Unraveled (Turner, #3)

Jeremy simply looked at her fingers. “I have no faith in any such thing.” He pulled away from her and picked up his scissors, turning to the next gown in need of mending with a vengeance.

“If it sets your mind at ease, this man has nothing to do with the Patron,” Miranda said. “In fact, he is about as exactly opposite the Patron as you can get. I’m afraid I might make a fool of myself over him. I’m not even sure he would notice if I did.”

“Oh, Miranda!” The voice came from her left. Miranda jumped, and then let out a sigh of relief as Mrs. Blasseur pushed through the curtain at the very back. Jeremy’s mother was carrying a basket filled with laundry; she set it down on the counter with a resounding thump, and paused to catch her breath. Her hair was tied up in a knot, but strands escaped from it and curled about her cheeks.

Once, those cheeks had been pleasantly plump. But recent illness had stripped Mrs. Blasseur of all excess flesh. Her clothing hung loosely on her too-thin frame. She was pale; her skin had a sickly, bluish cast to it. But her eyes were quick, darting about intelligently, and her smile was warm and welcoming.

“What’s this about making a fool of yourself over a man?”

“Um.” Miranda pressed her lips together.

“I do wish you’d choose Jeremy,” Mrs. Blasseur continued brazenly. “He doesn’t talk of any other girls but you.”

The tips of Jeremy’s ears turned bright red. “Mama.”

“No, truly!” Mrs. Blasseur ignored her son. “I want to see him settled before I—before, well. I don’t have time to be polite any longer.”

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.”