"Winston has got into a bit of trouble at Oxford," Turner murmured, his eyes quickly moving across his mother's words.
"Yes, well, that is to be expected, I imagine."
He looked up at her with an amused expression. "What does that mean?"
"Don't think I never heard about your exploits at university."
He grinned. "I'm much more mature now."
"I should hope so."
He walked over to her and dropped a kiss first on her nose and then on her belly.
"I wish I could have gone to Oxford," she said longingly. "I should have loved to listen to all of those lectures."
"Not all of them. Trust me, some were dismal."
"I still think I would have liked it."
He shrugged. "Perhaps. You're certainly a deuced sight more intelligent than most of the men I knew there."
"After having spent nearly a season in London, I have to say that it is not terribly difficult to be more intelligent than most of the men of the ton."
"Present company excluded, I hope."
She nodded graciously. "Of course."
He shook his head as he moved back to his desk. This was what he loved most about being married to her- these quirky little conversations that filled their days. He sat back down and picked up a document he'd been perusing before she came in. "It looks as if I will need to go to London."
"Now? Is anyone even there?"
"Very few," he admitted. Parliament was not in session, and most of the ton had vacated town for their country homes. "But a good friend of mine is there, and he needs my support for a business venture."
"Would you like me to go with you?"
"There is nothing I would like better, but I will not have you traveling at such a time."
"I feel perfectly healthy."
"And I believe you, but it seems ill-advised to take unnecessary chances. And it must be said- you've become rather…" He cleared his throat. "Unwieldy."
Miranda grimaced. "I wonder what you could possibly have said that might have made me feel less attractive."
His lips twitched, and he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "I won't be gone long. No more than a fortnight, I should think."
"A fortnight?" she said forlornly.
"I'll have at least four days' travel each way. With all the rain recently, the roads will certainly be dreadful."
"I shall miss you."
He paused for a moment before answering, "I shall miss you, too."
At first she did not speak. And then she sighed, a tiny, wistful sound that squeezed around his heart. But then her demeanor changed and she looked a bit more brisk. "I suppose there is plenty to keep me busy," she said with a sigh. "I should like to redecorate the west parlor. The upholstery is dreadfully faded. Perhaps I will invite Olivia for a visit. She is so good at these things."
Turner smiled warmly at her. It gave him great joy that she was coming to love his home as much as he did. "I trust your judgment. You don't need Olivia."
"I should enjoy her company while you're gone, though."
"Then by all means, invite her." He glanced at the clock. "I say, are you hungry? It's well past noon."
She rubbed her stomach absently. "Not too hungry, I think. But I could have a bite or two."
"More than two," he said firmly. "More than three. You're not just eating for yourself now, you know."
Miranda looked ruefully down at her swollen belly. "Believe me, I know."
He stood up and strode over to the door. "I'll run down to the kitchen and get something."
"You could just ring for it."
"No, no, it will be much faster this way."
"But I'm not- " It was too late. He'd already run out the door and couldn't hear her. She smiled to herself as she sat and curved her legs underneath her. No one could doubt Turner's concern for her and the baby's welfare. It was there in the way he fluffed the pillows for her before she crawled into bed, the way he made sure that she ate good, wholesome food, and especially in the way he insisted on putting his ear to her stomach every night to hear the baby moving about.
"I think she kicked!" he would exclaim excitedly.
"It was probably a burp," Miranda had teased him once.
Turner completely missed her humor and raised his head, concern clouding his eyes. "Can they burp in there? Is it normal?"
She let out a soft, indulgent laugh. "I don't know."
"Perhaps I ought to ask the physician."
She took his hand and pulled him up until he was lying by her side. "I'm sure everything is just fine."
"But- "
"If you send for the physician, he is going to think you're insane."
"But- "
"Let's just go to sleep. That's it, hold me. Tighter." She sighed and snuggled up next to him. "There. I can sleep now."
Back in the study, Miranda smiled as she remembered the interchange. A hundred times a day he did similar things, showing her how much he loved her. Didn't he? How could he look at her so tenderly and not love her? Why was she so unsure of his feelings?
Because he never voiced them aloud, she retorted silently. Oh, he complimented her and frequently made comments about how glad he was that he had married her.
It was the most pinpointedly cruel sort of torture, and he had no idea he was committing it. He thought he was being kind and attentive, and he was.
But every time he looked at her, and he smiled in that warm and secret way of his, and she thought- for one breathless second she thought he would lean forward and whisper-
I love you.
– and then every time, when it didn't happen, and he just brushed his lips by her cheek, or tousled her hair, or asked her if she'd enjoyed her bloody pudding, for heaven's sake-
She felt something inside crumpling. A little squeeze, making just a little crease, but all those folds on her heart were adding up, and every day, it seemed a little harder to pretend that her life was precisely how she wished it.
She tried to be patient. The last thing she wanted from him was falsehood. I love you was devastating when there wasn't any feeling behind it.
But she didn't want to think about this. Not right now, not when he was being so sweet and attentive, and she should have been utterly and completely happy.
And she was. Truly. Almost. It was only one tiny little piece of her that kept pushing it way to the fore, and it was getting annoying, really, because she didn't want to waste all her thought and energy thinking about something over which she had no control.
She just wanted to live in the moment, to enjoy her many blessings without having to think about it.
Turner made a timely entrance, striding back into the room and dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Mrs. Hingham says she'll send up a plate of food in a few minutes."
"I told you you shouldn't have bothered to go down," Miranda scolded. "I knew that nothing would be ready."
"If I hadn't gone down myself," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, "I would have had to wait for a maid to come and see what I wanted, then I would have had to wait for her to go down to the kitchens, then I would have had to wait while Mrs. Hingham prepared our food, then- "
Miranda held her hand up. "Enough! I see your point."
"It will arrive more quickly this way." He leaned forward with a devilish grin. "I'm not a patient person."
Neither was she, Miranda thought ruefully.
But her husband, oblivious to her stormy thoughts, merely smiled as he gazed out the window. A light dusting of snow covered the trees.
A footman and a maid slipped into the room, bringing food and setting it up on Turner's desk.