She smiled. “Not at all. I am so used to my nieces and nephew doing it now that I hardly even notice.”
“Do you need me to bring the lantern closer so you can see better?”
She shook her head. “I prefer the natural light. I’ve found it is easier to shade that way.”
Anthony pulled up another chair and placed it a short distance behind her and waited. With a glance in his direction, she turned her attention back to the blank paper. After a moment’s hesitation, she started to draw an outline of the overall portrait.
While he imagined he might be distracted by the sight of her, it wasn’t long before Anthony was captured by her talent. His heart fell, because he realized how much of her life he’d truly missed, time that they could have been together as soon as she had turned of age and made her come out. He would have courted her properly, taking her for rides in the park and waltzing with her at a society function.
Instead, he’d tried to escape everything because he couldn’t accept the future as a disfigured monster.
But the truth was, Miranda had always been his everything. She was all that had mattered. It was too bad it had taken him this long for his eyes to open to the truth. He should have known her kind nature wouldn’t have balked at his appearance as others had done. She accepted him, flaws and all. He’d been a fool not to return to her as soon as he’d healed.
But she was here now, so perhaps there was such a thing as a Christmas miracle after all.
Miranda could feelAnthony’s eyes upon her as surely as if he’d reached out and touched her. A shiver crawled up her spine, causing gooseflesh to break out on her arms. If the fire he’d started hadn’t chased away her earlier chill, then she could have blamed her reaction on the weather. But the temperature outside wasn’t the cause for this.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. The longer they were here together, the more word had a chance of spreading. Although Braithwaite wasn’t the sort of place like London, where gossip ran rampant, there was still a lady’s reputation to consider. It could falter anywhere at any time. She didn’t need any sort of scandal to follow her after she returned to London. If so, she would risk her publisher’s ire and, even though she wrote anonymously, they likely wouldn’t accept anything further if they thought she had a tarnished reputation. It was best that she make her outline as quickly as possible and return to the hotel.
After a time, in the silence around them, other than the occasional log popping in the grate, Miranda was soon finished with the image she wished to portray in her head.
When she set down her brush, she looked at the work in progress with a critical eye. She was never truly pleased with the final project, feeling as though she could have done something different, but this one suited the verse that was starting to evolve in her mind.
Mama in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap…
“It’s breathtaking.” She looked over at Anthony, whose gaze was fixed on the object in her hands. “You truly have a vision when it comes to bringing something to life. It’s almost as if I can reach out and open the window. And I certainly didn’t think my cottage was quite so appealing before now. It was just some place to lay down my head after a day on the water.”
She grinned broadly. “Now you can picture it even more fondly. Perhaps I’ll send you the original once the next book is published.”
“I would like that very much.” He paused. “But even more so if you brought it back in person.”
Miranda’s breath caught. She knew this was when things could get dangerous. He spoke of things that she might yearn to do but knew there was no way of doing. He surely had to know that. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.” She gathered her things and then got to her feet. “We should be getting back before it’s too late.”
He regarded her with something that looked oddly like longing, but then he dropped his gaze and said, “Of course.” He walked over and kicked some ash over the smoldering logs, ensuring that the fire was out before he grabbed the lantern and led them out of the cottage.
As they stepped outside, a few, white flurries drifted down from overhead. As Anthony put her things in the carriage, Miranda noticed a boy in short pants and a woolen coat and hat running up and down the lane with his tongue stuck straight out. She smiled, because she could remember trying to catch snowflakes the same way when she was young.
Feeling the sudden urge to mimic his actions, she stuck out her tongue and waited patiently for a single drop of moisture to touch the tip.
“Whatareyou doing?”
She shifted her gaze to Anthony and drawled in return, “Don’t tell me you never did the same when you were a child.”
He crossed his arms, his brow lifting. With his damaged eye, he looked rather rakish in that moment. “Did what?”
She laughed. “Caught snowflakes on your tongue.” She proceeded to demonstrate.
“I never did anything so ridiculous,” he lifted his gaze heavenward.
She narrowed her gaze. “While I don’t fully believe you, there’s no time like the presence to start.”
She waved a hand and with a heavy sigh, he reluctantly extended his tongue.
Anthony had never felt so utterlyfoolish in his life.
Or so utterly fascinated by Miranda.
He knew she had always been a free spirit, but he was starting to wonder if that girl was still in there somewhere. Now he knew that she was, and it warmed his heart to know that she hadn’t been completely broken by the losses and disappointments she’d had in her life.
