With a whimper of rage, the woman tore at a small leather bag around her neck. Coins clinked in her hand for a moment before they littered the packed dirt at Grimthorpe’s feet. “Keep your coins, then. I’ll have nothing more to do with you.”
Grimthorpe bent with self-conscious grace to sweep the coins into his hand. “I’ll consider this repayment for the use of Atlas.”
His smiled burned fury into Miranda when he said, as if amused, “After all, your brat led me into the scandal of the century — the upright Duke of Kerstone prefers little girls.”
Simon’s fury was apparent to all in the room, judging by the way everyone seemed to shrink from him, including the fool Grimthorpe, who had baited him. “You go too far. These people were distraught about a lost child. They have found her and do not need your insinuating lies.”
The troublemaker’s smile flashed as Simon scowled.
His silvery tone reminded Miranda of the time when a younger Giles Grimthorpe had chided her for being missish. “You should thank me, Kerstone. Once the mothers know of your predilection, they might stop throwing their daughters at your head.” He laughed. “Even Camberley will think twice about allying his daughter with you, dukedom or no.”
Miranda’s breath caught in her throat. Had Simon been planning a marriage with Celine Camberley? She did not want to believe it, even though she knew that she herself did not want to marry any man — not even Simon. To kiss him further perhaps, to feel his hands on her bare arms as she had this evening, those things she wanted. But they only came with marriage — and marriage was too high a price to pay for the dizzying taste and feel of the Duke of Kerstone.
Betsy’s grandfather had had enough. His spare form straightened and he said softly, “Come, daughter. We must get the child home.” He put an arm around the woman’s shaking shoulders and cupped Betsy’s chin in his hand to give her a reassuring smile. The child did not seem to notice the sad cast to her grandfather’s expression, for she beamed at him with all the brightness she had shown earlier in the evening.
Miranda vowed to herself to stop in and make certain that Betsy and her mother were not harmed by this night’s events. Perhaps some of the fruits of Anderlin’s gardens would be welcome to mother, daughter, and grandfather.
A moment more and she would be free, she hoped. And then Betsy said, “I want to say good-bye to your wife, Your Grace.”
Simon could not fault the child for her wish. Miranda had treated her with kindness and it was natural to want to say goodbye. Still, as the room fell silent, every eye upon him, the quiet hope that, for once, Fate would be thwarted, died. He wished he had thought to stuff an apple slice in the child’s mouth, while he was hiding all other evidence of Miranda’s presence. But, truly, what could he have expected? He had heard Fate laughing.
Grimthorpe’s eyebrow raised. “Have you married since I saw you this afternoon, Kerstone?”
Simon tensed. Under no circumstance would he allow Miranda and Grimthorpe to meet. Not here. Not like this. “No.”
Not content with his answer, Grimthorpe turned to Betsy and asked with a charming mockery of a smile, “Just what does the Duchess of Kerstone look like, child?”
“She’s beautiful and kind,” Betsy said with a hint of belligerence.
“Of course. But I must know if she’s fair or dark.” Betsy remained obstinately mute, for which Simon blessed her. He would need to marry Miranda, now, of course. But he would prefer that no one know for a certainty that she was with him tonight. Inexplicably, even as he focused on protecting her from humiliation, his thoughts raced ahead to marrying her. There was not a trace of regret, despite the shambles it made of his careful plans.
Grimthorpe coaxed with false sweetness, his gaze trained on Simon. “Perhaps I know her — the lovely new Duchess of Kerstone that we knew nothing about ....” His glance slid to Betsy, who was saying nothing further. Giving up on the child, he turned his attention back to Simon.
“How long were you planning to keep this marvelous news a secret? How interesting the ton will find this, Kerstone.”
All Simon’s concentration focused on removing this man from the cottage so that he could be alone with Miranda. Her naivety was such that he could not be sure she understood the implication of their predicament. “The child needs to go home. She is tired.”
As if set in motion by his words, the villagers quickly nodded respectfully to Simon and filed out of the cottage. Grimthorpe did not.
