Chapter 2
Anthony stood on the terrace in his room. It overlooked the mountains and the lake below. If there was any place he might consider for his final path to healing, this was certainly it. The air was crisp and clean, and nothing but tranquility as far as the eye could see.
All during his years on the ship, fighting under Admiral Nelson, one of the finest men he’d known, he had never imagined the tragedy that awaited them all at the Battle of Trafalgar. Not only did Horatio perish from enemy fire, but that was also when Anthony had been severely injured trying to hold off the enemy’s embarkment by manning one of the ship’s carronades. He’d been cut down by a bayonet, but his efforts hadn’t been in vain. With the assistance of his fellow comrades, they had won a major victory for England that day, although it was bittersweet with the loss of their commander and so much more.
Anthony knew the battle ahead was far from over, for many of the men—and especially for him. When he’d been taken below deck to see the surgeon, he was told that he would never see out of his right eye again. When he’d heard that, something inside of him had died alongside his commanding officer. He’d immediately thought of the letters he’d carefully kept in a bundle close to his bunk, the ones that had come from an infatuated child. But her kind innocence had helped him through the worst.
He soon realized that he couldn’t continue to fan her childish dreams and stopped writing back, because he would never be able to offer her anything more than a ruined shell of a man. He would never be whole as he had been. It was best to let her hate him, rather than pray for his return and be disgusted by his monstrous appearance when he did. He would have to break his promise to a girl whom he had hoped would one day become his bride.
But no longer.
It had taken him weeks to recover, but those days encompassed the wounds that others could see. The personal ones ran a lot deeper than that. He’d soon fallen into a deep despair that he didn’t dare pass on to anyone else. No one could help him, and he wasn’t about to become a burden. He had to face these demons alone. He’d pushed everyone away because he thought it was for the best.
For years, he’d wandered in his own misery, traveling from one part of England to another, until he’d finally settled in the small town of Braithwaite, not far from where he was now. Of course, only his family knew that he’d managed to put together a quiet life for himself in this rugged part of the country. It was so different from anything that he’d known before, that he’d decided to stay, much to the initial dismay of his mother. She had always wanted him to remain near London and return to the social whirl, but it was the last thing he needed. The peace he’d found here was worth more than any debutante with her enticing dowry that he might have wed. He hadn’t told his mother that he was a working man now, she would surely faint from the idea that a gentleman was doing such menial labor, but becoming a fisherman and spending hours upon the sea had done wonders for his torn soul.
He had decided that he wouldn’t darken any doors in London once he’d reconciled with his family, but that was before he’d received word from his sister that Jacob’s mother had passed. On impulse, he’d gone to see his long-time friend. It had been a stilted reunion at first, but they soon started to laugh about the antics from their youth and he remembered what it had been like to be… normal. It wasn’t until Jacob had invited him to spend Christmas with them in Cumbria that Anthony had been taken aback. He might have declined the offer, except Jacob mentionedher. Miranda—the girl he’d left behind with a broken heart.
Once he’d learned that she had mourned her mother quite heavily, Anthony knew he had to make amends for all those lost years. She had been the one bright light in his dismal world, and he had the opportunity to help ease her pain now…if she would let him.
He pondered their initial meeting and couldn’t decide if it was the shock of seeing him again that had caused her to falter, or the shock ofhim.For a long time, he’d worn a patch over his eye, but it had started to become a bother, so he’d dared to discard it. People were wont to stare at him either way, so they might as well solve their curiosity by finding out what had been hiding beneath the leather strap for so long.
He expelled a heavy breath. He should have known it wouldn’t be easy for Miranda to see him either way. He certainly didn’t blame her if she refused to do so. He had treated her badly, and for no other reason than his own upset.
But that didn’t keep him from praying for a Christmas miracle.
When he closed his eyes, Anthony kept seeing the child she’d once been, and when she’d walked into the hotel, he had noticed some of the characteristics she had always carried, like her curly, chestnut hair and those bright, green eyes that sparkled with life. He noted that a bit of that sparkle had dulled somewhat, likely because she had become a disillusioned woman.
He clutched the railing in front of him. Oh, yes, that part had certainly changed. Her curves were perfect, made for a man’s hands. And had things been different, if he hadn’t been hurt and buried his head in the sand like the coward he was, he might have been granted the chance to court her upon his return from the Navy. He could have greeted her with a hero’s welcome. Although he had been noted for his service to Crown and country, it was nothing compared to the prize he would have in Miranda Applegate.
With one last glance out at the scenic, winter view before him, Anthony told himself that he had one opportunity to repair things with Miranda. If he failed, then he wouldn’t bother her any longer. He would leave the hotel and fade away into the night without a backward glance. He told himself he should do that now, but he owed her too much to go now. He had to try to earn her respect, at the very least. He might not have much in this life, but he did have his honor.
It might very well be all he had left to give.
But it was hers.
Miranda toldherself that she was prepared to see Anthony again, but when she inspected her appearance in the mirror later that evening, she wondered if she hadn’t been fooling herself.
She had dressed in her finest gown, a violet satin with black lace trim. She thought it was one of the few half-mourning gowns that complimented her features, but when she’d stared at her reflection with a critical eye, she suddenly felt so drab. And it didn’t matter how many times she tried to style her hair, it wouldn’t do anything but fly around her head, in an uncontrollable mess.
Frustrated, she finally pulled it back into a simple knot and pinned it at the nape of her neck. At least she didn’t have to pinch her cheeks to add any color, because her anger was high enough to offer enough.
She grabbed her reticule and left her rooms but stopped abruptly over the threshold when she saw Elaine standing on the other side, her hand poised to knock. They startled each other and began to laugh, which helped to ease some of Miranda’s earlier tension.
With a sheepish expression, her sister said, “Jacob wanted me to come and check on you since you were running late.” She didn’t mention about how they likely all thought Miranda might not appear since Anthony was there.
It was nice that Miranda had a supportive family who would help her over any hurdle. They had always been there for her when she needed them most.
“I had a slight altercation with my hairbrush,” she teased. “But everything is fine now.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Nevertheless, her sister knew her almost better than she knew herself and threaded her arm through hers as they headed down the hall. After a moment, she said quietly, “I know it must be difficult to see Anthony again.”
“Nonsense.” Miranda lifted her chin in case there was any doubt. “It wasn’t as if there was anything between us. I was a child when I saw him last.”
“I know how much you adored him,” Elaine pointed out.
“I shall always care for him because he was such good friend to Jacob. I appreciate his loyalty to our family.”
“But you wrote to him—”
