Miranda stopped walking, forcing Elaine to do the same. She looked at her steadily. “Please don’t think anything more of it, Ellie. Whatever I might have felt toward Anthony—or rather, Mr. Gravehill—has long since passed. He is merely an acquaintance now. Don’t fret over me.”
Elaine lifted a brow. “And yet, you nearly fainted when you saw him.”
“The journey was tedious,” she returned firmly. “And I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Her sister rolled her eyes. “You are hardly in your dotage, Randie.”
“And yet, there are days I feel much older.” She paused. “Especially after Mama passed.”
With a comforting squeeze to her hand, Elaine’s blue eyes were sympathetic when she said, “It will be difficult for us all not to have her with us this year, which is why I think it’s best we spend this time away from London. Even if we used to spend most of the holiday at Jacob’s estate, there are too many memories all around to haunt us. A change of scenery will no doubt, help to ease any doldrums we might be feeling from her loss.”
Miranda smiled. “No doubt it will.” As she offered the assurance, she wasn’t certain anywhere would keep her from feeling the pang of her mother’s absence this Christmas. She had been the closest to their mother in her last days, since she had stayed with Miranda.
They walked into the private dining room together, and Miranda found that she was grateful for the support. As if eager to lay her eyes on him again, he was the first face she saw. He was standing and talking with her brother, his face in profile. From that angle, he almost looked as he had the last time she’d seen him at her parents’ Christmas party before the war.
However, as he turned his head upon her arrival, the sight of that white eye and the dreadful scar he would always carry with him was still quite shocking. Her heart ached for him, yet again, and she knew his recovery had been fierce.
She averted her gaze as her sister-in-law, Catharine, approached and greeted her warmly.
“Hello, Miranda. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you when you arrived.”
“It’s perfectly fine,” she replied. “How is Mary doing?” Jacob had written her before she’d left London and told her that their youngest child had been suffering from a case of the croup. It had struck when they had been traveling to Cumbria, but with love and care from her parents, Miranda had no doubt she would recover soon enough.
The relief in Catharine’s voice was proof enough of her assumption. “Better.” She glanced over to where the three-year-old toddler was playing with her twin siblings and Elaine’s daughter, Elizabeth, who was a year younger. “She’s actually starting to act like herself again.”
“That is very good, indeed.”
Catharine turned back to her. “We have much to be thankful for.” She put a hand to her stomach. “And with another one on the way…”
Miranda gasped in delight and reached out to hug her brother’s wife. “Congratulations! I know my brother is thrilled to be expanding his family.”
As if he’d heard his name, Jacob walked over and joined them. Anthony followed as well. “What’s going on over here?”
Catharine glanced at her husband. “I told Miranda our news. I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t wait.”
“I’m thrilled for you both,” Miranda said honestly. Although she always felt the pang of not having her own children, she was starting to accept the fact she would be alone.
“Do you have any children, Miranda?”
She looked at Anthony, and although he was reduced to seeing out of one eye, it was just as direct and piercing as she recalled. “No. I do not.”
He studied her carefully, and she had to wonder what he was thinking. “Have you not been married?” he asked.
She smiled tightly. She found it uncomfortable to admit that she had given up all of her dreams in lieu of the fantasy that would never appear. “No. I’m content being the spinster aunt.”
“Not a spinster. You can’t be more than nine and twenty. Still plenty of time to find a husband and settle down.”
She straightened her spine. “I find I no longer have the inclination to do so. I already have a household that I manage to run quite well in London.”
Something sparked in that green eye. “Do you?”
Tension crackled in the air, and Jacob had the grace to intervene. “Miranda is quite well known in most literary circles. She is a prominent author of children’s stories.”
A dark eyebrow raised at that. “Is that so?”
She had the sudden feeling she should defend herself, so she said, “Yes. I am. I write anonymously, but I am paid just the same. It is a way I can showcase my talents with both watercolors and verse.”
Catharine’s eyes brightened. “The children have been looking forward to your next book.”
