Unraveled (Turner #3)(24)

Jeremy put his head in his hands. It didn’t hide the mortified scarlet of his cheeks.

“I think he’s in love with you,” Mrs. Blasseur continued sincerely. “He’s a good boy. He’d do anything for you.”

Jeremy peered at her through his fingers and grimaced in silent apology. He was most definitely not in love with Miranda; in fact, Jeremy was very much in love with someone else, and he’d thank her not to mention the matter to his mother, of all people.

“Mama,” Jeremy muttered, “I know you want everything to be settled before…well, soon at any rate. But Miranda has nothing to do with this. I’m not in love with her.”

“Am I meddling too much? I’m meddling too much. But, Jeremy…”

It was impossible to dislike the woman, no matter how interfering she seemed. She’d been afflicted by consumption for over a year. She was so thin now; her breath had grown labored.

A wealthy family might have taken her to the seaside, in hopes that gentler weather would allow her to recuperate. But Mrs. Blasseur stayed in the depths of Bristol, breathing coal-smoke all day. She kept to her daily tasks, doing laundry and tending the shop when she should have been in bed. Only her strength of will kept her going.

By the way she doubled over with the next cough, even her will couldn’t overcome her body.

“I’m not in love with Miranda,” Jeremy repeated. “Besides, she’s going to meet a man just now. I’m happy for her. Really.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Blasseur’s face fell. Then she turned to Miranda and impulsively took her hand. “But you’d give him up, wouldn’t you? Whoever you’re seeing. I’m sorry. I haven’t time to be tactful any longer. You would make a lovely daughter, Miranda.” Mrs. Blasseur sighed. “Wishful thinking, I suppose. I’m that hard up for help with the laundry.”

Miranda couldn’t help but smile. “My thanks, Mrs. Blasseur. But you persist in this notion that I’m a nice girl, and we all know I was raised by actors.”

The older woman pulled a towel from the basket and snapped it straight before folding it. “Well, that hardly signifies,” she said. “You’d fit right in. After all, Jeremy was raised by monkeys.”

“Mama!”

“At least I assume that to be the case.” She folded the fabric in her hands, and then reached into the basket once more. “He surely didn’t acquire his manners from me.”

“He’s a nice boy.”

“I suppose.” His mother frowned. “Still, there was that one time, when he got snails and—”

“Mother, please.” Jeremy waved a hand. “I was three.”

“Proper disclosure, dear. I wouldn’t want a daughter-in-law claiming I brought her in under false pretenses. She’d find out the truth soon enough.”

As she spoke, she doubled over and coughed once more. Miranda met Jeremy’s eyes over her bent form. He looked absolutely stricken. He reached one hand out to her.

But Mrs. Blasseur straightened before he touched her. She tucked away the handkerchief she’d whisked out. And before Miranda could venture to ask if she needed assistance, she delivered a sunny smile. “I suppose there’s this to say for Jeremy: he’ll never do anything wrong.”

“No,” Jeremy said, setting his jaw. “I won’t.”

“And that,” Mrs. Blasseur said, thumping him on the collar, “is why Miranda is meeting another man. You’re neat and tidy and orderly, and you never cause me any problems. But…you’re neat and tidy and orderly, and you never cause anyone problems. Women want men with problems. We need something to fix.”

There was not the least chance that Jeremy would fall in love with her, nor she with him. He met her eyes in quiet apology. Miranda shook her head. No need for him to be sorry. It was heartbreaking to watch Mrs. Blasseur fade away. All that exuberant wit and energy and charm seemed to compress in these final weeks. For all her physical weakness, she radiated frustration. She was leaving her life incomplete, too many things undone.

“Leave off Miranda,” Jeremy said, his voice weary. “Or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Mrs. Blasseur’s fingers slid across the counter. She took the lace that Jeremy had just mended from his hands, scanning it with a practiced eye. Mrs. Blasseur always wanted to fix everything. She found nothing to quibble about, though, and laid it aside.

“I haven’t got forever,” Mrs. Blasseur said. “You’d best act quickly. You know what will happen if I have to take matters into my own hands.”

Jeremy set his jaw.

Miranda couldn’t imagine how intensely frustrating it would be for Mrs. Blasseur, to have all of her thwarted ambition run aground on something as impossible as her own mortality.

But Jeremy simply shook his head. “It won’t be happening,” he said. “Not even to please you. And besides, I think Miranda has an appointment with a man.” He gave her a shrug.

It was not just apology she saw in his eyes. Sorrow, resignation, bitterness, and more than a little anger. His father had died years before; his mother had practically raised him. Jeremy had watched her die for close to a year. No wonder he was bitter.

She reached out to him, but he jerked away. “You’d best be off, Miranda, unless you plan to be late.”