Chapter Eleven
Miranda went down to the parlor, where they would meet before dinner, praying Iris had heeded her admonition and dressed for the occasion. What she needed was a distraction, and Iris was a blessed buffer for the evening, or so she hoped. Her nerves tight, she scanned the foyer for the viscount, praying he wouldn’t mention their earlier misadventure. Heaven only knew what Iris would say, let alone the questions she’d ask. Her face burned at the thought.
She was thankful for the gloves on her hands as they kept her palms from sweating with anxiety. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back and walked into the pale blue parlor. At a quick glance, she noted she was the first to arrive. Her gaze passed the settee and armchair and scanned the wall, with a delicate bookcase framing the window. The sunset was illuminating the evening sky, and she welcomed the distraction of its beauty. She passed the small table with a polished wooden box, ornately painted with gold. Pausing, she turned toward the beautiful treasure. The box was heavier than she anticipated as she lifted it from its place on the shelf. Delicate flowers wound around the wooden frame, a blue ribbon interlacing the gold. With care, she lifted the lid. Silence.
Her brow pinched as she turned over the box, only to discover the windup knob was missing. In its place was a hole marring the bottom of the masterpiece.
“Please, if you wouldn’t mind . . .”
Miranda startled, her fingers fumbling with the box before she righted her hold and tenderly set it back in its place. “My apologies. It’s quite lovely,” she stuttered, her face heating painfully with a blush.
The viscount nodded once. His gaze had lost all the merriment she’d seen earlier. The room felt chilly with his entrance, and she fought a shiver that traveled down her spine. “It’s a keepsake.” He lifted a broad shoulder, reminding her of the power they had held when carrying her. Glancing away, she fought for control.
“A family keepsake?” she asked, anxious to make small talk that would prevent him from alluding to their earlier encounter.
His gaze clouded ever so slightly, as if controlling his reactions with precision. “One might say that,” he answered cryptically.
Miranda decided it wasn’t a subject about which he wished to converse. Glancing about the room, her gaze landed back on the light filtering in from the sunset. “It’s a beautiful evening. I must say, the sunsets here are vastly different from London.” She gave a tight smile and walked to the window.
There was a short pause. “London?”
Miranda was thankful she had her back to the viscount. Her eyes widened at her possible faux pas, but she reminded herself that he was originally supposed to meet her in London, so it would follow that she was originally from that location. “Yes.”
“Were you raised in Town?” he asked, his voice much closer than before, and she resisted the temptation to turn and discover just how close he had come.
“Yes,” she answered, wondering how long she could continue offering monosyllabic answers.
He stood beside her, evaluating the scenery beyond the gardens.
She breathed in and out calmly, her mind spinning, wondering what to say should he ask for further details. Not wanting to lie, she wasn’t sure how to respond.
“It has its charms,” he said after a moment.
“Indeed it does.”
The sound of footsteps was the most welcome sound in Miranda’s world as she turned to see Iris walk into the parlor, Mrs. Keyes on her heels.
“Evening.” Iris executed a much-improved curtsey. Belatedly, Miranda realized she hadn’t offered any sort of polite greeting to her employer; rather, she almost had dropped a family treasure.
She was just thankful Iris hadn’t been there to witness it.
“Good evening, Miss Iris.” The viscount bowed smartly.
Well, he hadn’t exactly bowed to her either, so perhaps they were even.
“Dinner is served.” Mrs. Keyes gave a broad smile to the room as she gestured to the hall.
Traditionally, the gentleman of the house would escort the highest-ranking lady. But with keeping country hours, Miranda suspected a less-formal attitude and was proven right when the viscount simply gestured to the door, indicating that the ladies should precede him into the hall. Miranda walked toward the door, her body still tense, and gestured for Iris to precede her into the hall.
After all, Iris ranked higher as far as everyone else knew.
Miranda followed her, all too aware of the viscount close behind her. Was it possible to feel someone’s gaze? She certainly believed it was. She could feel it now. The temptation to turn around and face him and satisfy her theory was great, but she soldiered on ahead, ignoring her curiosity. As they came into the dining room, she watched Iris pause, then turn to her. “Where do we sit now?” she asked in a loud whisper.
The viscount’s chuckle vibrated through the air.
“To either side, Miss Iris,” Miranda coached, indicating with her hand which seat Iris should take.
“That’s right.” Iris nodded, her brow furrowed with concentration. “Thank you.” She waited beside the richly carved chair as a footman withdrew it for her.
