The Major’s Mistake

Back Cover:
After fending off the advances of a malicious lord, Lady Miranda is disocvred ina state of dishevelment by her husband—Juilan Grosvenor— who believes she has been in a tryst. Feeling betrayed and hurt, Julian accepts a major’s commission in the army and goes to war, not before initiating divorce proceedings. Disowned by herfamily. Mirands is taken in by her ex-husband’s aunt_and soon gives birth to a son.
Seven years later, Julian returns from service as a titled marquess and enters Miranda’s life once again. Though shocked to discover that he is a father, he plans to raise Justin as his heir, but Miranda does not want her son to inhabit the shallow aristocratic world that treated her so badly. As Julian and Miranda try to decide what is best for their son, former passions are reawakened. but if they are to love once again, they must first learn to forgive . . . .

Excerpt:
The bramble caught on the hem of Miranda’s gown. As she bent to release it she noted with some consternation that a thorn had caused a tiny tear in the worn fabric. Her lips compressed. Another bit of darning. Pretty soon there would be precious little of the original dress left, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t afford a new one.
With a small sigh, she picked up a basket filled with assorted herbs and roots and picked her way back to the narrow dirt cart path. “Justin,” she called. “Come, love, it’s time to return home.”
“Yes, Mama.” A shock of tousled dark hair appeared at the edge of an overgrown field, barely visible above the tall grasses. As the little boy hurried towards her, it was evident that something was cradled very carefully in his chubby hands.
“Look!” he cried, as soon as he was close enough to reveal his treasure. A rather large toad was struggling to escape from the boy’s grasp. “Isn’t he grand?”
She smiled. “Oh, indeed he is,” as she regarded the multitude of warts and the wide mouth gaping at her. “Pray, what do you plan to do with him?”
“I’m sure Angus will help me build a box so that I may keep him along with the others.”
She made a mental inventory of the current residents of her son’s room—four field mice, a baby sparrow with a broken wing, a jar of tadpoles and a preying mantis—and wondered just how many more creatures the household could tolerate. Given the toad’s appearance, he would not be the most welcome addition. But on taking in the boy’s eager expression, she hadn’t the heart to say no.
“Very well, love. But do remember, we cannot turn Aunt Sophia’s house into a menagerie. Mr. Toad will have be the last addition for a time.” As if indignant over the lukewarm reaction to his presence, the creature made another lunge for freedom.“Oh, do be careful not to squeeze him too hard,” she added.
“I know that, Mama,” answered Justin with just a touch of impatience, and to be sure, he was handling the toad with great care for his age. “But you see, I have an even better way to carry him home.” With that, he undid the top button of his shirt and slid the toad inside.
Miranda repressed a laugh and took her son’s hand. “Very clever young man, but let us make sure that Miss MacKenzie is well out of your room before you make ready for your bath.” The woman who served the role of both governess and nursemaid in their small household, though extremely tolerant in every other area, had shown herself to be more than squeamish when it came to Justin;s pets—Miranda wasn’t sure this latest one wouldn’t bring on a fit of vapors if it simply popped out of her son’s shirt without warning.
“A bath?” cried Justin with dismay.
She looked at the dark smudges on his cheeks, the bits of hay and leaves sticking out of his dark hair and the mud encrusted on the knees of his pantaloons and merely raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, all right,” he sighed. Then his expression brightened. “Perhaps the toad would like to come in too.“
“It is a toad, not a frog,” she reminded him. “And no, he may not. Soap would not be as agreeable to his skin as it is to that of little boys.”
Justin made a face, but he spirits were not long dampened by the prospects of immersion in a tub of hot, sudsy water. In a a moment or two, he was back to telling her about the different sorts of butterflies he had seen near a clump of heather. For the rest of the short walk back to their home, Miranda was content to listen to his enthusiastic chattering. Once again, she gave thanks that her son was of a naturally cheerful disposition. He didn’t seem to be suffering from the dearth of playmates his own age or the lack of expensive toys or ponies or . . . .
Her jaw tightened and her blue eyes clouded for a moment. Money didn’t guarantee happiness, she reminded herself.
They passed along by a stretch of weathered stone fence, overgrown with climbing vines. On the other side, a large flock of sheep grazed amid a patchwork of thistles and rough grass. The northern light dappled their shaggy coats as grey clouds scudded in front of the setting sun. Rain was likely before long, she thought, shifting her basket to the other arm. It was well that they would reach home before the chilling drops caught them out.
