CHAPTER EIGHT
It was done. She was married. Standing in the only home she had ever known, her beloved Anderlin, Miranda realized she could no longer call it "home" now that she had wed. She stood quietly for a moment in the corner of the dining hall, amazed at the transformation that Simon's army of newly-hired servants had wrought for their wedding feast. The silver and gold gleamed. Doubt assailed her at the thought that this formidable army of a staff was now hers to command. She hoped she had not made a mistake, marrying a man who did not love or trust her. Truly, what did she know of him? For all she could be certain, beneath the saintly demeanor might lie the heart of a robber bridegroom waiting to chop her up and eat her in a bride stew.
She frowned and walked nearer the mantelpiece. Somehow, candlesticks had been found that matched the ones from the study. The very candlesticks that had been stolen from her in London. She sighed. She had almost put that incident from her mind – Simon was no robber bridegroom, and he would not let her family starve. Valentine had given up his melancholic hibernation to throw himself into new plans to revitalize Anderlin.
"How does it feel to be married?" Hero's smile was shy as she joined her sister in the corner and took her turn surveying the changed room. "To command such an army of servants?"
"At the moment, I confess I feel somewhat numb." Miranda's heart ached at the thought of leaving her sisters, but Hero, at eighteen, and Juliet, at sixteen, were at least old enough to understand what marriage meant. Indeed, they were no doubt dreaming of being married themselves shortly.
What Rosaline, Helena, and little Kate though, she had no notion. They had been kept away from her by Hero and Juliet so that she could finish up the endless fittings and little details that brought her wardrobe and her wedding together in under a week. She had missed them terribly, even though they were just in another part of the house. How much harder would it be when she was gone from Anderlin?
Hero did not smile. She was such a serious child that her anxiety was etched upon her thin face. "How should I address you now that you are a duchess? It seems so strange to think of you that way." She blushed as she realized that her words could be taken as an insult. "I mean ... "
"I know exactly what you mean." Miranda glanced across the room toward the bent head of her husband of less than an hour. "It is odd. A few vows, a simple ceremony, and we are bonded for life. What has always been the ending for our fairytales is, in truth, the beginning of a very different life."
Hero nodded, her eyes flitting around the room, as she whispered, "He is like a fairy godfather, is he not?" When Miranda did not immediately agree, Hero faltered and added softly, "Instead of a godmother, I mean .... "
"In some ways I think he's more in need of a fairy godmother." She thought of Simon's disclosure but said nothing of it to her sister. A wedding day should be joyous.
Hero shook her head soberly. "Oh, he's in no need of that any longer, Miranda. Not now that he has you." A sudden sadness obscured her smile.
Miranda reached over to squeeze her sister's hand.
"But I shall always be the sister you knew. My becoming a duchess changes nothing between us."
Juliet had come up behind them and slipped an arm around Hero's waist for a brief moment, saying, "Except for removing you from our household, of course."
Miranda nodded, once again looking toward Simon. Her heart hammered inside her chest. "I have every confidence in your abilities to manage the household, Hero." She tried to coax a smile out of her by adding, "And I know Juliet will help you as she has always helped me."
Hero, her quiet, bookish sister had a disconcerting gleam in her eye as she laughed. "And since the duke has agreed to give me a Season this year, I daresay you will soon be trying your wings at managing things, too, Juliet."
She found it somehow frightening to think of her younger sisters trying to manage Anderlin, never mind trying to find husbands. For a moment she fought a strong desire to go jump up onto the table and announce that she had made a terrible mistake.
Hero, ever sensitive, leaned over to whisper in her ear, "You look less than happy, Miranda. You should smile more or some will say you are a reluctant bride."
Miranda grimaced and then quickly fixed a smile upon her face as she searched the crowded room for Grimthorpe – who, as a cousin, no matter how distant, had somehow managed to attach himself to a group of wedding guests and insinuate himself into the celebration. He was the only one who might suspect the circumstances of her sudden marriage. "The broken stay has slipped a little and is scratching my side."