The cottage was eerily silent with just the three them. Poking idly at the basket of food, at the blankets, Grimthorpe suddenly bent over and plucked up Miranda’s boots. “Care to tell me whose feet these boots might grace?”
Simon said nothing, his jaw tensed with anger. For a moment he considered simply confessing all — he was going to marry her, after all — though his preference was to tear Grimthorpe’s head from his shoulders.
Miranda lay frozen in the loft, realizing that she could be discovered at any moment. The thought of the consequences of discovery for her did not distress her as much as she knew they should — it was Simon whose reputation she feared tarnishing.
“Well, since they’re certainly not yours, and there is no one about ...” Grimthorpe pointedly stared at the loft. With a triumphant glance at Simon’s booted feet, he tucked Miranda’s boots under his arm. “I expect these were left by some previous occupant?”
Simon shrugged in response to the other man’s inquiring glance, and reached out for the boots.
Grimthorpe smiled, bringing them more tightly into his grasp. “Never mind, old man. I found them. I shall make it my business to return them forthwith as soon as I locate the owner.”
Before Simon could react, Grimthorpe was gone. Even though he left without checking the loft, even though the sound of Atlas’s hooves was clear as he rode away, Miranda hesitated to move.
Simon said, with — unbelievably — the faintest of laughter, “Come down Miss Fenster. He is gone with your boots, I’m afraid. I suppose this might well teach me not to dare Fate.” He sighed. “Oddly enough, I am pleased you will be my Duchess.” As she scrambled down from the loft, ready to protest, she thought that he added, faintly, “for as long as I live.” Miranda was too disturbed by the beginning of his sentence to worry about the oddity of the latter half.
Walking home barefoot — with one turned ankle — took quite a while. Dawn had been well broken before she arrived at Anderlin, soaked to the skin and furious with the sanctimonious Duke of Kerstone. At least she had retained her dignity by refusing to allow him to sweep her up into his arms again. She wished she could have persuaded him that she required no escort on her walk. Instead, she satisfied herself by refusing to speak to him.
At the edge of the wood, she stopped and made her position clear one final time. “I must insist you accept that I will not be your wife.” She looked up into his rain-slick face and said quietly, “I am honored that you think my reputation worth the protection of your name, but I assure you that I am no Rapunzel trapped in a tower of shame, in need of rescue.”
“You do not understand these matters, Miss Fenster.” He moved as if toward Anderlin, and Miranda let out a cry of sheer panic that stopped him. Impatiently, he explained, “I must discuss this with your brother.”
“My brother? The very man whose elopement you prevented just two days ago? Do you think he will greet you with open arms when you tell him you have spent the night with his sister?” She tried to put scorn and disbelief in her voice, but truthfully, she did not know if Valentine would even acknowledge the duke’s words — perhaps not even the duke himself.
Her brother, the last time she’d seen him, had been dead of heart, dead of soul, and beyond communicating even rage or heartbreak.
“You are so certain your brother is honorable, yet you doubt that he would do the right thing if he were to know the circumstances of our evening together?” He reached out and brought her to him, surrounding her with his unyielding arms.
&
nbsp; “Do you love me, then?” She barely dared believe she had uttered the word, but she could not breathe in the space between the question and his answer.
He appeared as startled as she, and then pressed his lips together as he shook his head.
“Do you trust me enough to let me see what you have in that leather pouch?” Again, she knew she dared much. He did not love her, though. Could he trust her?
“Don’t be foolish,” he said brusquely. “It is business, not meant for a woman’s eyes.” And then, to her surprise, he whispered, “We will suit, Miranda. I am sure of it. Marry me.”
She bristled. “What does that mean? Suit? Do you think to order me to do what you wish me to do? Think what you wish me to think? Share nothing of yourself with me?”
He smiled and nuzzled her ear briefly, then pulled away to look into her eyes. “Think of it, Miss Fenster — wed, we could do as we please without cost to your reputation.”