In the distance, an elderly shepherd raised his arm in greeting, waving it vigorously to catch her attention. “Gud day te ye, Mrs. Ransford,” he called. Moving more quickly than might have been imagined possible, he caught up with them where a rickety wooden gate gave access onto the cartpath.
“I be wanting te thank ‘e fer the poultice ye fixed, Did wonders fer me aching leg as ye can see.”
“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Calhoun. I shall be happy to leave another batch at your cottage, then.”
“Yer a kind soul, ye are, to give a care about an old goat like me. Now best step lively.” He pointed his crook to the sky. “Afore ye and the wee bairn get wet.”
Thanking him for the warning, she took up Justin’s hand and hurried their steps down the rutted path.
Rose Cottage sat in a small dell, protected on one side from the winds whistling down from the moors by a stand of ancient live oak. In front of it was a small, well-tended garden , the soft colors from the climbing roses just beginning to peek out from the new buds. Miranda pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the welcoming warmth. Though not a large abode, it radiated a comforting coziness. The furniture and drapes, though simple, were done in a cheerful mix of muted floral chintzes and stripes.
The pine paneling throughout the rooms, mellowed to a rich honey shade over the years, was redolent of beeswax and lemon oil and a generous fire crackled in each of the hearths. Earthenware crocks filled with fresh cut greens and fragrant herbs graced both the dining table and the sideboard of the parlor. From the kitchen, the aroma of fresh baked bread wafted through the air.
“Shall I take your basket into Cook?” asked Justin with an eagerness that indicated his hope that scones or shortbread might also be emerging from the ovens.
Repressing the twitch of her lips, she handed it over. “I should be very grateful.”
He grasped it in his small hands and struggled to conceal the effort it took to lift it
even several inches from the ground. She refrained from offering any help, knowing how much it pleased him to be able to help her, and merely watched with a fond expression as he managed to lug it across the stone floor of the entryway and into the hallway. Then with a small sigh, she brushed a few remaining wisps of straw from her faded skirts and entered the small sitting room to the left of the stairs.
“Did you find everything you needed, my dear?” The speaker looked up from the mending in her lap. Though advanced in years, her face still retained the classic features that had made her a diamond of the first water in her day. Her once raven hair, now entirely silver, was as thick as in her youth, and age had not dulled the vibrancy of her sea green eyes, nor the look of keen intelligence that lurked in their depth. “I feared that you and Justin might be caught unaware by the storm blowing down off Ben Lomond. You must be chilled to the bone in any case. Come sit by the fire and I’ll ring for some tea.”
“It is still early in the season, but I did manage to find some goldenseal. I should have felt badly had I not been able to locate all the ingredients. Mrs. Fraser is feeling even more poorly than she did last week and I know this potion will help her.” Miranda took a chair near the hearth and stretched out her hands towards the flames as she repressed a slight shiver. “Tea would be lovely, Aunt Sophia.”
Sophia, Lady Thornton’s face took on an expression of concern. “You must have a care, Miranda, that you do not push yourself too hard and take ill as well. You are not responsible for every ache and cough in the entire shire.”
“But it is so hard to say no when I can help them with the knowledge I have gained.”
“I know, my dear, and have nothing but admiration for the good works you do. But I still worry.” Her brows came together slightly. “And I wish you would let me provide you with a new gown and a warm cloak and gloves—”
Miranda’s slender hands knotted together in her lap. “You already do so much for us,” she answered in a low voice. “I must accept your generosity in providing a roof over our heads and food on the table but I will not take a penny of yours for anything else. You have little enough to spare—I can see to the needs of Justin and myself.”
Lady Thornton gave a sigh of exasperation. “As if you and Justin are a burden to me! I can well afford to keep my family in comfort if not in luxury. And well I know that every farthing of your meagre income is spent on your son, not on yourself.”
“I have little need of anything,” she replied doggedly. “What does it matter whether my gown is new or worn?”
“It matters to me. Because I do not wish to see my dear niece in rags.”
Miranda’s chin rose a fraction. “You are not responsible for my predicament—why, I don’t even have a claim to call you aunt or to appeal to your charity except by . . . marriage.”