Her sister winced in sympathy. "Stubborn contraption. I thought we had it well fixed. Perhaps we can manage to slip away and exchange stays? I don't need the new ones that the duke had made for you. I'll return them."
"No." Miranda shook her head firmly. "I don't know what help Valentine will take from Simon and I'll not have you running the household with a broken stay jabbing your ribs when you move."
Hero hugged her. "You are a thoughtful sister. Thankfully you'll never have to worry about such things again. I'm certain the duke will see that you have as many new stays as you need."
Miranda frowned. "I hadn't thought of that." She sighed. "I suppose a duchess must always wear her stays?"
"Do you really mind?" Juliet looked incredulously around at the remains of the magnificent feast that the duke had supplied. "Think of all your new clothes. I would have chosen my wardrobe already."
Miranda smiled. "I was too busy dreaming of presenting Hero to the new queen. I hadn't even given a thought to how it would feel to be married, never mind how I would dress."
"I daresay you'll be used to it by next year." Hero's hazel eyes danced with mischief. "And then you'll be getting used to motherhood, no doubt."
Miranda blushed scarlet. "Hero. What if the twins or little Kate heard you say such a shocking thing?"
As if on cue, Miranda's youngest sisters crowded around her, exclaiming how beautiful she was, while at the same time preening in the finery that had been hastily stitched for them with no spared expense. It had been years since they had been able to afford silk and satin. The girls had had new dresses once a year, but Miranda had not had a new gown since her London season.
"Miranda," Kate confided sotto voce, "I don't think there's anyone here more beautiful than you." She gazed wistfully at her own pink satin gown, and then added, "Except for me."
Miranda smiled at her sisters, thinking how glad it made her to know that her marriage would assure that each of them would come out properly and find a husband worthy of them.
She looked at Kate, twirling around in her new gown. Except for Kate, perhaps. Kate herself would require an extraordinary man to be a patient husband for her. She looked up with a wistful smile on her face at the thought of Kate grown and married, and found Simon next to her, gazing at her with an unsettling intensity.
"Excuse me, ladies," he said gently as he extracted Miranda from the center of her sisters. "But my wife and I must be on our way home."
Miranda felt a clutch of fear. "Home," she repeated without a smile. Home had always been Anderlin, and now, because of a simple ceremony, a few words, and a ring on her finger, home was no longer Anderlin. It was far away – with Simon.
At one, her sisters' smiles fell. She had prepared them for what would come after the wedding, but she understood their dismay, as she was feeling the same herself. Hero was the first to recover her composure. There was only a hint of moisture in her eyes when she gently kissed Miranda's cheek and pressed a quick embrace upon her. "We're going to miss you."
"Must you go?" Kate asked. She stared at Simon angrily. "Why can't you stay here? Anderlin is the best home that ever was. Who will tell me stories if I you take my Miranda away?"
Hero, stepping almost naturally into the role of eldest sister, chided Kate gently before Miranda could open her mouth. "I will tell you stories, Kate. Don't be a baby."
Kate, disliking the change of command, stared stubbornly at Miranda,
the sister who had mothered her for as long as she could remember. "She can't tell stories like you can. Please don't go."
Simon knelt down until he was at eye level with Kate. "When a man marries, his wife goes to live with him. One day, Kate, you will do the same."
"Never," she declared. "My husband will live here at Anderlin."
Juliet chided her. "Hush silly. Don't you know that Valentine will take a wife and they will live here. You will go with your husband."
Kate, ready to cry, was enfolded gently into Simon's arms and lifted up to face him. "Just because Miranda's home is now my home, little one, doesn't mean that you won't be welcome to visit."
Kate looked at him wide-eyed through her tears. "Will you take me with you?" Miranda was ashamed at her leap of hope that Simon would agree.
