Winter Wonderland (10 page)

“Priggish?” He raised a disdainful eyebrow. “You are very quick to skewer me with insulting epithets, ma'am. I hope you're not so contemptuous of your pupils as you are of me.”

Miranda lost her patience. “I am not in the least contemptuous!” she cried, getting to her feet. “Not of you and not of my pupils. I consider myself to be a good-natured, reasonably even-tempered woman. If anyone has been contemptuous, it is you!”

“Really? It was I, I suppose, who called
you
a prig.”

“I did not call you a prig. I said you sounded priggish.”

“Close enough as makes no difference.”

“What I said was not nearly as contemptuous as your calling me a card-sharp … and … and, this morning, a sloth. And you just called into question my attitude toward my pupils. You, sir, have been offensive to me from the first.”

“That, ma'am, is just the sort of wild exaggeration I might have expected from you.”

“Dash it all, why should you expect
anything
from me? You don't know anything about me. We've never met before yesterday. I know you somehow heard my name, but I have no recollection of our paths having crossed. So why should you have any expectations regarding my behavior?”

“I expect
every
lady to behave like one,” he said coldly.

She stiffened in offense. “If the truth be known, Mr. Toplofty Traherne, I've tried all day, in every way I know, to be pleasant and conciliating. But you've responded to every one of my attempts with rudeness and hostility. I can't imagine why you've taken me in such dislike, but I no longer care. In fact, I've had quite enough of you. I think you'd try the patience of a
saint
!” She strode to the door of the taproom with a great swish of skirts, her head high. “Good night, Mr. Traherne. Please tell Mrs. Hanlon that I'll take supper in my room.”

Later that night, having given up any expectation of falling asleep on his excruciating bench, he stared up at the shadowed ceiling-beams and reviewed the words she'd thrown at him. She'd been quite right, of course. He'd behaved like a churl. But that was exactly how he wanted to behave. No one deserved it more than she. He ought to be quite pleased with himself, for the results were just what he wished. Then why, he asked himself, was he feeling like a cad?

She came down early to breakfast the next morning, but she did not respond to his greeting. Nor would she sit at the same table as he. She took a chair at another table with her back to him. Mrs. Hanlon, when she served their eggs and bacon, looked from one to the other with speculative amusement, but tactfully said nothing.

It was a brilliant morning, the sunlight dazzling on the snow. It was the sort of morning when even adults yearn to cavort in the drifts like little children. But neither Miranda nor Barnaby would let the glorious day interfere with their stubborn antagonism. As the morning advanced, and the silence between them grew more and more awkward, Barnaby actually considered offering her an apology—anything to end the deucedly appalling silence! But he quickly persuaded himself not to surrender. He was a man, he reminded himself, and she would not again turn him into a worm.

Miranda, too, was finding the silence oppressive. As she sat at a table, trying to find distraction in a game of solitaire, she wondered how she could break the silence without injuring her pride. But Mr. Traherne was a boor and a rudesby, she reminded herself, and his surly conversation would not be a great improvement over the silence.

Before either one of them was brought to the point of surrender, there was a sound of horses neighing and sleighbells jingling in the courtyard outside. They both ran to the window. A sleigh drawn by a pair of horses was drawing up beside the door. As they watched, a middle-aged man, well protected from the cold by huge boots, a high hat, mittens and a long muffler, jumped from the seat and slogged through the snow to the doorway. “Good God!” Barnaby shouted gleefully.
“Terence!”

Miranda watched wide-eyed as the outer door was pushed open and the man from the sleigh stomped in. Barnaby Traherne was already in the vestibule when the fellow looked up from his boots. “Ah!
Barnaby
, old fellow!” he chortled in triumphant surprise. “So I've found you at last!”

The two men embraced, pounding each other's backs enthusiastically. “You
brick
!” Barnaby exclaimed. “How on earth did you—?”

“When your coach didn't arrive at Wymondham, we were all in a stew. Then Lawrence and Honoria arrived in their sleigh, which you'll agree was the perfect vehicle for this weather, so I decided to take it and go looking for you. When I discovered the stage half buried in snow, with no one about, no sign of horses, and baggage all strewn about willy-nilly, I was chilled to the marrow, I can tell you! I've been pounding on doors ever since. Damnation, boy, you're a sight for sore eyes!” And he embraced his brother again.

