“I do, and I am certain some will call me selfish for not wanting children, but would it not be more selfish to bring them into a life where I might resent the limitations they place on mine?”
“Yes, that is it exactly, crécerelle.” He kisses my cheek. “I am glad to see we are of a mind. It will make it so much easier when I finally persuade you to marry me.”
I roll my eyes and lean my head onto his shoulder. We sit like that, in comfortable silence, until he sighs.
“I suppose we must talk about Miss Jenkins,” he says.
“Yes. Her grandfather is convinced she is an innocent pawn, and you feel the same. Yet if that is true, however cruel it seems, she should continue playing the role of pawn, this time for our benefit. I have several ideas as to how you might... curry her favor.”
He is silent for a moment. Then he says, “Must I? I hesitate to register my complaint, Miranda, as finding who killed Andrés is my highest priority. I will do whatever it takes. But might I ask to consider other possibilities?”
When I open my mouth, he presses a kiss to it.
“Please?” he says. “I struggle with the idea of seduction, however innocent, and it is not my sense of fairness that protests. Yes, I believe she is a pawn, but I acknowledge she might also have knowingly lied to me about Andrés, on her uncle’s behalf. I am not certain I can bring myself to speak to her, much less to flirt with her.”
When I do not answer, he shifts in obvious discomfort. “I will if it is necessary, of course.”
“That is not why I am silent, Nico. I am silent because I am searching for the words to say that I am sorry for asking you. To admit that I did not even think of how uncomfortable it would be.”
“Perhaps I am being overly sensitive.”
I take his hand and twist to meet his eyes. “No, I ought to have considered it from your point of view, and I did not. You shouldn’t need to speak to her, and you certainly shouldn’t need to flirt with her. Earlier, when you thought I was going to protest, I was actually going to say I have thought of a second solution, though it may be more difficult. You said that it is not considered unduly inappropriate for me to be in the moors on my own. What if I were to find a way to encounter Miss Jenkins? I cannot guarantee I could win her confidence on such short notice, but if you could advise me, we could make an effort.”
“That may work,” he says with some relief. “She is very lonely out here, without other young ladies of her station, so you may be able to win her confidence more easily than you expect. You are very easy to speak to, and while I am not certain what you can learn from her, it would be a start.”
“All right. Then let us come up with a suitable story.”
We need more than a story.I also need proper clothing. The dress I left at Thorne Manor is far too elaborate—and unfashionable in the current time. We are able to cobble together a suitable walking outfit, along with a lovely cape, from Nicolas’s goods, which will both cover part of my borrowed dress and look suitably fine for a young lady of means, especially when paired with a gorgeous pin and fancy bonnet, also from his store of goods.
For my story, I will not be related to Lord Thorne, as Norrington has no love for that family. Instead, I have an elderly widowed aunt on holiday in Whitby, and I have wandered into the moors to explore. Without a local relative, I must be able to prove I come from good stock, and so I will do that by my connection to Courtenay Hall and the earl of Tynesford, who would at this time be August’s grandfather. I am familiar enough with the house and grounds to prove I am a friend of the family. I will not claim to be fast friends with the Courtenays, but friendly enough to have been there on many occasions, which proves I come from an excellent family.
I also receive an expected advantage from the late Lord Norrington. While we are checking on the mare from yesterday—who seems to be gone—the ghost finds us. We tell him our plan, and he knows exactly how I might approach Miss Jenkins. The young lady likes to walk each afternoon, on a set path through the moors. I need only to meet her there and pray for the best.
23
Iam sitting on a moor path, perched on the heather, with one boot in my hand. Sitting and waiting until finally, a bonnet appears, bouncing up the path.
“Oh!” I call. “Oh, hello there!” I push up, hopping to balance on one foot. “Hello!”
There is no need to make a spectacle of myself. I am on the path, and Miss Jenkins is heading straight toward me. I still hop, as if trying to catch her eye.
When she is in sight, I let out a tremendous sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the heavens. I heard someone coming, and I was not certain whether I should appeal for rescue or hide myself. You hear such stories of wicked people out here, but my aunt insisted it was safe to walk, and I did so want to be brave, but then I broke my heel and...” I throw up my hands.
Miss Jenkins approaches with a smile. “It is only me, and sadly, I am not at all wicked, though it does sound like fun. Are you injured?”
“No, it is only my boot that has suffered. I must admit that I would not entirely object to meeting with a wicked person on the moors, as long as they were only wicked in an interesting way. Perhaps a handsome highwayman who would demand my pin.”
Her smile grows. “And which would you give?”
“It would depend on how handsome he was.”
She laughs, and it’s a pretty, tinkling sound. “Then we are of accord on that, Miss...?”
“Hastings,” I say. “Miranda Hastings.”
“You said you are with your aunt?”
“Not at the moment. Sadly, she is an invalid and not actually my aunt, but a dear family friend. We attended the Midsummer Ball at Courtenay Hall, and my parents suggested I continue on to Whitby with Aunt Bess for a fortnight.”