Valentine, who had come up beside them in time to hear the last part of the exchange, gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. She relaxed and reached for his hand to give his fingers a return squeeze. He would not let Kate — or any of the others — feel too much loss. He had promised letters and visits.
As if to show her the truth of his words, Valentine held out his arms to his little sister and said, "Kate, you cannot leave me now. First I must learn to run the household without Miranda, and I need your assistance. "
Kate looked doubtfully at him for a moment and then came into his arms with a little sigh. "Very well. But then, I must visit Miranda. After all, you have Hero to help you."
Valentine nodded. "Of course, and Miranda will always be welcome here." He looked at his sister, to emphasize the full implication of his words.
Miranda smiled at him, glad that they were of one mind again. She did not fear that she should need to take up his invitation. But she knew how rare it was for even a loving brother to boldly declare that he would interfere in another man's marriage if his sister asked it of him.
Simon added dryly, as he firmly took Miranda's elbow, "And your family is welcome to visit at any time. Consider our home your own."
Our home. How odd. She smiled at her sisters until they returned smiles of their own, though mere pale imitations of their usual ones.
Simon squeezed her elbow gently, an intimacy that startled her. "Come, my dear. The coach is waiting."
Miranda nodded and followed slowly. It felt strange to have Simon's hand on her arm. And tonight it would be like it had been in the hunter's cottage ... except he would have no reason to pull back from her. He was her husband, now. She looked down at the strong fingers that held her, and felt a soft fluttering inside her. What on earth had she done?
Before entering the carriage, Miranda crushed each of her sisters to her for a final hug. Juliet, who would come out next after Hero and was already well , grown; Hero, who wanted to live up to reputation of the Shakespearean character for whom she was named; the twins, Rosaline and Helena, who had been the despair of their mother when they cut their hair and declared that they did not want to be "silly girls." And Kate of course, the baby who remembered no mother but Miranda.
How would they fare without her? Or she without them? But then, she comforted herself, Simon needed her more than her sisters did for the moment.
"Wait a moment, Kerstone." Valentine was suddenly by her side, looking into her eyes, and she saw the panic she felt mirrored in his eyes. "You will be happy." He enfolded her in his arms as he spoke. "If not, your husband will answer to me."
Valentine's embrace twisted the stay into her side, but Miranda did not protest. "I have not married a robber bridegroom. He will be good to me — and I shall help him get well." She threw her arms about her brother and whispered hastily, "I shall speak to Simon about Emily as soon as I am able, Valentine. And I shall not abandon our family simply because I am now married. I shall find a way to increase our fortunes."
He said sharply, not bothering to whisper, "Emily is beyond me, sister. Please accept that. And about our "fortune", it appears to have turned." Miranda was startled when Valentine grinned broadly. "It seems that one of our investments has paid off at last. I heard from our solicitor late yesterday."
"What? How could you forget to tell me until now?"
Those investments that she had made while he was away had been a nagging source of guilt for her for so long. Miranda breathed deeply as the weight of guilt finally eased.
"I thought you had more important things on your mind." He smiled, and her heart twisted at how easily he was shutting her out of her former life. "It is not great wealth, but it will keep us afloat." He hugged her once, tightly, and released her into Simon's care. "Don't worry about us, Miranda. We'll be fine."
"Of course they will," Simon added. His deep voice sent a shiver up her spine, beginning just at the spot at the small of her back where his hand gently rested. "And none of you need worry about Miranda. I will take good care of her."
Valentine met her eyes and smiled. "And she will take care of you, Kerstone. Won't you, Miranda?"
Would she? Could she? She struggled not to reveal the crushing load of doubt that suddenly oppressed her. Simon's life, not just his future happiness, lay in her hands.
He handed her into the carriage. The vehicle swayed as he followed her inside. To Miranda's surprise, he intended to ride inside with her. Could he be in pain? He seemed healthy enough. Indeed, his presence filled the carriage.
