Secrets of the Heart

5

Rachel glanced across the sitting room to where Jessica stood looking down at the bit of knitting in Miranda’s hands. Jessica pressed her lips together, then pursed them.

Miranda looked up at her and sighed. “Oh, go ahead and laugh. I know it looks absurd.”

“No, it—” Jessica glanced at Miranda, and a laugh escaped her lips. “Actually, you’re right. It does look absurd. Whatever did you do?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Miranda confessed, chuckling, too. “Obviously my education was sadly neglected. I cannot do any of these things that you and Rachel do so easily.”

“Ah, but I cannot shoot a gun,” Rachel pointed out with a smile at her sister-in-law.

Miranda, the daughter of an American who had grown wealthy in the fur trade, had been raised in a manner almost inconceivable to Rachel. She had accompanied her father on fur-buying trips to the wilds, where she had met Indians and trappers, and learned not only how to shoot but also how to use a knife to advantage. As her father’s business had grown, she had moved naturally into it, keeping track of his accounts and investing his money in real estate in the raw, burgeoning city of New York, so that his fortune—and her own—doubled and even tripled. Although Rachel had quickly come to love her sister-in-law dearly—not the least because she had brought Dev back from the edge of ruining his life—there were times when Miranda’s bustling energy left her feeling rather breathless and inadequate.

“That’s true,” Miranda agreed, but added, “However, that is hardly a useful skill when one is trying to prepare for the arrival of a baby. Right now, a blanket would be more practical.” She looked over a trifle wistfully at the soft pale-yellow blanket that lay on Jessica’s chair. “How did you learn to knit so well?”

“Actually, my father’s batman taught me,” Jessica, the daughter of a soldier, replied with a small laugh. “He was quite good at darning, mending, and knitting socks. “But fine sewing was not his forte. That is why, while I will knit you oodles of little caps and booties and blankets, you will have to depend on Rachel for the christening gown and the fine embroidery.”

Rachel smiled at the other two women. “And I will be delighted to do it. I have been stitching away, Miranda, ever since you told me about your good news.”

It was odd, she thought, that only a year ago, she had not even met these two women, yet now she counted them among her best friends.

Miranda smiled, and Rachel was a little surprised to hear Miranda echoing her own thoughts. “Who would have thought that when I married Devin I would also acquire such wonderful friends?” She went on thoughtfully. “You know, I never really had many friends—certainly not ones I can confide in as I can the two of you.”

Rachel was not surprised. She suspected that most women Miranda’s age would have found her rather too intimidating to make friends with. It was easy to see why Miranda and Jessica had become fast friends in just a few days; they had similarly strong personalities and an open, even blunt, manner. She was rather less certain why either one of them had been drawn to her. She did not have their strength; neither of them would have made the mistakes she had made.

She returned to the sewing in her lap, a long christening robe for Miranda’s future child. It was made of elegant white satin, put together with careful dainty stitches. She had finished sewing the plainer underdress and the robe, and now she was adding the rows and rows of delicate white Belgian lace that would decorate the hem and sleeves and edge the yoke of the elegant robe. Inside the yoke she planned to embroider flowers in white thread, giving it a subtly rich look. The finishing touch would be matching satin booties and a cap, both also edged in lace and tied with the same narrow satin ribbons as the front of the robe.

Rachel had been working on the outfit this winter at Westhampton, as well as some other everyday gowns and cotton receiving blankets for the baby’s layette. Miranda had told Rachel of her lack of expertise at sewing, and Rachel had been happy to apply her skills to the task.

Rachel carefully stitched along the pinned lace, then removed the pins. Jessica, coming over to her side, gazed down at the gown.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “You do such lovely work.”

“Thank you.” Rachel smiled, smoothing out the line of lace. She was aware of a small ache of loss in the area of her heart. It happened now and then as she worked on the baby things—the stab of knowledge that she had never had a child for whom to make such things and probably never would. It was part of the price she paid—the worst part, she supposed—for having behaved so foolishly before her wedding.

But she was practiced enough at dealing with it that her smile did not waver as she thanked Jessica for her compliment, and she looked composed as she began to ply her needle again.

Then the sound of men’s voices in the house broke the quiet of the room, and all three women looked up expectantly.

“They’re back!” Jessica said happily. Devin and Richard had gone out riding that afternoon, and the house had seemed rather empty without them.

“Good. I was afraid that I was going to have to tell Cook to delay supper,” Miranda said, but the glow that lit up her face belied the asperity of her tone.

Dev was the first to enter the room, his handsome face wreathed in smiles. “Guess whom we happened upon as we were riding home!”

Immediately on his heels followed Richard and another man, tall and blond.

