“I would like to go to the palace and be able to write to Helen and Peter about it.”
Her aunt cocked her head. “You don’t recall, but you went once, you and your sister, when your mother was alive. Mad little girls running and screaming down the Great Hall, not even noticing the king’s expensive tapestries as you were too busy chasing each other like dogs.”
Philip chuckled, earning Miranda’s quick disapproving glance. A few days ago, she would have joined in with laughter. Now, she pursed her lips and fell silent again. They spoke not another word for the eleven miles to Staines where they stopped to let the horses rest and to take refreshments at the Bush Inn.
“We are making very good time,” Philip began, but Miranda merely turned away to stretch her legs with a walk around the outside of the inn. She did not invite him to accompany her, which was just as well. In order to bring back the joyful, curious, and pleasant Miss Bright, he might have found it necessary to take her to a secluded spot and coax her return with a kiss.
Of course, Mrs. Cumbersome would have prevented such a thing.
Their next stop was Ascot Heath and the racecourse that had been hosting the fastest horses since Queen Anne declared it the perfect place for horse-racing in the year 1711. Around them, people were arriving on foot and by wagon and by hired post-chaise, the latter costing at least sixpence a mile.
The massive racetrack with its long stands of seating finally caused Miranda to sound like her previous wonder-filled self.
“I have never seen such a crowd of people in my life.” She was practically skipping with excitement. “Even at Brighton, where my sister and I went once with Papa to the races, there were not nearly so many watching.”
“Over there are the Royal Stands.” Philip gestured to the section with an awning flying the King’s standard to show members of the royal family were in attendance. “We have time to walk a little before we must take our seats.”
Mrs. Cumbersome groaned. “I never thought I would be displeased at having to rest somewhere, but after that ride, I would almost rather stand for the races.”
This made Miranda laugh until she caught him watching and sobered. He hated that he dampened her amusement.What a shame they could not be easy friends!Yet the most important thing was to maintain his distance and, if he could, direct a suitable gentleman her way.
Instantly, he dismissed the latter thought. Helping her find a husband was not his responsibility nor part of the bargain. Moreover, over the past month, he didn’t think he had noticed any buck who was good enough for her. In truth, he’d only foisted Wesley on her because he knew the man was too much of a clodhopper to make a good impression.
Soon, they had taken their seats for the first exciting race of Ladies’ Day. It would culminate in the Gold Cup, on which all three of them had placed small wagers with the local blacklegs at the track’s betting stand. Philip had also placed a more sizable wager at Tattersall’s in Town, hoping to win back some of his shipping deposit in case it was lost to him.
After the races, from which only Mrs. Cumbersome came away with a profit of ten shillings, Miranda tried the shooting gallery with some success, and both females marveled at the jugglers and the performing dogs. By six o’clock, the stands and the entire area was clearing out.
“We have rooms booked at The Thatched Tavern,” Philip mentioned as they got back into his carriage.
“A tavern?” Mrs. Cumbersome echoed.
“Not merely a tap-house. I assure you we have two safe rooms upstairs. The alternative, The Carpenter’s Inn, was fully booked. Besides, the food is better at the tavern.”
In a short while, they drew up in front of the white-painted brick building with its cheerful red shutters and thatched roof. After their bags were taken up to their rooms in the two-hundred-year-old establishment, they were seated in a private dining area with dark oiled beams overhead.
At a table by the welcoming hearth, Philip was pleased to note Miranda’s chilly disposition had thawed during the diversion of the races and the merriment that had come after.
Now, with a glass of wine in hand and a plate of roasted shoulder of lamb and vegetable pie before her, she was chatting with him and her aunt as if she’d entirely forgotten to be annoyed.
He thought it a good thing until he found himself leaning back in his chair, admiring the way the lamplight reflected in her eyes and on her caramel-colored hair. He dragged his attention back to his own dinner. It was far safer when she barely spoke to him and kept her glance averted. Somehow, her easygoing manner made her more desirable than the most beautiful lady who simpered and batted her eyes.
Fortunately, Mrs. Cumbersome would be sleeping right beside her niece the entire night.
MIRANDA COULD HARDLY close her eyes. The day had been filled with new and interesting amusements. The Ascot track, while not her first, had been the most splendid she’d ever seen. She’d held her breath more than once as the horses thundered by. Luckily, there had been no accidents, which Philip said was not always the case.
When he’d helped her to shoot straight at the shooting range, she had wanted to make him proud of her.
Moreover, she’d had a hard time maintaining her resentment toward him. Her pride had been stung, but her father was right. The baron had simply made a business deal, one he’d grown to regret as it inhibited his normal activities. He had no interest in her beyond the physical attraction they shared, and he could have the exact same with any number of women. Indeed, if the newspapers were to be believed, he did have.
Yet he had behaved impeccably the entire day, remained attentive, and explained everything she’d asked. Accordingly, she’d decided to get over her snit and enjoy herself, which she had.Tremendously!Right down to the evening meal and the card games they’d played in the common room afterward.
Then why was she staring at the low ceiling of the bed chamber?The room had turned out to be small, but clean and perfectly acceptable. Her aunt lay beside her wearing a nightcap and snoring wheezily in a deep sleep, and Miranda wished she could fall into such a slumber.
Listening to crickets and the occasional owl, she fidgeted and rolled over, then rolled again, getting her long braid wound round her neck as she did. Disturbed, Aunt Lucinda snuffled into quietness and turned over to face the curtained window, but a minute later, she was louder than ever.
Miranda sighed. She knew what her father did when he couldn’t sleep. He drank a glass of brandy. He said it helped his digestion, and it was what Philip had enjoyed after dinner while she and her aunt had drunk port, which Miranda didn’t care for. Therefore, she’d left most of it in her glass.
Perhaps her father and Philip had the right of it. Without giving it too much thought, she swung her legs over the side and got out of bed. Donning her dressing gown and slippers, she left the safety of her room.