Two spots of color rose to Lady Thornton’s cheeks. “I will pretend I did not hear that.”
Miranda bit her lip in anguish. Her head turned away towards the fire as she struggled to repress the tears welling her eyes. “I didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful. You know you are dearer to me than anyone —”
Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of an elderly maid carrying a tray with the tea and an assortment of cakes. She was followed by Justin, telltale crumbs of fresh shortbread clinging to his ruddy cheeks.
“I am not sure toads like shortbread,” he announced, as he peeked down into his shirt.
Miranda could hardly keep a straight face, despite the emotions stirred by the previous exchange of words. “Well, perhaps it is an acquired taste, And perhaps Mr. Toad should not learn to like it, lest he feel deprived once he returns to the wild.”
Lady Thornton smiled as well. She was well used to her young relative’s fascination with both flora and fauna. “I need not ask what is making the muslin of your shirt twitch in such a manner.”
“Would you like to see him?” asked Justin eagerly
“I believe Aunt Sophia knows what a toad looks like,” said his mother drily.
“Oh, very well.” His hand surreptitiously took up a slice of rich Dundee cake studded with raisins. “May I go show Angus, then? He could help me make a box and fix it with some nice dirt and leaves.”
“Yes, you may. But you mustn’t be too long. Supper will be ready soon, and then there is a bath awaiting before bedtime.”
“Yes, Mama.” The little boy’s shoulders sagged in resignation as he abandoned the fleeting hope that his mother had forgotten about the promised soap and water.
And that’s quite enough sweets for now.”
His hand shot back from the tray. “Yes, Mama.”
As soon as he was gone from the room, both of the ladies couldn’t help but exchange amused smiles.
“I vow, my life would be sadly flat without the two of you here, so let me never hear another word about you being a burden to me,” said Lady Thornton as she poured them both a cup of tea.
“Oh, Aunt Sophia, I’m so sorry if I—”
“You needn’t say anything more on the matter. I didn’t mean to overset you. Of course I know your your determination to deal with the consequences of . . . the past.” Lady Thornton pushed at the gold spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose and cleared her throat. ”While you know I have always admired your courage, I cannot help at times to think you allow . . . pride to cloud your better judgement.”
Miranda’s head jerked up and she looked for a moment as if to speak. Then she bit her lip and began to stir her tea.
“But let us talk of other things,” her aunt said quietly. “Did you see Mr. MacAllister in the south fields? He wanted to ask your opinion on . . . .”
The conversation steered to less turbulent topics as they discussed the latest news from the surrounding farms and a few bits of local gossip. Though Lady Thornton kept up a cheerful countenance and a constant stream of pithy comments, Miranda knew her well enough to sense something was amiss. Finally she set aside her plate, the cakes untouched.
“Aunt Sophia, what is wrong?”
The older lady stopped in mid sentence. Instead of answering right away, she rose and went over to the writing desk by the wall and took up a folded letter. Without a word, she handed it to her niece.
Miranda skimmed the contents, then looked up, her eyes betraying a flare of emotion.
Lady Thornton met her niece’s troubled gaze. “I grew up at Talney Hall. I hadn’t expected my brother to leave it to me, but as it wasn’t part of the entail, and he knew what fond memories I have of it . . . .” She trailed off for a moment. “I know how loath you are to set foot in England, my dear. If you are entirely opposed to it, I shall not consider taking up residence there. However, at some point, you are going to have to address Justin’s future.”
Miranda’s jaw tightened perceptibly.
“It is true that Highcroft Manor is close by,” she added in a voice barely above a whisper. ”But it is a minor estate that I have never known Julian to visit. Why, I doubt he even knows he owns it. Besides, he is only lately returned from Portugal and after so many years of absence, I doubt he shall wish to stir far from London for quite some time.”
At the mention of that name, Miranda paled considerably. Her fingers clenched the creased paper, causing a slight crackle.
A sad little sigh escaped Lady Thornton’s lips. “I only ask that you think on it—”
“That isn’t necessary,” replied Miranda. She gave a harsh laugh. “You are no doubt right. London has entirely too many attractions for him to think of quitting it for some time.”
Her aunt’s lined face took on a look of pinched concern. “Miranda—”
“No, really. When do you wish to leave?”