“Michael!” Rachel jumped to her feet, a grin breaking across her face. Her heart was suddenly pounding, and she felt almost giddy. She took a step forward, then stopped, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I found I grew quite bored after you left,” Michael said lightly, coming forward to take Rachel’s hand and raise it formally to his lips. “Westhampton is far too quiet without the sound of Gabriela’s laughter.”

“Well, you will have more than enough noise here, with Gabriela and Veronica together,” Jessica told him with a laugh.

Michael greeted the other two women warmly, congratulating Miranda on her upcoming “happy event.” Rachel noticed, with a pang of hurt, that her husband’s manner toward his in-laws was easier and warmer than toward his wife.

“I am so glad you could come,” Miranda said, smiling. “We were quite sorry that you had not driven down with Rachel.”

“Had I known that highwaymen were going to be popping in on Lady Westhampton’s carriage, I would have done so,” Michael replied. “I decided that if things like that were going to happen, I had best escort Rachel the rest of the way to London.”

“Good idea,” Dev agreed. “I had been thinking that I ought to do that myself.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rachel told her brother. “I am sure that nothing else will happen.” She turned toward Michael. “I am afraid that you have put yourself out for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” Michael answered politely. “I will have the pleasure of your company on the ride to London.”

It was the sort of courteous, meaningless thing men said to women they did not know well, Rachel thought. Not that it mattered, of course. Her life was quite pleasant; it was only the sight of Miranda and Jessica with their husbands that made her a little dissatisfied with her own marriage. Many women would be grateful to have a husband such as she did, who placed so few demands on her, yet was unfailingly thoughtful and polite.

“Who was the man, Michael?” Miranda asked in her blunt American way. “Did you indeed know him?”

Michael grinned at her. “Do you honestly think that I am the sort of chap to be friends with a highwayman? No, I am afraid he sounds like some kind of lunatic, frankly. The only thing I can think is that it was part of some bizarre jest—that one of my friends hired this man to play a joke on me, and then, when I was not in the carriage, he didn’t know what to do except go ahead and relate the tale they had made up to Rachel.”

“An odd sort of jest,” Jessica offered.

“Yes, well, some of the men with whom I correspond are rather eccentric. Dr. Waller, for instance…”

“The scientist?” Rachel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yes, I realize that he is a veritable genius, but he has been known to have a distinctly odd sense of humor.”

“I should say so,” Dev grumbled, “if his idea of a joke is to go about frightening ladies.”

Michael had not looked at Rachel as he spoke, and she had the sudden, intense suspicion that he was lying. She would have liked to press him on the matter, but she could scarcely accuse her husband of lying in front of her family.

“I wrote him immediately, of course, to enquire,” Michael went on, turning toward Rachel. “But in case it was not he or a mistake of some sort, I thought it wisest to accompany you to London.”

It occurred to Rachel that her suspicion of a moment before was ridiculous. Of course Michael had not known that man; he did not socialize with thieves and highwaymen. It was absurd to think so, even for a moment.

“Thank you,” she said. “It will make the ride much more enjoyable.”

She realized as she said it that her statement was true. On the drive to Darkwater from Westhampton, she had found herself missing Michael’s company. In fact, now that she thought of it, she had felt sad to leave him. He had a quiet, subtle wit and a calm manner that made any situation more agreeable. Intelligent and well-educated, he could talk on almost any subject, and he was too courteous to let his boredom with one’s conversation show. It would be nice, she thought, if he would even stay with her in London for a while.

To her surprise, she heard Jessica echo her thoughts. “Perhaps you might stay in London for the Season.”

Rachel glanced at Jessica, then back at Michael. She found his gaze upon her before he turned toward Jessica. “Tempting as the thought is, I am afraid that I must go back to Westhampton. It is the busiest time on the estate, as well. I have a number of experiments going concerning the farms.”

Rachel knew that Michael’s estate manager was privy to all of Michael’s plans and it would cause little problem if he happened to stay away at least part of the spring and summer. The reason he would not stay the Season was because he preferred to be alone on his estate. He had lived with her the first year of their marriage—for appearance’ sake, she presumed—then after that he had retired to Westhampton, visiting her in London only rarely. He had told her that it would be “easier.” Easier, she supposed, for him not to be reminded of her treachery each day by the mere fact of seeing her. Easier not to have to keep up the pretense of civility towards her. It surprised her sometimes that the thought still had the power to hurt her.

Miranda tugged at the bellpull. “I shall tell the servants to make up your roo—” She stopped abruptly, frowning. “I’m sorry. Your customary bedchamber is one of the ones that we are currently renovating….”