“It was a scurvy pair of highwaymen,” Barnaby said in explanation. “They—”

“I thought as much,” his brother cut in, nodding. “Thank the Lord you're safe. Everyone at home will fall on your neck, I promise you.” He took off his beaver and shook the snow from it. “I say, Barnaby, you didn't by chance come across a stray female, did you? Delia was expecting a woman she'd hired to help with the boys.”

Miranda, who could not avoid hearing every word, came up to the taproom doorway. “I'm the stray female, Mr. Traherne,” she said, dropping a small curtsey. “Your brother and I were on the same coach.”

“Mrs. Velacott, is it
you
? What luck!” Terence strode over to her and shook her hand effusively. “So you and my brother are already acquainted?”

Barnaby and Miranda exchanged glances. “Oh, more than merely acquainted,” she said. “Your brother saved our lives.”

“Did he, by Jove?” Terence grinned at his brother with fond admiration.

Barnaby threw Miranda a quizzical look. Her praise had surprised him. “Yes,” he said to his brother, “but only after she saved mine. She leaped upon the brigand who was holding a gun to my head. And she didn't even know my name.”

“Did you indeed, Mrs. Velacott? How very brave.”

“Not nearly so brave as your brother, sir. He attacked armed highwaymen with nothing but his fists, not once but several times.”

“Good God!” Terence exclaimed. “You seem to have had quite an adventure. You shall tell me all about it as we ride home in the sleigh. So get your things and come along. We mustn't keep Honoria and Delia and the boys in their state of alarm any longer than necessary.”

By this time, Mr. and Mrs. Hanlon had come out from the kitchen. “They 'aven't any things t' get, sir,” Mrs. Hanlon said, “'cept their outer garments.”

“That's right,” Barnaby said, drawing his brother aside. “I say, Terence, can you pay our shot here? Those damned miscreants made off with all of my blunt.”

The matter was no sooner said than done, and a few moments later Barnaby, clad in his greatcoat and hat, was climbing up on the seat of the sleigh while Terence assisted the cloaked Miranda up on the other side. Then he jumped up beside her and flicked his whip at the horses.

They waved goodbye to the Hanlons, who stood watching in the doorway, and the sleigh glided smoothly onto the snowy road. The horse's bells jingled, the sunlight glistened and a light wind blew sprays of tingling snowflakes on their cheeks. “Isn't this a glorious day?” Terence crowed loudly, his voice echoing cheerfully in the icy air. “I must apologize for crowding you, Mrs. Velacott,” he added, “but since you say that you and my brother are so intimately acquainted, you won't feel awkward being crushed between us on the seat like this.”

Not even this enchanting sleighride and Terence Traherne's robust good nature could make Miranda forget her resentment of Barnaby's rudeness. “I wouldn't say your brother and I are
intimately
acquainted,” she said, throwing Barnaby a disdainful glance from under the hood of her pelisse, “but I
do
know your brother well enough to be familiar with all his moods and crotchets.”

Barnaby met her glance with a scornful look of his own. “Perhaps we've passed mere acquaintanceship,” he said dryly. “In fact, we may have reversed the whole process. If one thinks of saving a life as the ultimate act of intimacy, one could say we've gone from being intimate to being acquaintances to being total strangers.”

“I say,” Terence exclaimed, throwing his brother a puzzled look, “is something amiss between you two?”

“Nothing's amiss,” Barnaby said.

“Nothing,” Miranda echoed with an expression of bland innocence. “Nothing at all.”

Nine

It was just growing dark when they arrived at the large, ramshackle manor house that the Terence Trahernes called home. It had been built for the first Earl of Shallcross in the sixteenth century, although the subsequent earls chose to inhabit a more elegant edifice in Surrey. Lawrence had given the property to Terence as a wedding gift. It was a box-like, brick-and-stone building whose third story consisted of a row of dormers behind which a number of huge chimneys reached up to the sky like blunt fingers.

