the maids’ bedrooms were to the left of
the stairs, the storage rooms to the right. Miriam
sneezed as they stepped into the larger of the two
storage attics.
“Over here.” Harper led her to a stack of trunks in the
corner beneath the dormer window. A brown trunk with
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brass rivets had been separated from the others.
“The dowager countess wanted some Indian
decorations brought back to London for the ball,” he
said. “There was a load of Indian stuff up here that her
brother brought back, years ago. I found these—I
thought you might be able to use some of them with the
countess.”
He unclipped the catches and lifted the lid. A folded
piece of muslin covered the trunk’s contents. Tom lifted
it; Miriam gasped.
“Where did all this come from?” she asked.
“All this” was fabrics, ribbons, jewelry.
“I believe they belong to the dowager, though I don’t
believe she ever used any of these things,” Tom said.
“I’m sure if you asked, she wouldn’t mind the countess
using them.”
Miriam began sifting through the jewelry. Some
striking pieces, large plain-cut stones that weren’t in the
usual style but still pretty. Miriam dug deeper into the
trunk. “There’s no gold in here,” she said, disappointed.
“It’s all silver.”
“Maybe they don’t do much gold work in India,”
Tom suggested.
Miriam sat back on her heels. “These are so
lovely…but my lady can’t wear silver. It’s too cheap,
not right for a woman in her position. Think about the
Spenford diamonds—no silver on those!”
“I see what you mean,” Tom said.
“Though I must say,” Miriam added, “with her skin
color Lady Spenford would probably suit silver better.”
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
Tom rubbed his chin. “Does any other fine lady wear
silver?”
Miriam shook her head. “It’s not the thing.”
“Nor,” he said deliberately, “is taking snuff, or
driving a bright yellow phaeton.”
Miriam caught on. “You’re right—no one else in the
ton will have pieces like these. And there’s enough here
for Lady Spenford to wear a different piece every day
for a year.” She pulled out the lengths of fabric, willy-
nilly. “And if I use some of these Indian silks for a trim
on her dresses…or to make a reticule…”
“Very distinctive,” he agreed.
“Thank you, Tom, that was so thoughtful.” To go to
all this trouble to help her…why would a man do that if
he wasn’t interested in her?
He smiled, but appeared to be choosing his words
carefully. “I was happy to be able to do something for
you.”
She had the troubling thought that he sounded as if he
was giving her a consolation prize. “Tom, do you think
you—”
He crouched next to her and picked up a length of
purple organdy. “This color would suit you.”
“As if a maid would ever wear such a color,” she
scoffed. But he was right; the bright tone would work
well with her complexion. She thought of that verse in
the Bible about the virtuous wife, who wore silk and
purple.
More than anything, she wanted the chance to be that
wife to Tom. Couldn’t he see that? Didn’t he think of
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her that way, not even a little?
She watched his fingers, strong and sure as he
refolded the cloth. How would they feel to the touch?
Different from all those years ago? Or like a
homecoming?
Likely I’ll never know.
Unless…
Holding her breath, Miriam reached out and rested
her palm on the back of Tom’s hand.
He froze. Yet his skin was warm; she fancied she
could feel life coursing in his veins.
Slowly, he turned his hand over beneath hers, so they
were palm to palm. Miriam’s hand trembled; his stayed
steady as a rock. Their gazes met, and she saw that his
eyes weren’t as dark as she’d thought; they held flecks
of gold. Promising, she thought.
Tom looked down at their joined hands. He sighed.
“If only…”
If only did not bode well. Miriam could feel that he
was about to withdraw again to that place where she
didn’t feature in his consciousness.
“Tom,” she said quickly, “will you kiss me?”
Shameless!
His head snapped up, his eyes shocked.
“Just once would be enough,” she said. Enough to
convince him he loved her as much as she loved him,
surely.
She hadn’t admitted to herself before that she loved
him beyond a girlish infatuation, but it didn’t surprise
her now.
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
Right there, on her knees next to the trunk, she leaned
in to him, her lips puckering for the kiss.
Still on his haunches, he scrambled backward, so fast
he fell over on his backside. “I can’t do this,” he said
harshly, righting himself. “Don’t ask me to, Miriam,
because I can’t.”
She scrubbed her face with her hands. “You mean
you won’t. ”
“Can’t, won’t… You’re the one who’s good with
words.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to?” she demanded.
“That’s right.” But a sudden flare in his eyes told her
he did want to kiss her.
In an