She searched his gaze as her pulse beat in her temples. Marriage ... no. The price was too high. “The thought is tempting,” she answered him honestly. If only she knew she could be a duchess he might trust, he might one day come to love. But that was unlikely. Her talents lay in creating mayhem out of order rather than the reverse.
His arms tightened around her.
She pushed at his chest. “I’m sorry. I know I would regret it within the year.”
His arms dropped away, leaving her exposed to the cold dawn. His entire expression shuttered closed, as did his eyes. “Within six months is more accurate, I fear.” He gave a small harsh laugh. “You are right. If we can avoid this, it would be best for both of us.”
Miranda smiled, though she was not truly inclined to do so. “There, you see, we can just pretend that this never happened. Grimthorpe may have my boots, but he does not have my name, nor my description.”
He opened his eyes and his gaze lingered on her face until she felt herself flush with heat, despite the morning chill. She wondered if he was beginning to realize just how unsuitable she was as a candidate for his duchess. With a shake of his head, he said, “Should Grimthorpe tease out the truth, we will marry.”
Miranda shook her head. “You will see. He will never discover that I own those boots.” She grinned. “Prince Charming had to scour the land for his Cinder Ella. I doubt Grimthorpe has the interest to search quite so long and hard for a woman he does not love. And you must admit he is as far from charming as one can be.”
Simon did not manage a smile, only a solemn nod. “On that we can agree.”
He seemed to want to say something else, but she sensed the danger that he might take her in his arms again. She did not think she could withstand the temptation a second time. She ignored the pain in her ankle and hobbled away as quickly as she could toward Anderlin and the safety of her family.
Not even her injury could drive away the thoughts of him, of last night when he had kissed her, when his fingers had gently traced the scars on her back. Perhaps she should have agreed to marry him. Surely then he would have had to help Valentine and Emily. But no, perhaps on the physical level they suited very well, but he was too eager to take control of her life for her own peace of mind. As her father and mother — as Grimthorpe himself had learned once upon a time — she was not willing to be forced into being or doing something against her will.
She let herself silently into the kitchen at Anderlin and made her way down the darkened hallways to the study. The door was locked; faint flickers of fading firelight showed infrequently under the door jamb. She knocked softly but received no response. She pressed her ear against the door, suddenly afraid that Valentine had taken his own life. But then she heard the sound of shattering glass and a muttered round of unintelligible curses.
She decided to take it for a good sign. After all, he had not spoken two words together since he came home in disgrace, his elopement forestalled. Perhaps tomorrow he would be able to deal with the problem of their dwindling finances.
Not really believing that possible, Miranda decided she would settle for his taking breakfast and shaving as a sign that he might soon return to a semblance of his normal personality. If not, she would have to do something about their finances herself — again. She closed her eyes, leaning fully against the door as she remembered warm lips covering her own. But, despite that memory and the problems of her family’s finances, marrying the Duke of Kerstone was not in her plans.
Chapter 5
Miranda took the bundle from deep within her cedar chest. It was wrinkled and gray, and as she removed the items that had been rolled within it and fruitlessly tried to shake the wrinkles from the cloth, a smell of stale grease surrounded her.
“Are you sure you should go?” her younger sister, Hero, asked, hazel eyes reflecting her worry even as her nose wrinkled in distaste at the odor.
“Yes.” She had hoped never to have to wear it again. “Valentine is being stubborn. He insists that he will find a way to keep Anderlin afloat.”
“Perhaps he will.” There was little confidence in Hero’s voice.
Miranda was tempted to shelter her younger sister, but she could not. Hero was the next oldest after Miranda and Valentine, and she must be prepared to shoulder the responsibility of the younger girls while Miranda was gone. “He is coming around from his disappointment. But not fast enough. He has not stirred from the study in two days, except to bathe and shave.”