“Do not rush your decision, my dear. I only meant to broach the idea—”
Miranda cut her off with a determined shake of her head. “It would be selfish in the extreme for me to deny you this.” She cut off another attempt at protest from her relative with a quick gesture of her hand. “And you are quite right about Justin. Obviously he must return to England at some point, and perhaps it’s best done while he is young.” She fell silent for a moment as she stared at the lines of script that had so swiftly altered her life. “In any case, after seven years, a new scandal must certainly have come to the fore.” Her mouth quirked in an attempt at a smile. “Surely no one will care overly about a cast off wife, even if they discover who I am.”
“Miranda,” repeated Lady Thornton, her voice was full of anguish.
“No, truly, it is all right. I believe I am ready to face it. At least, as you say, there is little chance of having to encounter His Lordship until . . . much later.”
“You are sure?”
She nodded, wishing she felt nearly as certain as her words would indicate.

The contents of the glass were downed in one swallow, then quickly refilled from the crystal decanter on the polished mahagony sideboard. The tall, lean figure then limped to the oversized leather wingchair by the fire and took a seat with a grunt of relief. He unknotted the elegant cravat at his throat, tossed it aside and stretched his long legs out towards the dancing flames. His eyes fell shut as he raked one hand through his raven locks. With an audible sigh, he closed his eyes and took another long draught of the aged French brandy.
The library door opened quietly and a wiry little man made his way across the thick Aubusson carpet with hardly a sound. His brows came together slightly at the sight of the other man’s exhausted face.
“Tough night, guv?”
Julian Grosvenor, the Marquess of Sterling rubbed wearily at his aching forehead. “I had forgotten how interminable these evenings are, what with a gamut of prosing bores at my club, the simpering hosts and ballrooms packed with predatory . . . .” He gave a humorless laugh. “I swear, Sykes, at times it seems that facing Boney’s troops was less of an ordeal than a Season in Town.”
The other man grinned as he removed the discarded cravat and bent to move a small hassock in place under the Marquess’s left boot. “That bad, is it? Well I should be well glad I don’t have to endure the terrible hardship of swilling champagne with the toffs and dancing until dawn with all them beautiful ladies. A rough life indeed, guv.”
That coaxed a low chuckle from Sterling.
Seeing that the fine lines of stress etched around the Marquess’s eyes were beginning to relax, Sykes went on. “Surely you have no complaints of where you end up. ‘Pon my word, I ain’t never seen a more ravishing ladybird than that opera dancer of yours. Half the gentlemen of the Ton would give a fortune to trade places with you.”
Sterling showed no surprise at the frank manner of his former batman. He pulled a face as he gave another short laugh. “A fortune is exactly what they would give! I fear the ravishing Madame St. Honore is also becoming rather too demanding.” His mouth tightened. “Despite the fact that she doesn’t shrink from the sight of my
disfigurement.” He finished off the rest of the brandy in one swift gulp. “Pour me another, will you, Sykes. And one for yourself.”
The other man regarded the Marquess for a moment. “Ain’t you had enough for tonight? Why not let me help you up to bed. You’ve been hitting the bottle rather heavily these past few weeks and we’ve seen what it can do to a man. Can’t be doing you any good. ”
Sterling stared into the fire. “No doubt you are right,” he answered after a moment. His eyes pressed closed. “Now be so good as to fill my glass.”
Sykes took it without a word and splashed a small amount of spirits into it, then fixed one for himself. He cleared his throat as he handed over the brandy. “Well, perhaps a female presence will be a civilizing influence in this house—though I imagine there will be some changes. I doubt some fine lady would tolerate the likes of me as a peer of the realm’s valet.”
Sterling’s head jerked around. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
“Servants talk, guv. Word has it that an engagement between your august self and this Season’s Incomparable, the lovely Miss Wiltshire, is not far off.” He paused for a fraction. “The betting books list the odds at over two to one for those wagering a yes.”
A string of oaths exploded from Sterling’s lips, followed by further imprecations concerning scheming mamas and obsequious papas with pockets to let. “Why, the lady in question cannot repress a shudder at the sight of my dragging step, no matter what charming manners her parents have tried to drum into her head.” He took a deep breath and added with some vehemence,”You may assured I have no plans to fall into the parson’s mousetrap any time soon.”
“Now that you’ve come into the title, don’t you have to think about setting up a nursery?
“I’m not about to stick my spoon in the wall just yet,” muttered Sterling. “I have plenty of time to . . . deal with that issue.”
