Free Glimmer of Hope by Sarah M. Eden Page B

whatever lifeline was extended. She understood that need, that desperation.
    “Have you been practicing your aristocratic airs?” Miranda asked, stroking his soft cheek.
    A baby gurgle was the reply.
    “Very good. I see you have already acquired a dignified accent.”
    Then Lord Mowbray smiled—a toothless, lopsided smile that stole her heart in an instant.
    “If you continue to flirt so shamelessly with my wife, Lord Mowbray, I shall be forced to call you out.” Carter spoke from directly behind her, looking over her shoulder at the baby in her arms. He stood so close his breath tickled her ear. She could smell his shaving soap—that, at least, hadn’t changed in three years.
    “Is he not absolutely precious?” Miranda rubbed her fingers around the fuzzy baby head.
    “A perfect little pea pod.” Carter gently tapped Lord Mowbray’s nose. “I am his godfather, you know.”
    “Are you?” Miranda turned her head to look at him at the same moment he turned to look at her. They were face-to-face, a mere few inches apart, each breath mingling in the scant air that separated them.
    “I am,” Carter said in an oddly distracted way.
    “How fortunate,” Miranda quietly answered.
    A quirky, uneven smile lit Carter’s face. “Fortunate for me or for Henry?” he asked, his amusement spreading to his voice.
    “For you, of course.” Miranda felt a surge of unaccustomed playfulness. “He may prove a good influence, you know.”
    “I need more good influences, Miranda.”
    Miranda was certain he drew closer, and her voice caught in her throat. His eyes rose to her hair as if pulled there. Miranda froze, waiting, wondering what he was thinking, wondering what he was seeing. He’d always liked her hair. Burnished copper, he’d once called it. Miranda wondered what he thought of it now. She knew her hair had lost much of its luster, just as the rest of her had. But she wanted him to admire it the way he used to.
    Little Lord Mowbray wiggled and whimpered in her arms. Grateful for the distraction, Miranda turned her attention to the baby, rocking and trying to soothe him.
    Carter had probably stared because she’d changed so much, and not for the better. The truth looked her in the mirror every day: she was pale and overly thin, and there had been at least a dozen other unflattering changes. How often had Carter told her she was beautiful during their courtship and the brief happy months of their marriage? He certainly wouldn’t think so now. She blinked away a tear at the thought.
    Her armful apparently felt much the same way. He continued to wriggle and squirm and fuss then slid into full-on crying. Babies did that. Viscountesses did not.
    “It’s time for the little one to eat, Lady Devereaux.” The nursemaid reappeared and held her arms out for the baby.
    Miranda kissed his tiny forehead. “ Bon appetit, mon petit ,” Miranda whispered before relinquishing her bundle.
    “Lady Lili.” Carter bowed to the ebony-haired girl dancing around the nursery with one of her dolls.
    “ Au revoir , Lord Debby . Au revoir , Lady Debby . ”
    “May I come back tomorrow?” Miranda asked the nursemaid.
    “ Bien sûr .” The nursemaid nodded.
    Joy bubbled inside. She had a baby to cuddle and a child to play with for a time. Only yesterday she had decided Carter hadn’t meant to honor his promise. For the first time in years, he’d kept his word to her.
    The realization stopped her at the foot of the stairs. He’d kept his promise. He’d been pleasant and gentle. He’d even flirted with her a little. He’d been Carter again.
    Miranda turned to face him, knowing she was staring but unable to help herself. His coldness during their long separation had at times stolen her very breath. She’d often dreamed of the loving Carter she remembered, only to awaken disappointed and alone. She’d feared he was gone forever.
    “What is it, Miranda?” Carter looked at her, confused, perhaps even a little concerned.
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