That Kind of Woman by Paula Reed Page B

Certainly I am. She’s your wife.”
    “I saw the way you looked at her at the wedding. I saw you glance after her when she left the room today.”
    “Good God, George!”
    “It isn’t a crime.”
    “Yes, it is! As a matter-of-fact, it is. If I had looked at her that way, which I can assure you, I have not!”
    “She’s a beautiful woman.”
    “This has gone far enough! You’re very tired, and you’re not thinking clearly. Miranda will be fine. We’ll all look after her.”
    George only smiled at him. “I just want you to know, I wouldn’t mind.”
    “Go to sleep, George. We’ll talk again in the morning, when you’re feeling better.”
    George sighed and closed his eyes, and with shaking hands, Andrew pulled the bedclothes neatly about him.
    The entire conversation was ridiculous! Miranda would be horrified to know that George had said such things. For a moment, he pondered telling her, simply to keep George from catching her off-guard. Of course, he may have already shared these bizarre rantings with her. Andrew had no way of knowing how often his brother was lucid.
    Since it was impossible to settle anything with his sleeping brother, he sought out his daughter. Perhaps, now that they were all together at Danford, he could begin to restore some kind of order between himself and Emma.
     
    *
     
    In the drawing room, Miranda sipped the last of her lukewarm tea flavored with sugar and milk. The taste was sweet and light, perfect to wash down the crumpets she and Reggie had shared. The others were taking tea in their rooms.
    “There you go, dear,” Reggie said, “fortified for the next few hours with George’s kin until dinner.”
    “It will be a comfort to George to have them here.”
    For a moment, Reggie’s cheery guard dropped, and his words were bitter. “Will it?”
    Miranda reached across the tea table and put her hand on top of his. “Oh, Reggie, I am so sorry about all of this. I know that having them here makes things more complicated, but he needs them.”
    He waved his hand, dismissing his outburst. “Pay no attention to me, Randa. I’m just succumbing to a bit of melancholy and self-absorption.”
    “You’re entitled. After all, you’re the one who—” She turned her head sharply at the sound of footsteps coming to the drawing room door.
    “Pardon me, my lady,” the maid squeaked, bobbing a quick curtsey in her starched gray uniform.
    “Yes, Mary,” Miranda replied. Just over a year ago, she had thought she would never be able to address every servant by name. Now she knew them all.
    “There seems to be a bit of a problem upstairs, in the young lady’s room.”
    “Emma?”
    “Yes, my lady. She’s quite upset, though we’re doing our best to please her. I thought I’d better tell you.”
    “Thank you. I’ll be right there.” With a sigh, Miranda rose to follow Mary.
    “Indeed, they are a comfort,” quipped Reggie.
    She gave him a wry smile and said, “Have another crumpet, dear. Your mouth seems to have need of something to do.”
    Miranda mounted the stairs to find Emma in the center of her room, clothes and personal belongings piled around her. She pointed imperiously at a heap of gowns on the floor next to an empty trunk. “All of those will have to be pressed. I can’t imagine what the maid at home was thinking when she packed them. If she were here, I would dismiss her! I ought to dismiss you, too.” She looked up at Miranda and smiled. “Oh, hello, Aunt Randa.”
    Miranda gazed around at the disorder. “Are you settling in well?”
    Emma glared at the overwhelmed girls assisting her. “You need to hire new servants. They’ll never have everything set to rights before I’m ready to retire.” Kicking the pile of gowns out of her way, she marched over to her dressing table where a tea tray sat. She simultaneously popped a bite of crumpet in her mouth and dropped into the little gilt chair in front of the table. “I haven’t a thing to wear for dinner.