Cinderella’s Wedding Wish

‘Sorry, have you been waiting long?’

Something had flared in Rafe’s eyes as she came down the staircase, but by the time she reached the bottom they were shuttered once more.

‘Not at all,’ he said, as carefully polite as Miranda.

‘I had a call from my grandmother today,’ he said as they went out to find a taxi. ‘She’s invited us down to spend the night this weekend. I couldn’t think of a way to refuse. I feel bad enough about deceiving her as it is. She was so delighted to hear about our supposed engagement.’

‘Do you think we should tell her the truth?’

Rafe made a face. ‘Then her housekeeper would know, and the gardener, and God knows who else. I lose track of everyone who works there. I’m not entirely sure I’d trust Elvira to keep it to herself either,’ he said. ‘She’s not above a good gossip. I think we’d better leave things as they are,’ he decided, looking up and down the street for a cab. ‘She might be disappointed, but she’ll get over it.’

‘I’d like to see Elvira again,’ Miranda said. It was another hot, clammy evening and she lifted the hair from the back of her neck in a vain attempt to cool it. She wouldn’t have this problem if Rafe and Octavia would let her tie her hair up. ‘It’ll be lovely to get out of the city, too,’ she added with a sigh. ‘It’s been so muggy recently. Sometimes I feel as if I can’t breathe.’

‘You’ll be at Whitestones soon,’ Rafe reminded her as he hailed a black cab that had just turned into the square.

‘Yes,’ Miranda agreed, but to her horror she realised she sounded a bit mournful. Quickly she pinned on a bright smile. ‘I can’t wait!’

In the meantime, there was at least the prospect of a weekend in the country to look forward to, and Miranda was ready bright and early on Saturday morning, feeling more cheerful than she had for some time.

Rafe was driving his Ferrari, just as he had the first time they had driven down to Knighton Park. He tossed Miranda’s overnight bag in the boot, slammed it shut and got in beside her.

‘Ready?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘I’m looking forward to getting away from it all, even if it is just for a night.’

The words were barely out of her mouth before her phone beeped to say that she had a text message. The trouble with mobile phones was that you never could entirely get away from it all. Miranda rummaged in her bag as Rafe waited for a bus to pass so that he could turn out of the quietness of the leafy square.

‘It’s Octavia.’ Miranda read the text and sighed. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘What’s up?’

‘She’s in love, but she’s not finding it easy. I had a coffee with her yesterday, and she was in a bad way. Octavia’s used to men being in love with her, but it’s not usually the other way round. She says she’s never felt like this before.’

‘Who’s she in love with?’ asked Rafe, easing into the traffic.

‘Simon.’

‘My Simon?’

‘Well, I’m not sure that’s how he’d choose to describe himself, but, yes, Simon your communications director.’

Rafe whistled soundlessly. ‘He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to appeal to Octavia.’

‘I know, it’s odd, isn’t it?’ said Miranda. ‘He’s always seemed to disapprove of Octavia. Maybe there’s something in opposites attracting after all.’

‘And what does Simon think about Octavia?’

‘Well, that’s the question. Octavia doesn’t know. She’s afraid that he thinks she’s silly and superficial, but there must be more to it than that. They went to the ball together, if you remember.’

‘I didn’t notice them,’ said Rafe with a sidelong glance and a slight emphasis on the last word, and the air between them thrummed suddenly with the memory of the dance they had shared. Miranda could still feel the solidity of his body, the strength of his hands, the tantalising nearness of his throat.

Swallowing, she made herself look away. ‘I think they’d be good together,’ she said, determinedly cheerful. ‘Simon has got the steadiness that Octavia needs, and she’d give him the fun that’s missing in his life.’

Rafe raised his brows. ‘Do you really think Simon is Octavia’s happy ever after?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Miranda. ‘But of course you don’t,’ she went on with just a trace of bitterness ‘You don’t believe in fairy tales, do you?’

‘I just think you should be careful about letting love-or lust-blind you to reality. Simon’s quite a bit older than Octavia. What if she gets bored? What if he realises he’d have been better off with a sensible wife his own age?’

‘What if they don’t?’ she retorted, pressing the reply button on her phone. ‘What if they’ve found the one person who can make them feel complete? What if they’re not going to waste time thinking about all the reasons it might not work, but think about spending the rest of their lives being happy instead?’

Rafe shot her a sidelong look as she began texting. ‘So what are you saying to Octavia?’

‘I think she should tell Simon how she feels.’

‘Bit of a risk, don’t you think?’

‘Sometimes you have to take a risk to get what you really want,’ said Miranda.

‘Sometimes the hard thing is knowing what it is you really want,’ said Rafe.

‘I know what I want,’ she said.

She wanted to be happy. Was that too much to ask? She wanted to be at Whitestones, with someone who would love her just the way she was, not dressed up like a doll every evening. She wanted a man who was utterly necessary to her, and for whom she was utterly necessary in her turn, who wanted to spend his life with her because the thought of not being with her would leave him feeling always incomplete.

Not a man who thought marriage was about practicalities, who could draw up a list of qualities he wanted in a bride and calmly set out to do whatever it took to find her, as if he were picking her out of a catalogue. Not a man whose dancing eyes and seductive smile made it all too easy to forget that his mind was coolly focused on what he wanted, which was absolutely not to live in a derelict cottage with a plain, bossy temp.

It was just as well she had remembered that.

Rafe glanced at her averted profile. ‘Ah, yes,’ he returned. ‘You want the fairy tale.’

There was a note in his voice that Miranda couldn’t quite identify, but which she suspected was mockery, and her chin came up. ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Nothing else will do.’

It had been a warm but overcast day when they set off, but the sky cleared as they drove west and by the time they reached Knighton Park the sun was shining. Elvira opened the door herself, and the dogs rushed out to meet them, barking and squirming with excitement.

Laughing, Miranda bent to greet them as they jumped up, desperate to lick her, or rolled over, begging her to pat their stomachs, tails wagging furiously.

Lucky dogs.

Rafe felt something unlock around his heart as he watched her crouch down to fuss over the dogs. The cool, sophisticated beauty who had been masquerading so effectively as his fiancee was gone, and she was Miranda again. He hadn’t realised until then how much he had missed her.

Elvira was beaming from the steps. Feeling bad about deceiving her, Rafe swept her up in a hug.

‘So, at last you’ve done something sensible,’ she said.

She kissed Miranda, who came up escorted by a swarm of over-excited dogs. ‘Come in, come in,’ she said, leading the way into the vast hall. ‘Lunch is nearly ready.’

She had put the two of them in the same room, she explained as she led the way along to her sitting room. ‘I know what you’re all like,’ she said, oblivious to the look Miranda exchanged with Rafe, ‘so there’s no need for you to creep up and down the corridors, Rafe. I wasn’t born yesterday.’

There was a tiny silence. ‘I’m shocked, Elvira,’ Rafe pretended to joke, playing for time. ‘Whenever I’ve brought girlfriends down in the past, you’ve always insisted on me sleeping in a separate wing!’

‘You weren’t engaged before,’ she told him, as if that changed everything.

Miranda took the dogs for a long walk after lunch while Elvira strolled slowly around the walled garden on her grandson’s arm. Later, she played Scrabble with Miranda, and then Rafe was there to keep her company while Miranda took her time having a shower and changing for the evening.