Miranda had barely time to take it in, for her two sleigh companions leaped out of the equipage as soon as it drew up to the doorway and immediately helped her down. Without waiting for the others, Terence ran up the steps and brushed by the just-emerging butler. “I found him!” he shouted loudly to whoever was within. “He's
here
!”

The butler stopped Barnaby right on the stairs and threw his arms about him in a decidedly unbutlerish embrace. “Master Barnaby,” he exclaimed, “we were that anxious about ye!”

“I'm fine, Cummings,” Barnaby assured him. “Just fine. See to the lady, will you?”

The butler beamed at him, gave a last pat to his shoulder and then turned to lead Miranda up the stairs. They followed Barnaby over the threshold into a large, high-ceilinged hallway facing a wide stairway. Miranda had a quick impression of dark, cobwebby beams high above and worn carpets below, but she could not properly take in her surroundings, for a veritable mob of people filled the hall. They'd rushed in from all directions and were surrounding Barnaby with effusive demonstrations of welcome. The rafters rang with joyful greetings and relieved laughter. He was embraced with raucous affection by so many men and women that Miranda could not keep count of them. Nor could she recognize the surly fellow she'd come to know. Here among his family, he seemed like someone else entirely. Kissed and patted and embraced, he was actually blushing with shy pleasure! He permitted himself to be pummelled and pulled from one to the other with smiling good grace. Not only was he receiving this loving attention with becoming modesty, but what was more astonishing, he was showing equally warm affection to each of them as he returned their greetings.

Miranda, never having experienced anything like this exhibition of familial affection, felt a twinge of envy. She had to turn her eyes from the happy scene. It was then she noticed a pretty young woman standing apart in the shadows watching the excitement, just as she herself was doing. She wondered who this other outsider might be, and if she, too, was suffering pangs of envy. At that moment, however, a plump, kindly, elderly lady took the girl's arm, drew her into the circle and introduced her to Barnaby. Barnaby bowed and kissed her hand, and the girl blushed painfully, while all the others grinned and laughed.

Suddenly the crowd was distracted by loud shouts of “Uncle Barney! Uncle Barney!” from the stairs. Two robust young boys came racing down, followed by a distracted maid who had evidently failed to keep them in tow. They in turn were followed by an excited little toddler whose stubby legs could not manage the stairs with the ease of the older boys. Barnaby stepped out of the crowd that had encircled him and opened his arms. His two older nephews leaped into them and enveloped him in excited embraces. Meanwhile, the little fellow, suddenly taking in the milling crowd in the hallway, hid himself behind the newel post, permitting himself only to peep out with one frightened eye. “Unca
Barney
,” he hissed from his hiding place, “I'm
here
! Come an' hug
me
, too!”

Barnaby set the other boys on the floor and crossed over to the stairway. There he knelt down and took the little fellow in his arms. “Jamie, lad,” he whispered in the child's ear, “I've missed you so!”

Miranda found herself oddly touched as she watched Barnaby swing the child up on his shoulders. She would never have guessed that the ill-mannered fellow with whom she'd passed the last three days was such an affectionate family man!

Meanwhile, the noisy arrival of his sons reminded Terence of Miranda's presence. Taking his two older boys by the hand, and motioning Barnaby to follow with Jamie, he approached the doorway where she was standing. “Mrs. Velacott,” he said proudly, “I'd like you to meet your new charges.” And while everyone turned and stared at her, Miranda stepped forward to face her future.

The two older boys, gazing up at her curiously, were strapping, well-built fellows, quite like their father. The little one, happily settled on his uncle's shoulder, was too preoccupied in nuzzling his uncle's ear to pay any attention to her. Terence made a sweeping gesture encompassing all of them. “This one,” he indicated with a finger, “is George. He's twelve but likes to think he's fifteen. And the one with the dirty nose is Maurice—we call him Maury—who's ten. And the little fellow sitting on Barnaby's shoulder is James Lawrence Stephen Traherne, six years old, whom we call Jamie.”

“George, Maury and Jamie,” Miranda smiled, bowing to them, “how do you do?”

“Mrs.
Velacott
!” a ruddy-faced, middle-aged woman exclaimed, coming forward with an outstretched hand. “I didn't even know you'd come! Terence, you blockhead, why didn't you
tell
me?”