful without the personality to match."

She turned away, finding that this subject was going into deeper waters, more so than she was comfortable treading. "Perhaps. Shall we go?"

She started for the door, but a masculine hand covered hers. She closed her eyes as Anthony spoke at her back. "Don't think so little of yourself, Miranda. You were the only thing that saved me all these years when I had lost the will to live. I read your letters countless times, and prayed for the day I would see you again."

Miranda started to tremble. "It's not wise to say such things."

"Why? Because they are true."

"That's exactly why. What could possibly come from it, except to cause one, or both of us, further injury."

She held her breath and waited as he reluctantly released her. The heat from his body slowly ebbed as he moved away from her. "Yes. I suppose you're right."

It was all she could do to hold back the tears that wanted to burst forth. This was all she'd ever wanted or dreamed about, and yet, she knew that he was still too raw to truly mean the sentiments. He was still healing, and with her mother's death, she was too vulnerable to believe it all. "Let's enjoy the rest of this lovely day."

With that, she opened her eyes and walked out into the hall. As a single tear seeped from the corner of her eye, but she quickly brushed it away and pasted a bright smile on her face.

He was a fool. He had never had any intention of pouring out his innermost thoughts to her like that, and yet, he was desperate for her to know how much she meant to him. How much she had always meant to him. But he could tell that he'd gone too far. He'd scared her. He could but hope that he hadn't pushed her completely away.

Either way, he would have to live with whatever consequences arose from his actions. He'd had to do so for years, ever since he'd had the dream of fighting for the honor of his country.

When Miranda started to head for the hotel dining area where they'd shared breakfast together, he gently steered her toward the door. "I had somewhere else in mind."

"Oh?" she asked curiously, although she allowed herself to be guided outside, thankful she had kept her coat on.

He shrugged as they walked down the street. "It's one of the favorites of the locals. It's not as well known, but the food is exemplary."

She laughed, and he was glad to hear it. Maybe that meant the tension from earlier had dissipated. Or else, perhaps she'd decided to move past it. "You really do know your way around for someone who is a tourist like the rest of us."

He grinned. "Not really. I just get around. "

They entered the establishment in question, a modest pub at the edge of the main thoroughfare. "Mr. Gravehill!" The bartender greeted him heartily, and he glanced at Miranda to see her eyeing him warily.

All he could do was lift his hands in supplication as the gentleman walked over and said, "Would you like your usual table in the corner? I reserve it just for you." He glanced at Miranda and said with a wink, "He's one of my best customers."

"Don't be trying to gain extra coin from me, Matthews," Anthony said dryly. "But yes, the corner table will be fine for the lady and myself."

As they sat down, Miranda folded her arms and set back in her chair. She lifted a brow. "Will we be granted the wine list as well?" she teased.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you," he returned. "Just relax and prepare to be amazed."

As the barkeeper took their order and left to get their drinks, Miranda asked, "I find it rather unusual that…Matthews, is it?…seems to know you quite familiarly when you claim you are merely passing through." She tilted her head to the side. "I have the feeling you aren't telling me everything." Anthony looked down at the table, because he couldn't lie to her face, but when she gasped, he glanced back at her. "You have taken up residence here, haven't you? That's why you're so familiar with the surroundings and why the barkeeper seems to know you so well."

He rubbed the back of his neck. He had hoped to keep at least some part of his life a secret, but it appeared that was not to be the case. "I don't call Keswick my home, although I spend a lot of time here. I make my home in Braithwaite, about four kilometers from here."

She stared at him. "How long have you been here?"

He shifted in his seat. Something told him to be cautious of his answers, that it could mean his demise. "A while."

"Long enough to have written to me?" she demanded. "Or come to London to see Jacob?"

He decided there was no point in dismissing the truth when it had condemned him. "I wasn't prepared to—"

"So you allowed all of us to mourn you when you were—" She stopped, and then added, "Doing what, exactly?"

He swallowed hard. "I have a fishing boat."

She barked out a laugh that was anything but humorous. "So, in essence, you were on holiday while you left the rest of us to worry about you? Well done, Mr. Gravehill. I applaud your great selfishness."

He frowned at that. "I wasn't thinking of myself when I decided to remain here. I told you I was in a dark place for a long time—"

"And you believe you are the only one who has suffered in this life?" She snorted. "I have lost both of my parents and lived a lonely life, all while anticipating your return. You promised that you would come back to me. And I waited all that time—"

She clamped her lips together, because not only was her voice starting to rise with her upset, but she must have realized she had said too much.