As the cheerful well-wishing of the wedding guests faded into the distance, and the sharp pain of watching her family's faces grow into indistinguishable dots of color dulled, she found herself nervous to have him so near. The intimacy again reminded her of their sojourn in the hunter's cottage — the very reason they were now here as husband and wife.
Wife. She felt a liquid settling in her middle as the word struck her, with all its attendant responsibilities. Not the least of which was the getting of an heir. She owed him that, after all, if he was not to live long. She hoped she would not fail him in such an important task.
"Why are you staring so?" Simon asked her. But there was a smile upon his lips that suggested he knew very well in which direction her thoughts had wandered.
Miranda flushed. "I was wondering if you were feeling well."
His lips tightened in annoyance and then relaxed into a smile as he edged closer toward her. "I am fine. "
Miranda, knowing that she was a coward, whispered, "I feel so tired, I think I shall nap." She closed her eyes upon his amused expression and, to her surprise, found herself waking up hours later.
Her waking position was in Simon's arms and she hastily righted herself, but he did not allow her to edge to the other side of the seat as she would have liked. "Are you still feeling well?" she asked as the carriage jounced over a particularly bumpy portion of the roadway.
"I did not marry you to acquire a nurse." He took her into his arms and his lips began plying small, disturbing kisses against the skin of her neck.
Miranda sat captive, able only to offer token protest. "A wife must worry after her husband's health .... "
"Does that mean satisfying his every need?" His breath was warm on her ear as he spoke.
Miranda tried to keep her mind on the conversation, to stop the strength from sapping from her limbs. "Now that I am your wife, Simon, I must see to your, comfort, your hunger — " She grasped the straw of hope that came to her. "Are you hungry? Should we stop for the basket of delicacies that Cook prepared?"
He laughed low in his throat, and she could feel the vibration to her toes. "We agreed not to stop, except for fresh horses, but to press on so that we could reach home tonight. But I am hungry, wife." His arms seemed to tighten around her infinitesimally.
"Should I unpack the basket here, then?" Miranda pulled away to reach for the wicker container stored under the seat.
Simon pulled her back into his arms. His hands were gentle and warm on her hips as he settled her in his lap. She looked up into his eyes and recognized the passion glowing there. Her own senses ignited.
Feeling as if she was so warm she mu
st burn him wherever she touched, she smiled and held herself still. Was it seemly to remember so vividly what had happened once, by mistake? To want it to happen again? She fought the urge to lean forward and press her lips to his. "If you are hungry, Simon, I must feed you."
Her heart beat harder when he leaned toward her to whisper, "Then kiss me, Miranda, for I am hungry for your touch." His mouth took hers with gentle persuasion, and Miranda found herself more than willing to return the kiss. He did not seem to find her too hot to the touch, no matter how she burned inside, because his hand quickly moved upward from her hip, past her waist, toward her breast, and then slipped into her low bodice.
His other hand left her shoulder and she felt his fingers brushing through her hair, making a tingling, melting sensation flow from her scalp downward. He said softly, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, will you let down your hair for me?"
Dimly understanding that he was asking far more of her than his words suggested, still she could not speak. Her answer was to lift her own oddly heavy arms and begin removing the pins. In a moment, her hair was heavy upon her shoulders and Simon's fingers combed through it freely, every stroke of his fingers vibrating, magnifying inside her.
"What are you doing to me?" She gasped, at last frightened by the intensity of her pleasure. "I cannot breathe. I cannot move."
Simon pulled back for a moment. "Am I crushing you?"
Miranda shook her head, feeling completely unable to express what she was feeling. "No. I just ... the pleasure ... "
His eyes widened as he understood her dilemma, and the smile of male pride mingled with desire might have irritated her if she did not long for his lips upon hers so desperately. "I had thought to suggest cards as a way to spend our traveling time, but if this pastime pleases you more, so be it."
