Cinderella's Wedding Wish

‘Excellent,’ said Rafe. ‘In that case, let’s go.’

‘Go?’ Miranda stared at him. ‘Go where?’

‘I want you to see the ballroom I’ve got in mind and tell me what you think. You can’t start organising the ball until you know where it’s going to be.’

‘Rafe, you can’t drag the poor girl off before she’s even had a chance to sit down!’ Ginny protested.

‘Poor girl? Poor girl?’ Rafe shook his head. ‘Don’t let that demure look fool you, Ginny. Miranda isn’t a poor girl. The entire communications department was terrified of her efficiency, and I’ve seen her beat their photocopier into submission with my own eyes! I won’t tell you how she did it or what kind of language she used. You would be shocked!’

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Miranda’s mouth twitch and, although she quickly suppressed her smile, he was conscious of a spurt of triumph at having got through to her at last. It was a relief to see that glimpse of humour, too. Perhaps he hadn’t made such a colossal mistake after all.

He had been dismayed when he’d first walked in that morning to see her looking prim and proper in that dull suit and far more colourless than he had remembered. This ball was important, and if it was going to be a success it would have to be run by someone who had some sense of humour as well as excellent organisational abilities.

Rafe had liked Miranda’s astringency when he had met her the week before, and that combined with the glowing references Simon had given her had made her seem like the perfect candidate. This morning, though, he had begun to wonder if the sharp Miranda he remembered had been a mere figment of his imagination. Now, seeing the curl at the corner of her mouth, he was reassured. She might not want to let on that she was amused by his nonsense, but Rafe knew better.

‘At least have a cup of coffee first,’ Ginny was urging, but now that he was sure Miranda was the girl he had remembered he was impatient to be off.

‘You don’t want coffee, do you, Miranda? I bet you don’t even touch the stuff.’

‘On the contrary,’ she said. ‘I depend on coffee to get me through the morning.’

Her eyes met his blandly, and meeting that clear green gaze, Rafe felt his pulse kick unexpectedly.

‘We’ll stop on the way,’ he promised, turning back to Ginny. ‘There’s nothing that won’t keep until tomorrow, is there?’

‘Tomorrow?’ Miranda repeated as she followed him out of the office. ‘How long are we going to be?’

‘We’ll be away most of the day,’ said Rafe casually. Pushing the button to call the express lift, he caught her look of dismay. ‘Why, do you have to be back for a certain time?’

‘Well, no…’ she admitted. She had worked every evening over the weekend and was looking forward to a night in.

‘Good. I hate having to be somewhere at a set time, don’t you?’

‘No,’ said Miranda as the lift doors slid open and they stepped inside. ‘I prefer to have a plan.’

Rafe glanced at her. As before, her hair was pulled tightly back from her face. A practical style, maybe, but not a flattering one, even if it did expose the pure line of her jaw and the chin tilted at what he suspected was a characteristically determined angle.

Her lips were pressed together in a tight line and she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the lights above the door. In that suit she looked neat and tense and far too controlled for comfort.

‘Don’t you ever feel like being spontaneous?’ he asked.

The lift sighed to a halt on the ground floor and the doors opened once more. ‘I grew up in a family of spontaneous people,’ said Miranda. ‘In my experience, nothing ever happens unless you plan it.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with a bit of organisation,’ Rafe agreed, holding open the door for her, ‘but if you plan too much it takes away all the fun. Take today,’ he went on as they stepped out into the spring sunshine. He gestured around. ‘It’s a beautiful day. If we had planned meetings we’d end up sitting in an office all day. As it is, we can do whatever we like with it.’

‘You may be able to, but I can’t afford to do that,’ she pointed out crisply. ‘I’m being paid to do whatever you want to do. If not, I wouldn’t be here.’

‘Where would you be? If you could do whatever you liked today?’

That was easy. Miranda thought of Whitestones on a day like today. The house would be full of sunshine, and at the bottom of the cliff the sea would be a-glitter in the bright light. ‘I’d be at the seaside,’ she said.

CHAPTER THREE

A GLEAMING convertible sports car was waiting at the bottom of the steps, engine idling, its soft top invitingly open. The moment Rafe appeared, the driver got out and handed him the keys before opening the passenger door for Miranda.

As she got in with a murmur of thanks Miranda thought about her trip to work that morning. She had had to walk to the Tube, then wait for a train. Engineering works had caused delays all along the line, and by the time she had eventually managed to squeeze onto a train she had had to spend the entire journey pressed up against all the other blank-faced, Monday-morning commuters.

Now, barely an hour later, transport had been brought to the door so that all she had to do was sink into the soft leather seat. The contrast was dis-orientating.

Rafe had finished exchanging racing tips with the driver and got in beside her. He smiled at her as he pulled on his seat belt and started the car.

‘Which sea?’

Miranda blinked. ‘Sorry?’

‘You said that if you had a choice you’d be at the seaside. I wondered which coast you were thinking of.’

‘Oh. The south coast,’ she told him, watching as he pulled expertly out into the traffic. ‘In Dorset.’

Her eyes took on a faraway expression as she pictured Whitestones. ‘There’s a house on a cliff, and steps that lead down to a shingle beach.’ She sighed a little, remembering. ‘I love it there.’

‘Then we’ll go.’

There was a strange note to Rafe’s voice, and Miranda turned to stare at him. ‘I thought we were going to look at a ballroom?’

‘We are. We’re going to have lunch with my grandmother who lives in Hampshire, but after that we’ll drive on and find your beach.’ He slanted her one of his smiles. ‘There you are, we’ve got a plan after all.’

‘You’re not serious!’

‘Of course I’m serious. I’m always serious,’ said Rafe, but the navy blue eyes glinted in a very unserious way.

‘We’re going to Hampshire? For lunch?’

‘And to see a ballroom. Don’t forget this is work,’ he said with mock reproof.

‘But…does your grandmother have a ballroom?’ This was turning into such a strange Monday morning that Miranda was beginning to find it all surreal.

‘Indeed she does,’ said Rafe cheerfully. ‘Knighton Park is a monstrosity built by my great-great grandfather when he made his fortune. He was a typical bad boy made good, and once he’d made some money he was determined to flaunt it. He built a pile that everyone else must have thought was impossibly vulgar, with every mod con of the time…including a ballroom that’s hardly been used since. My grandmother has lived there since she was married.’

‘I thought the ball would be in London,’ said Miranda, frowning slightly.

‘That would be ideal, but, as you pointed out, we’re unlikely to find anywhere if we don’t want to wait until next year now…and I don’t.’

No, Rafe would never want to wait for anything. He was a typical trust fund baby, expecting that he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, thought Miranda, conveniently forgetting that she had grown up in a family that acted on very similar assumptions.

‘What’s the big hurry?’

The traffic lights chose that moment to turn red, and Rafe pulled up with a little sigh of frustration. Yanking on the handbrake with unnecessary force, he turned to look at Miranda, sitting straight-backed beside him. ‘Don’t you ever wake up with an idea and want to make it happen straight away?’