Peter’s arms were well-developed but his legs were worse than last she recalled, indicating he was not spending enough time trying to walk with his cane.
“I’ll ride,” he said. “Let’s go down toward the river.”
Helen gripped the handles of the Bath-chair and began to push.
They’d had a brief but intense summer shower the night before with thunder and lightning. The cats had all remained inside in the parlor while the three cousins and Miranda’s aunt and uncle played cards.
“I’m glad I put on my boots,” Miranda remarked as they went across the field toward the River Nene.
Suddenly, her uncle’s large dog came bounding across the lawn to join them, already mud covered from haunch to toes.
“No, Georgie,” Miranda said, then squealed with laughter as it nearly bowled her over and covered one side of her day dress in mud.
“We shall all look like Georgie when we’ve finished our outing,” Helen said, and they continued on with the dog in the lead.
Peter began to talk about an imminent tea shortage due to some storm in the Pacific, and Miranda let her attention drift. While she’d kept them entertained with stories of London since her arrival, in quiet times, she could think of nothing but Philip. Even then, despite her interest in world events, Miranda’s thoughts conjured the tall, handsome baron who’d bathed her body in flames of desire.
The mere thought of his hands and lips caused a pleasant, if somewhat frustrating, sensation to grow deep within her.
She sighed.
“Why the dissatisfaction, cousin?” asked Helen. “Is my brother boring you to death by his talk of the tea trade with the Orient?”
Miranda glanced at Peter, but he wasn’t the least annoyed.
“I could talk about the terrible amount of rain were having, causing crop failures and famine,” he offered, “but that seems even gloomier than a discussion of those lunatic Luddites destroying the looms at Heathcoat’s factory.”
“It’s not you,” Miranda said as they crested a gentle hill before the land sloped down to the river. “Nor the rain, nor even those poor, misguided weavers. It is a phantom in my own brain that I beg you to ignore. Shall we continue?”
They started along a path they’d taken easily two days before, with Georgie loping away and out of sight ahead of them. However, now the wheels of Peter’s chair stuck fast, mired in the mud.
“It’s probably worse down closer to the river,” Helen pointed out.
“We must turn back, I’m afraid,” Miranda said.
“I’ve got my cane,” Peter said. “Let me give it a try.”
Helen shot Miranda a worried glance.
“Wouldn’t it be wiser to wait and walkafterthe ground has dried out?” she suggested. “Perhaps tomorrow?”
“Give up, dear cousin,” Helen said. “If my brother has decided to try it, he shall not rest until he does. Besides, it rains nearly every other day lately.”
With muscled arms from exercising, Peter hoisted himself up and off the seat, standing gingerly upright. He reached for the cane tucked in the side of the pushchair.
“I think I shall need the assistance of one of you on my other arm.”
Miranda was closest, and they set off at a snail’s pace with Helen pushing the empty chair before her.
“Can you manage?” Peter asked Miranda.
“Yes,” but she couldn’t speak more than a single word as his weight was resting on her and she didn’t want to fail him.
He was walking as well as he could, one leg more smoothly than the other, which he had to drag forward while gingerly putting his weight on it. Their progress was slow, but itwasprogress until Georgie came bounding back.
In the blink of an eye, the sheepdog crashed into Miranda’s side, knocking her off balance, and she, in turn, pulled Peter down with her. Both of them lay face down on the muddy ground with Helen shrieking behind them.
Stunned, she turned her head and looked at Peter. He levered himself up and looked back.