Sykes eyed him with a certain curiosity, but refrained from any comment.
“Have you ever been to the Lake District?” asked the Marquess abruptly.
“Can’t say that I have, guv.”
“I am considering a visit there to one of my properties.”
The former soldier rubbed at his jaw to hide his surprise. “Now why do we want to go and do that for? From what I hear tell, nothing much up there but hills and sheep and . . . lakes, I suppose.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, it’s a hell of a trek if what you’re looking for is a bit of peace and quiet. Why don’t we just retire to Crestwood if you wish to avoid Society for a time?”
Sterling shook his head. He forbore to add that his primary estate still held too many bittersweet memories for him to take any comfort there. “It’s time I paid more attention to the rest of my holdings. I mean to take my responsibilities seriously. Since my father’s death three years ago and my accession to the title, I’ve barely spent more than a fortnight in England . . . until now.” He gestured towards his desk. “There is a pile of correspondence from bailiffs of estates I didn’t even know I owned.”
“Can’t we pick one a tad closer to the comforts of Town?” groused Sykes. “I’d have thought you’d had enough of roughing it after all them years on the Peninsula. I know, I damn well have,” he added under his breath.
“The farther, the better,” muttered Sterling. “You don’t have to go along, you know. You are welcome to stay here in Sterling House and have run of the place while I’m gone.”
Sykes gave a snort of disgust to show what he thought of that suggestion. “Oh, aye. I’m just the sort of paltry fellow to shirk from a little discomfort and let you go haring off on your own. Or perhaps, now that we’re in England, you’d rather hire some fancy fellow as more befitting your station.”
Sterling’s mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “What, and miss your deferential manner and polite conversation?”
The other man grinned, then shook his head in resignation. “Well, at least it’s useful you being a fancy lord and all. I imagine we won’t have to be sleeping in a bloody stable, like old times.”

Miranda wrote out yet another recipe and placed it in a pile with the others. That should do it, she thought with grim satisfaction. She could not recall anyone else whom she had forgotten. The draughts, tissanes, poultices and broths were all spelled out. For those who could not read, the vicar would no doubt be happy to help. A wave of sadness came over her as she fiddled with the end of her pen. She had been of some use here, and had gained no little affection from her neighbors, a taciturn and reserved folk not given to taking outsiders to their heart. It was hard to give that up.
Her sleeve came up to brush at her cheek. Well, she would just have to start anew. She had done so before, under far more daunting circumstances, she reminded herself. This time it wouldn’t be nearly so difficult. After all, she was much older now—and wiser. Her eyes drifted over the familiar surroundings, the nicks in the beaded moldings, the rough texture of the whitewashed plaster, the grain of the polished oak floor. Yes, it was sad to leave, but she had to admit that even had she the means to stay behind, she could never abandon the redoubtable older lady whose staunch support had, at times, been the only thing that kept her from sliding into the blackest despair.
She began carefully folding each sheet of paper and lettering a name on the blank surface. She would deliver all of them this afternoon, along with a final goodbye. So engrossed was she in her thoughts that she wasn’t aware her aunt had entered the room until a voice spoke up close to her ear.
“Perhaps you should simply publish a book of remedies, and save your hand from falling off ” said Lady Thornton lightly as she surveyed the stack of papers.
Miranda essayed a smile. “Well, now that they shall know all my secrets, I’ll no longer be needed.”
Her aunt’s arm came around her shoulder. “My dear, you will always be needed. You have done much good here. Of that you should take great satisfaction.”
She nodded pensively. “In many ways, my life has been much more rewarding than . . . it might have been. Truly,” she added, noting the look in her aunt’s eyes. “I am well aware that I could easily have become used to a frivolous existence, thinking of naught but my own pleasures and the latest fashions, the next ball or the latest bit of gossip.” Her lips creased in a ghost of a smile. “I know at times I am willful and unwilling to compromise. Perhaps those traits have landed me in a briar patch of my own making, but I believe I am a better person for having struggled with the thorns. I may be cut and bruised a bit, but am stronger and hopefully a bit wiser.”
Lady Thornton couldn’t refrain from wrapping her in a tight hug. “My dearest Miranda,” she whispered. “I don’t think I have ever been prouder of you.”
