Treasured Vows Read Online Free PDF Page B

until you go through it, Beatrice. Oh, I know that you’ve gone through a wedding when your son was married, but it is a completely different matter to be the mother of the bride. So much planning. But you’ll find your opportunity soon. After all, Miranda has had three seasons. I’m sure she’ll find a husband soon.” She stopped and sniffed the air. “By the way, this room smells heavenly.”
    Lady Evans and Miranda stood frozen, their smiles plastered on their faces.
    Lady Evans found her voice first. “Well, what…wonderful…news,” she managed to choke out.
    Sophie blushed deeper. “I knew you would be happy for me, Aunt Beatrice.”
    “Oh, I am,” Lady Evans said, though she looked as if she was about to cry.
    “And you, Miranda?” Sophie turned toward her cousin. “Aren’t you happy for me, too?”
    Miaranda looked like she’d rather plunge a knife in her own heart than wish her cousin happiness. For a moment expectancy hung in the air. Phadra feared they were about to have a repeat of Miranda’s tantrum and realized that her mother feared the same thing.
    Miranda looked at her mother and then at Phadra. Her frown, so much like her father’s, grew deeper.
    Phadra held her breath.
    The frown flattened—and then slowly turned into a dazzling smile. “Of course I am happy for you, cousin,” Miranda said, her smile now as lovely and pleasant as a summer day. Lady Evans gave an audible sigh of relief that turned to a gasp of surprise as Miranda went on, “And you can be happy for me, too.”
    “We can?” Lady St. George asked, caught off guard.
    “Why, yes,” Miranda responded. “Mother, haven’t you told Aunt Louise?”
    “Told her what?” Lady Evans asked blankly.
    “About my offer,” Miranda said in a low, slightly angry tone.
    It took Lady Evans a second to understand. When she did, her puzzled expression curled up into a smile. “Yes. Oh, yes, you need to wish Miranda happiness, Louise!”
    “I do? Whatever for?”
    Lady Evans smiled. She crossed to stand next to her daughter. Their arms linked in an unspoken bond. “Remember that glorious man in my yellow parlor?”
    “He’d be hard to forget,” Lady St. George said with a sly smile.
    “He is Miranda’s fiancé.”
     
    Lady Miranda and Mr. Morgan spent fifteen minutes together in the yellow parlor. Everyone in the household, including Phadra and Henny, lined up in the hallway outside.
    At last the door opened and Mr. Morgan walked out with a blushing Miranda on his arm. They looked the perfect couple with his dark masculine looks and her cool golden blondness. He announced ceremoniously that Lady Miranda had made him “the happiest man in London” by accepting his proposal of marriage.
    Miranda lowered her eyes demurely. “You are very kind to say so, Grant.”
    Grant. Phadra thought his Christian name sounded strange on Miranda’s lips.
    The servants clapped while Lady Evans and Lady St. George embraced each other and wept. However, a few minutes later, Lady St. George pointed out to her daughter in a carrying voice, “He doesn’t have a title.”
    Immediately Miranda’s back stiffened. A jovial Sir Cecil, as if sensing danger, hastened the family members, of which Phadra was included, into the dining room for a toast to the couple’s happiness.
    But Phadra felt like an outsider. Listening to the relatives laughing and toasting the future of their daughters, she suddenly felt very alone.
    “I trust that your moving in with the Evanses has gone smoothly,” Mr. Morgan’s deep voice said from beside her.
    Phadra looked up at him, feeling unaccountably angry with him. “Would it matter?”
    His eyebrows came together in concern. “Miss Abbott, I sensed earlier today that you believe I’m your enemy. I’m not. I truly want to do what is best for you.”
    “Then why don’t you listen to what I have to say?”
    “About what? Leading a search for your father?”
    “I think it’s possible.”
    He studied her for a