She got to her feet. "Forgive me for not staying, but I find that my appetite has quite diminished."

She stalked toward the door. By the time Anthony had recovered from the shock of everything she'd said, she was already halfway outside. He stood. "Miranda!"

She didn't pause.

He slowly sank back down, just as the drinks were brought over. The barkeep looked at him in sympathy. "It seems as if you have a history with the lady."

"Indeed," Anthony muttered grimly, as he grabbed the ale and took a hefty swig. "But I don't foresee a future."

Miranda was furious enough to bite through glass by the time she had returned to the inn. She walked inside and nearly ran her sister over, who was on her way out with Daniel and their daughter. Elaine's eyes widened in surprise, either at Miranda's rush through the door, or the look of rancor that was likely plastered all over her face. "Randie?"

For some reason the sound of that sweet nickname suddenly grated on Miranda's nerves. She didn't stop to exchange pleasantries but kept walking.

Of course, Elaine wouldn't have left things like that. Miranda heard her tell her husband to go on without her, and she finally caught up to Miranda at the bottom of the stairs. "Dear God, what's happened?"

Miranda caught a flash of the door opening and saw Anthony walk inside. Their eyes met for an instant before she turned away. "Not here," she muttered to Elaine and then quickly made her way to her rooms. She checked the hall and was relieved to find it empty as she let Elaine inside then shut and locked the door behind them.

Elaine's eyes widened at that. "What is going on? Are you in some kind of danger?"

Miranda tossed aside her bonnet and her reticule, and as she was taking off her pelisse she said, "You can thank Mr. Gravehill for my current demeanor."

Elaine frowned as she slowly sat down. "What has he done?"

"First, he takes me out on a boat ride on the lake this morning. We were having a perfectly lovely time. I was painting and he was reading, and then suddenly, he tells me how sorry he was for not returning my letters." She threw her hands up into the air.

Her sister must not have understood, because she said slowly, "And that is bad because…?"

"That part was fine. I accepted his apology, and actually felt bad for him." She expelled a heavy breath as she started to pace the room. "What I got angry about was the fact he told me he lives not far from here and he's been doing so for the past several years!"

She paused and set her hands on her hips, but Elaine still didn't seem to comprehend what she was saying. Her confused expression said what words did not.

"All this time I was afraid that he'd died, or something equally appalling, but instead, he's been here fishing! Can you imagine? He's been on holiday while Jacob and I have been concerned over his welfare." She shook her head. "I consider it the worst sort of betrayal. I daresay if I never see him again it will be too soon."

A knock at the door intruded on her tirade. Elaine made to move, but Miranda put a finger to her lips and waved her back down. As suspected, she heard Anthony's deep voice coming from the other side of the wooden barrier. "Miranda?" He paused. "Miranda, open the door. I know you're in there." Another pause. "Elaine? Perhaps you might be more reasonable and hear me out."

Elaine turned to her with a beseeching expression, but Miranda was having none of it. "Don't you dare!" she whispered hotly.

Her sister reluctantly obeyed. "I don't think now is a good time, Mr. Gravehill. Perhaps we might discuss this over dinner this evening?"

There was a slight hesitation, and then, "Very well."

Miranda waited until she could hear his footsteps walking back down the hall, and then she turned on her sister. "What on earth possessed you to say that?"

"What do you mean?" Elaine snapped in return. "He is Jacob's friend and has been invited to spend the holiday with us, the same as you."

"But I'm family," she retorted. "While Anthony isn't."

"It never bothered you before." Elaine stood, apparently to confront her on a more direct level. "In fact, there was a time when you prayed that he would become part of it."

Miranda set her hands on her hips. "I can't believe that you're taking his side!"

"I'm not taking anyone's side," Elaine returned firmly. "I'm only suggesting that it would be best to talk out this little disagreement, rather than act like an ostrich with its head in the sand, unwilling to face its problems."

Miranda's mouth fell agape. "Out of all the people I thought might understand how much I'm aggrieved right now, I thought it would be you. Nevertheless, forgive me if I don't come down to dinner this evening." She crossed her arms.

Elaine shook her head. "I can't believe you're going to be this petty. It's not as if you aren't going to have your family around you for support."

"Like you're showing now?" Miranda put her hands to her temples. "I'm starting to get a headache. Please, just go."

Elaine softened slightly as she walked over to her. She put a hand on her shoulder. "I knew this wasn't going to be easy for you, but I didn't imagine it would be so impossible."

With a sigh, some of Miranda's frustration ebbed. "It's Anthony. The one true love of my life. Of course it's impossible."