He removed his jacket and waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
You Didn’t Come
Miranda glanced at the clock on the mantel, a lump of regret clogging her throat. She pictured the room in her mind—the quiet corner in the world that, for a very short time, had shown her what heaven must be like.
He would be there by now. She knew he’d arrived in town late the day before. Tabetha Spencer had corresponded with her regularly, as well as his sister, Natalie, and likely, without meaning to, both of them had kept Miranda informed of Peter’s circumstances.
But she could not go to the Mivart tonight.
She had nearly changed her mind a thousand times. She would simply tell him… She wouldn’t even have to do that. One look at her and he’d know… Contemplating the resulting aftermath, she had just as quickly decided to stay home.
Setting her knitting needles aside, she closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her temple.
It was possible he had not gone to the hotel. Or that he’d gone, and finding the room empty, had been relieved and just as quickly left.
Sir Bickford-Crowden had selected him for the tour.
Not that it was supposed to be public knowledge, but the women in his life were not the sort who would keep such news to themselves.
Miranda lowered her hand to her heart and rubbed her fist over it, as though doing so could relieve the ache there. She would not keep him from pursuing such an incredible opportunity. But was that her decision to make?
If she did not make it for him, then honor would.
Knocking sounded from below, and then voices and shuffling footsteps. Miranda straightened her spine, panicked into arranging the blanket she was knitting very carefully to cover her lap.
“I’ll inform her you’re here, sir. Please wait downstairs—”
But the footsteps continued to grow louder until the door burst open. How was it possible that the presence of a single person could fill a room with such light? Such energy and life?
“I’m so sorry, My Lady.” Herman shot Peter a disgusted glance. “He refused to wait.”
“I suppose he’s waited long enough.” She sighed. “Would you be so kind as to have tea sent up for Mr. Spencer and myself?” She should have had a missive delivered to the hotel.
But that had not been part of their bargain.
“If you are quite certain.” Herman met her gaze, and when she nodded, he backed out and closed the door behind him.
Leaving her alone with Peter.
He was as beautiful as ever, but there was something different. Did he appear older? Dark shadows etched beneath his eyes—eyes that burned with…
Determination.
Confidence emanated from him. It was as though his success over the summer had filled him with a greater purpose. Something he’d lacked the last time she’d seen him. She doubted that anything could keep him from achieving his dreams. Seeing it made her proud but also left her feeling bereft.
“Would you care to sit down?” She made a dismal attempt at sounding airy, staying seated as she gestured to a tall, cushioned chair placed across from where she sat on the settee.
Noting his cheeks, ruddy from the cold, Miranda resisted the urge to burst out of her seat and throw herself into his arms.
Peter shook his head, giant snowflakes clinging to his sable hair and the shoulders of his greatcoat. He pinned his gaze on her accusingly. “You didn’t come.”
The sound of his voice washed over her. How she had missed him!
She pinched her mouth into a thin line to keep from answering. Of course, she had not gone. She would have ruined everything for him if she had.