Without quite knowing how, Miranda found herself shifted in such a way that she reclined halfway against the seat, Simon half on his knees, half lightly but firmly atop her. His breathing was harder, but his hands were still gentle. She quickly realized the advantage of their new position as she felt the' shocking heat of one of his hands against her bare thigh, even as the other cupped her neck and his lips brought more heat to hers.
As she daringly tried to imitate his kiss, and darted her tongue between his lips, he groaned softly into her mouth. The hand that cupped her nape slid lower, to her waist and his arm tightened, pressing her closer to him. There was no way she would not burst into flame, but he did not seem to know the danger he was in, and Miranda wondered, as she looked into his glowing eyes, if he felt the same.
A stabbing pain in her side cleared the heated fog of pleasure from her mind in an instant, and Miranda gasped and tried to pull away. Simon's arm tightened, and he murmured a protest.
She stilled instantly, afraid that his arms would increase the pain in her side.
Unaware of the reason for her stillness, he buried his mouth in her neck. "Miranda, you are more than I dared to dream," he whispered, claiming her mouth with his so that she could not explain her plight. She gasped in pain and began to writhe as her broken stay jabbed more deeply into her. Her knees drew up and locked around Simon as she attempted to keep him from tightening his embrace any further.
He broke the kiss for a moment to whisper urgently, "Miranda, my love, we should not hurry this moment. ... " Before she could gather the breath to speak, his mouth was again on hers, gentler now. But still his restraining hands caused the stay to dig deeper and the pain was so unbearable she could not suppress a moan.
Simon answered her moan with a low groan of his own and pulled away to whisper, "You are so beautiful."
"My gown must come off." She gasped, but got no further before his mouth came down more passionately upon hers.
Deciding that she would be better served to struggle with her gown rather than with Simon, Miranda began tearing at the buttons. Miraculously, he began to help, tearing at her clothing until she was afraid the gown would be shredded. In no time, with the both of them working frantically, the laces of the stays were undone.
Suddenly with a sharp cry, she found herself free of the painful broken stay. Simon pulled back from her abruptly. "What is the matter? Have I hurt you?"
Miranda shook her head. "My stay was broken and we have just now disengaged it." She glanced down to see the expanse of herself exposed to his sight and blushed. ''I'm sorry to have behaved in such an unseemly manner."
His expression swept from a puzzled frown to a short laugh. "My God. I thought I had transported you to frenzied passion, and you were merely trying to escape a broken stay. Come, show me the injury."
He examined the abrasion with a worried frown.
"It will heal, but I suspect you'll have a bruise in the morning."
The feel of his hands brought back some of the pleasure Miranda had felt before the pain of her broken stay. She was disappointed when he lifted them away and stared at her accusingly. "I shall have the stay maker shot. These cannot be more than a week old at most."
"Oh, no, that pair was my mother's before it was mine. I should have replaced it years ago." He stared at her uncomprehendingly, his breathing still rough and ragged. "I'm sorry Simon, I thought it would hold until we reached your home. I had it taped .... "
"I thought I told you to have whatever clothing you needed supplied by the milliners I sent from London."
"My sisters needed new stays more than I," she confessed. "I thought to do without for a while longer."
He frowned. "No more taped stays for you." His eyes swept her nude form and then, shockingly, he bent to press his lips where the stay had scraped her skin. His lips were warm. Her heart began a double beat, and every sound and feeling seemed magnified. "Simon — "
"I want you." His lips covered the distance from her bruised side to her breast and he gently took the sensitive tip into his mouth. Impossibly, once again she found herself dizzy from the heat that rushed through her.
She gasped. "I want you, too." Her surprise at her own boldness was quickly lost in the feel of his strong I muscled shoulders, as she allowed her hands to roam his body as his roamed hers.
And then the coach rolled to a stop. They had barely enough time to shield Miranda from the coachman's eyes before the door was flung open. "Welcome home, Your Grace."
***
The Fairy Tale Bride Page 14
