Wicked Liaison - Meara Platt Page 0,255

as he appeared before her. “A Vail always sees to the good of the community. Our family has supported and seen to the care of Bocka Morrow for centuries.”

She was rather taken aback. Her great-uncle had never lectured before.

“We take care of the community. We provide the caves for the smuggling. We make certain that everyone in Bocka Morrow can take part if they wish. We are responsible for the village.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Miranda finally asked.

“There will be war unless you marry Epworth.”

She blinked at him. Surely, he wasn’t serious.

“Do you think the Woodfords are going to stop? They’ve been itching for a fight since I was in short pants and that family will never change. Only a Vail making the sacrifice will appease them. If you don’t, they will attack a Laswell ship, then Endellion will make them pay the price. But they won’t blame themselves, they will blame you. There is always a price for breaking the covenant with Endellion, Miranda. Always.”

A chill slid down her spine. “Uncle Jonathan, the treaty warns of a price to be paid. Laswell paid that price.” She turned to him. “Did you pay a price as well?” It was something that hadn’t occurred to her until now and she was almost afraid to know his answer.

“I’m dead, aren’t I.”

“Yes, but it could be a coincidence,” she suggested hopefully.

“Miranda, I’ve sailed through much fiercer storms and emerged unscathed. I was foolish to believe that since Hester and I were to be wed, an agreement signed, that there’d be no punishment.”

Her heart ached for him. “Does Her Grace…?”

He shook his head before she could finish the question. “I didn’t want her to know. I didn’t want her to carry the guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“Questioning decisions, such as if she’d stayed here. Or, if we’d only taken a carriage. I didn’t want her to suffer a lifetime of wondering that if she would have done something different then I’d be alive.”

Miranda nodded. As much as she’d like to believe that the wreck of Uncle Jonathan’s ship was a coincidence, she knew it was not. Endellion had punished him, robbing Uncle Jonathan of what should have been a lifetime of happiness.

“One day she’ll know.” He then looked out the window. “The sea churns more violent each day.”

“But Laswell has already paid the price. I don’t understand why.”

“I can only assume that it is because Woodford has put plans of revenge into motion.”

She studied the waves cresting, the white caps, the ever-rising waters. “That’s because they don’t know.”

“Know what?” her uncle asked.

“The Woodfords. They don’t know that Laswell has already been punished. I need to tell them.”

Her uncle snorted. “And how are you going to do that?” He gestured to the sea again.

It wasn’t possible that she could sail to Bocka Morrow and survive. Her boat could not handle waves of that magnitude.

“I’ll walk.” As the words left her, panic settled into her gut.

“You are not walking to Bocka Morrow. Have you lost your mind?”

Miranda ignored him and rushed to her chamber to retrieve her hat and gloves. She could do this. She must. It was the only way to appease Endellion. All Woodford needed to do was stop making plans and the seas would calm. All would be well again. There was no need for marriage.

Thankfully Uncle Jonathan had disappeared once she exited her chamber, and Miranda hurried down the stairs and out of the house. She could do this. She must do this. It was the only answer.

Just as she was about to reach the drive, the doors leading to the garden from the family sitting room swung open and Uncle Jonathan appeared before her again.

“You are not seriously contemplating traveling onto Keyvnor land?” Uncle Jonathan appeared before her.

“Fears must be faced.”

“And fools seldom return unscathed by ill-advised ventures.”

“I need to do this. I can’t live in fear.”

“You need to prove to Epworth to see beyond his narrow view of his surroundings,” Uncle Jonathan countered.

“Perhaps,” Miranda reluctantly agreed, though it was unlikely he’d ever know either way as she was doing this on her own. “I need to do this for myself. How do I know that Barnaby just threatens and can’t really do any harm?”

Uncle Jonathan just arched an eyebrow.

“I need to do this myself.” No matter how foolish, she knew that it had to be her and nobody else. There was more at stake than the villages of Bocka Morrow and Laswell. She needed to face her fears.

“You don’t need to

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