What a Spinster Wants - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,50
how to admit just how much their relationship had meant to him without it being taken as holding a passion for her? He hadn’t done, couldn’t have. He would freely admit she had been beautiful and enchanting, but their feelings for each other had always been safely platonic. She had been his brother’s perfect match but could not have been Graham’s.
Who could fully comprehend that?
“A terrible loss for you, I’m sure, to lose them both. You have my deepest sympathies.”
Graham came back to the conversation at hand and saw understanding in Miranda’s countenance.
“Thank you,” he told her, stunned by the sincerity in his words.
“I am of the opinion,” Miranda continued in a much lighter tone, stepping back, “that family ties can be much closer, much more binding than we are generally willing to admit. Myself, I would be nearly as devastated if Mr. Johnston died as if his wife, my sister, did. But I understand that not all families are as fond of each other as mine.” She smiled as though she had been indulging her own feelings in her words, though Graham knew better.
Somehow, this new acquaintance had seen beyond his reserve and into his heart within moments.
He wasn’t sure if it was unnerving or consoling, but he liked Miranda better for it. That, he could freely admit to.
Miranda suddenly cocked her head. “Correct me if I am wrong, but did they not have a child?”
“Miranda…” Francis warned at once, sounding severe for the first time.
“Hush, Francis,” she replied, holding up a hand to him. “I have a reason for prying. Radcliffe?”
Graham hesitated. This was not universally known, though Matthew and Penelope hadn’t taken particular pains to hide the fact. Were they in full public, he would refuse to discuss it. As they had no other listeners, he exhaled shortly and gave a brief nod.
“They did.”
Miranda did not react to the revelation. “And the child is…?”
“At Merrifield,” Graham told her, unwilling to give the specific details Miranda was undoubtedly looking for. “Under my guardianship.”
“So, you have inherited the role of parent as well as a title.”
That took him by surprise, and he shook his head. “Well, I…”
Miranda frowned at him. “Call it what it is, my dear, the challenges are the same. Do you have help with the child?”
“Of course,” he nearly stammered, the statement settling in uncomfortably. “A nanny, and my aunt…”
Miranda’s gasp made him jump. “Don’t tell me Eloise is also at Merrifield!”
His jaw dropped. “You know her?”
“Adore her, my boy. Utterly adore.” Miranda laughed again and clasped her hands together. “That settles it. I must come to Merrifield. Invite me, won’t you? I’m sure you can find a reason soon enough, or else I can invent one.” She turned to Francis in her excitement. “You should see the estate, Francis. Utter perfection out there in Berkshire. Glorious landscape and gardens, and Merrifield itself is one of the loveliest houses ever constructed. I am quite in raptures over it.”
Francis raised his brow. “So I gathered. You invited yourself to it, after all.”
“Oh, tosh,” Miranda sputtered with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Radcliffe will invite me, won’t you, Radcliffe?”
“I…”
“What a lovely way to reopen the place!” Miranda exclaimed, whirling as though she could see the estate beside them. “A house party, Radcliffe! It would be so inviting, and I know exactly who we could invite to keep things intimate yet polite, tasteful, and respectable.” She gestured wide at the imaginary house. “The ivy would be such a lovely color, and those wildflowers would be of such a shade…”
Graham glanced at Miranda’s vision, not impressed with the reality of the row of plain townhomes standing there. “I don’t see it.”
Francis snorted a loud laugh before coughing into his fist to cover it.
Miranda scowled at Graham. “I said droll was approved, not cynicism.”
“I knew I had crossed a line somewhere,” he relented before he could stop himself. “Not quite sure which time, though.”
Francis shook harder with his laughter, making Graham smirk.
“Ugh!” Miranda groaned, tossing her hands in the air. “Men!” She leveled a finger at Graham, and his smirk faded. “I am not giving up on this, Radcliffe. I know a very capable artist, and once I describe Merrifield to her, you will completely comprehend the vision I have.”
“I’ve seen Merrifield in the spring, Miranda,” Graham assured her. “I simply don’t understand the need for others to.”
“Don’t you?” Miranda asked, folding her arms to glare at him properly.
Graham stared back, his mind spinning. He had just been considering an