It was a few moments before either of them could speak. Then Lady Thornton fumbled for a handkerchief in the pocket of her gown and blew her nose rather loudly. “Well, I saw Angus is waiting with the gig. Best be off so that you’ll be back before dark.”
Miranda nodded, not trusting her voice. She took up the pile of papers and tucked them under her arm, bestowing a quick peck to her aunt’s cheek as she left the room.
The gig was indeed waiting outside, the shaggy Highland pony harnessed in its traces nearly dwarfed by the tall, burly man who stood holding its bridle. At the sound of the door falling shut, he turned, a hearty smile spreading across his broad face. His beefy hand ran through his unruly blond locks as he dipped his head in greeting.
“Hello, Angus. I ‘m sorry to trouble you, but I shall never be able to make all the visits I would like if I go on foot.”
He reached out and took the willow basket from her hands. “Tain’t no trouble at all, Lady Miranda. I wish you would let me take ye more often. It’s not right fer a wee slip o’ a lassie like you te be trudging over these rough hills with such a heavy load. Wear yerself right down te the bone, ye do.”
Miranda tucked her head to hide a smile. With her tall, willowy form, she couldn’t remember ever having been referred to a a wee slip. But then again, to Angus, most everyone looked rather small. “I thank you for your concern, but I enjoy walking. I have grown to love the moors and the wild beauty of the lochs and the colors of the heather and gorse.”
He helped her into the gig and spread a coarse woolen blanket over her lap. “Ye’s never dressed warm enough either.” With a shake of the reins he urged the pony into a brisk trot. “If ye like it here, why do ye have to go down . . . there?” A jerk of his massive head indicated the direction of the English border.
“Because Lady Sophia has inherited her childhood home and wishes to live there once again.” Her voice tightened. “And remember, my son is English. He must, at some time, learn his heritage.”
Angus nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose those be fair enough reasons.” He slanted her a sideways glance as he guided the gig around a tight corner. “But I can see ye ain’t overly happy about it.”
She picked at a bit of chaff caught on the blanket. “My feelings are not important. After all the kindness she has shown to me, it is the very least I can do for my aunt.”
“Aye, then.” His eyes narrowed. “Well all of us know there ain’t a disloyal bone in yer body, m’lady.”
The color rose to Miranda’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry if I’ve said something te put ye to blush. It’s—”
“No, it’s quite all right.” She took a deep breath and sought to deflect the conversation away from herself. “But what of you, Angus? You should not feel in the least obliged to uproot yourself from here. You have more than repaid any debt you might feel you owe to us.” Miranda paused as she recalled the night nearly five years ago when she had spied the half-starved young man poaching rabbits in the neighboring squire’s wood. Hunger had driven him to be careless and the gameskeeper was quick to have him at gunpoint. She had acted without even thinking. The evidence disappeared into her basket before the two men returned to the traps. Without any real proof, and with her assertions that the stranger was their new groom, merely helping her forage for herbs, the squire was forced to let the matter drop.
“Well, seeing as I ain’t from around here, it don’t make too much difference to me. Jem and Ian feel the same.” He grinned. “And the way I figure it, England is a whole lot closer than the South Seas where by all rights is where I should be, save fer ye, Lady Miranda.”
She couldn’t hide her look of relief. “Any debt you might feel you owed me has been paid long ago, but I am most happy to hear your decision. We should have missed you, especially Justin. You have been extremely kind to him—believe me. I know how trying a boy of that age can be at times.”
“Oh, nay, he’s a good bairn, he is. No trouble at all.” A sudden chuckle erupted from his throat. “But what are ye going to do with all them creatures he’s got collected? Be a mite difficult to take them along.”
Miranda laughed as well. “Indeed, I convinced him that Mr. Toad and the rest of his menagerie will be much happier forgoing a long carriage journey. And I have promised that he may find a number of new friends when we reach England.”
The gig stopped in front of a stone crofter’s cottage, and Miranda climbed down to deliver a recipe for warding off chillbains as well as a fond goodbye to a wizened little woman with several skinny grandchildren clinging to her woolen skirts.
She was heading off to a new life and leaving the past behind her.
Or was she?