Hero protested. “If you give him just a little more time, Miranda — “
“We’ve barely any flour left, and the vegetable garden will not produce enough for eight people this month,” Miranda interrupted, trying not to breathe too deeply, as she donned the wrinkled gray gown over her own plain blue, giving her figure a bulkier look. “Help me with this, please, Hero.” She turned away from her sister’s stricken look and quickly tied the hideous yellowed linen cap onto her head so that it hid every lock of hair.
As she had in previous trips, Miranda took two balls of spun wool and stuffed them into the sagging bodice of the gown until it was rounded and taut. One glance in the mirror convinced her that no one would recognize her. But the final coup de grace was the pair of padded bags that she tied under her skirts. Before she tightened each bag’s drawstring, she inserted two carefully wrapped sets of silver candlesticks and the glittering ruby neckpiece that had been her mother’s prized possession.
“Oh, Miranda.” Hero took the necklace from Miranda’s hands and unwrapped it from the velvet cloth that protected it. “Must you pawn Mother’s necklace? She left it to you to wear when you are married and give balls of your own.”
It was truly a work of art, with its intricate working of diamond-eyed gold swans, each with its neck curled gracefully around a ruby the size of Miranda’s thumb pad.
The jewels themselves held no dazzle for her. It was the memories that the piece conjured for her — her mother, dressed for a ball in a beautiful gown sweeping down the staircase at Anderlin under the awed gazes of her children.
Miranda sighed. “Well, I have no better use for these jewels, Hero, than putting food on the table. I’m afraid Mother would be disappointed, but I don’t believe I’ll ever marry. Like the girl in the tale who would do anything to release her brothers from the evil spell that has turned them into swans — ” she ran her finger over the swans, feeling the hard smooth swell of the jewels under her fingertips — “I would give up anything for my family.” She smiled at her sister and gave her an impulsive hug.
Hero’s eyes shone with hope. “Perhaps the duke will come for you like Cinder Ella’s prince. You’d make a better Cinder Ella than swan princess.”
Miranda frowned. “It’s Grimthorpe who has my “slippers”, Hero, not the duke.” She shuddered. “And I pray that he never finds out that they belong to me.”
Hero laughed. “That would certainly change the way you told Cinder Ella’s tale. You’d have one of the stepsisters fit into the boots, then, wouldn’t you? Still, you’d be a marvelous duchess, even
without boots. Wouldn’t Mama just be delighted if she could look down and see her daughter a duchess?”
Miranda’s smile died on her lips as she thought of her mother looking down from heaven. What would Mama have had to say about Miranda’s folly? She had allowed the Duke of Kerstone unforgivable liberties.
Worse, in her own mind, as she was sure it would be in her mother’s were she alive, Miranda had desired his kisses, his caresses. Silently she answered the question he had not made her answer that night. Yes. She would have allowed him to make love to her if they had not discovered Betsy in the loft. Indeed, she ached at the thought of what she had missed.
She knew with certainty that were he to climb into her bedroom window, like Rapunzel’s love, she would give herself to him without hesitation. It was only marriage she didn’t want.
What kind of a wanton was she to feel that way? If Grimthorpe had discovered her, her escapade would have afforded a week’s worth of scandalous gossip in London. Miranda herself might have been completely ruined, but she gave little credit to that.
It was his reputation that concerned her. The Dukes of Kerstone had been above reproach since the title was conferred — before that even, when they were mere earls. Should the duke be made a mockery of for a situation not of his own making?
True, it would be a minor blot, nothing like the shame attached to her. But Miranda had been in London briefly. She knew the avid joy with which this piece of news would be passed from vicious tongue to jaded ear. No one was more mocked than a fallen saint. And no one deserved that mockery less than the duke.
Putting those thoughts aside, Miranda briskly hugged Hero and pushed her out the door. “Please make sure there is no one in the kitchen to see me slip away.” She added, hoping to vanquish the odd stare her sister had given her as she turned away and headed down the stairs, “I have no wish to marry, Hero. Truly I do not. Not even the Duke of Kerstone, as much as I admire him.”
[Once Upon a Wedding 01.0] The Fairy Tale Bride Page 6