As the last strains of the waltz died away, Sterling moved even deeper into the shadows cast by the arrangement of potted palms and took another long swallow of champagne. He watched the elegantly dressed crowd ebb across the polished parquet to exchange partners as well as the latest tidbits of gossip. The vast ballroom, aglow with the light of a myriad of candles glinting off the costly silks and jewels, echoed with the trill of laughter and the notes of the violins and cellos adjusting their tune to the next melody. A mood of heady gaiety seemed to float in the air, along with the lush scent of mixed roses and wisteria.
So why, he wondered, did it all leave him feeling rather flat.
“Good lord, Julian, your expression is nearly as black as that fine set of evening clothes you’re wearing. Don’t Weston‘s creations feel a damn sight more comfortable than sweatstained regimentals?” The gentleman who appeared at the Marquess’s side took a sip from his own glass as he surveyed the crowd. “I would have thought you would be enjoying the delights civilization has to offer now that you are back.”
Sterling pulled a face. “You call matchmaking mamas and breathless chits fresh from the schoolroom a delight?”
Lord Atwater gave a chuckle. “Ah, is that what has driven you into hiding? My title is neither so august nor my pockets so plump that I would know of such things.”
“Well, you may take satisfaction from the fact you are doing something useful, Fitzwilliam.” He gestured towards the swirling dancers. “I cannot help but find the interests of most of those present so . . . .” Sterling’s voice trailed off as his mouth compressed into a tight line. “How goes it at the Home Office?” he asked abruptly. “At least with you, I can expect to have an intelligent conversation.”
His friend shot him a look of concern before answering. “Do not take what I am about to say amiss, my friend, but I do not like the note of cynicism I hear in your words. During the time we were together under Wellington, I always admired your good sense, as well as your courage.” He drew in a breath. He knew vaguely of his friend’s past and searched for a careful way to say what he had in mind. “Now that you are back to take your place in Society I should hope you are too intelligent to allow yourself to become . . . bitter towards the world.”
Sterling gave a sigh. “Sorry. I suppose I am a bit out of sorts tonight.”
Atwater dropped his gaze. “Is your leg causing you much pain?” he asked quietly.
“No more than can be expected.” As a footman passed in front of them with a tray of champagne, the Marquess exchanged his empty glass for a full one. “And I promise I am not about to sink into a fit of sullens, moaning about life like that idiot in Lord Byron’s new work. Come now, let us discuss something more interesting than the past. I should like to hear about what you are doing.”
Atwater glanced to ensure that no one else was within earshot. “Actually, “ he said in a low voice, “I am dealing with a rather serious matter of late. News has just arrived concerning the recent unrest in the north. We are not entirely sure yet, but it may be being instigated by an agent of France. Apparently Bonaparte believes that if he can encourage any sort of uprising, especially one that may spread into Scotland, it would severely hamper our war efforts. Unfortunately, he is right.” His hand tightened around his glass. “And whoever is responsible for fomenting the actual trouble has proven damn elusive. He wreaks a nasty havoc, but manages to disappear before we can move in the militia, only to surface not long after in some other place. I’ve just received word that there have been suspicious doings around Hingham that may indicate he is ready to strike yet again.”
Sterling brow creased. “What do you intend to do to stop him?.
His friend looked grim. “I am not sure yet. The one man I trust to handle such a important mission is away—”
“You say the trouble is around Hingham?”
Atwater nodded.
“Send me.”
“What!”
“As a matter of fact, I have just been planning a visit there—my bags are already packed. Think on it. I have a large estate nearby and therefore have a perfectly plausible reason for being there. I shall be able to look into things without attracting undue suspicion.”
“The arrival of a Marquess will hardly go unnoticed,” remarked the other man drily.
Sterling played his trump card. “That may be so, but you remember my batman, Sykes?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Well, he is now my valet. He will be along too. Between the two of us, you may rest assured we will get to the bottom of what is going on.”
Atwater stared at the tiny bubbles in his glass. “I’m well aware of your prowess in the field. But do you truly wish to undertake such dirty work when you are so recently returned from the rigors of war? I need not tell you it may be . . . dangerous.”
Sterling fixed him with a withering look.
“Very well. Come by at nine tomorrow morning and I will fill you in on all the details.” He cleared his throat. “You have solved my dilemma, Julian. I’m immensely grateful, however I can’t help but feel a bit guilty for dragging you away from height of the Season after all the years you have been away.”
“Not at all, Fitz. In fact you are doing me an immense favor.” Sterling raised his glass in toast. “Here is to overcoming the challenge ahead.”