He scrabbled for a place to make his stand. Surrender was not his way. He had been raised a duke, even if he should not have been. If the woman was not a slattern, then she was worse, a healer.
Miranda’s true purpose in hiring Katherine became clear to him. He felt the anger swell within him as he realized how she had meant to manipulate him. And he knew the weapon to use against her. “You lied to me.”
She did not deny it. But neither did she show signs of remorse. “I intend to have her as my lady’s maid, but mostly, I want her so that she might help you. She might discover something you or your doctors have missed. Is that so wrong?”
“Yes. I will not be lied to.” He had made it abundantly clear to her more than once that he did not wish to be subjected to a healer’s scrutiny. If Katherine were any good, which was doubtful, she might uncover his secret — that he was healthy and illness-free.
He crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his features into the fierce officer’s scowl he had used with his men. “This tendency of yours to think you know what is best for others, to try to force impossible happy endings upon situations and people who cannot have them is what gets you in trouble. You must stop at once before you hurt someone.”
Or before you are hurt, he wanted to add, but those words would not sway her. For someone who cared so much about creating a happy ending for others, she didn’t give a fig about her own happiness. One of many reasons he had taken the task over himself.
She flashed him a sad, but still triumphant smile. “Then you agree I must leave.”
Again he found himself speechless. She had ambushed him with the skill of a professional. After a moment, he found himself able to utter a strangled, “No — ”
Again she interrupted. “I cannot touch you, I cannot look for ways to cure you — ” her voice cut with scorn — “I cannot even hire a lady’s maid without causing you undue agitation. I believe, if I remain here, I shall shorten your already brief life, just as that fairytale pea shortened the princess’s night’s sleep.”
“I am no princess.”
That, he was relieved to see, provoked a smile from her, despite her agitation. “No, you are not. But I am definitely an irritation.”
He crossed the distance between them before she could react. He closed his fingers on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. He wanted to make sure she understood him. This was not a fair battle, after all. She was his wife, not his enemy. “I crave the irritation you bring me. I’ll never let you leave. Never.”
She touched his chest and whitened. “Simon, your heart.” She tried to push him toward his chair. “You must calm down, this disagreement isn’t good for you.”
He resisted the force of her hands easily. “Agree to stay.” He knew he was using the lie of his health to coerce her, but he didn’t care. Neither life, love, nor war was fair. If she left, his remaining days here would be unbearable.
She reached up and gently touched his cheek. Her fingers were cool and trembled lightly against his skin. “I want you to live, Simon. Is that so terrible?”
He shook his head. “Herbs will make no difference to my fate.” He felt a bittersweet regret that there was no herb to cure bastardy. And no way he would win this battle without concessions. “If you wish her to attend you, she may.”
He wagged his finger sternly, though, with a need to prove he was master in his own home. “But at the first sign that she is interfering in matters of my health, I shall send her packing.”
Relief shone on her face and he felt a curious lightening of the heart to see it. He wondered if he had set a bad precedent, letting her threaten him this way. And then he realized that it would make no difference in a few months. He put his arms around her, determined to indulge her for the short time he could. She leaned her head against his chest, resting against him. He felt the smooth lump of the leather pouch between them. “Katherine will do well enough, you’ll see.”
“Just don’t expect me to become an experiment for every obscure remedy she can concoct.” He caressed the back of her neck. “I want to spend the time with you, like this. Can you understand that?”
She sighed. “I do understand, but — “
He quickly moved to cement his position and distract her from this matter before she had managed to persuade him to physic a body that had no need of it. She was formidable in battle and it would take all his wits to outflank her.
“If we are to introduce you and your sisters to society, we should do so immediately. So you had best see to ensuring that Katherine is adequate to the task of dressing you and putting up your hair. No one is so cruel as the ladies of the court.”
He saw the shadow alight in her expression and cursed the thoughtlessness of his words. She, better than most, had cause to know exactly the measure of that cruelty. Her voice broke as she began, “Perhaps we should wait ... “
“We cannot afford to wait. We will have a house party in mid-June.”
She drew in her breath. “What?” The color drained completely from her skin. He watched in alarm as it bloomed again in her cheeks.
To calm her panic, he added soothingly, “Nothing large, Miranda, just thirty people or so.” The thought seemed to distress her even more, so he added, “My mother can put herself to use in helping you plan the thing.”
A memory came to him, unbidden, of the large summer parties his mother had hosted for his father. She had seemed so beautiful as she drifted through the groups of guests in her flowing pastel gowns; cool, laughing, sneaking bits of pastry and sweetmeats for her son.
That was before he understood that the laughter wasn’t real; it was rehearsed, calculated, cold. That after every weekend party his parents would argue bitterly, and his mother would retreat to her wing for days.
But there was no doubt that these parties had been successful affairs for all but the host and hostess. In fact, it was to her credit that no one realized how much she hated her husband. “She has a great deal of experience. I daresay she could impress Grimthorpe himself.”
Her mouth quirked downward. “Shall we invite him also, then?”
“By all means. We have nothing to hide — or so we shall have them all believing before the weekend is through.”
Her brow wrinkled and he longed to bend and brush it smooth with his lips. “Do you suppose he still has my boots?”
He knew what she feared — that Grimthorpe would somehow brew a new scandal. “It matters little, now. You are my wife.”
“I suppose it is too late to cause trouble with a pair of old boots.” The doubt did not entirely erase from her face.
“No doubt, if he hasn’t already thrown them away, he’s given them to one of his servants.”
She nodded, but he could feel the worry radiating from her.
“The best way to ensure Grimthorpe’s gossip is neutralized is to have you quickly accepted back into society.” Knowing her weaknesses well, he urged, “We must be bold about introducing you. You do not want your sisters to suffer because of rumors and gossip, do you?”
“You are right. We will be bold.” She turned her lips up in a half smile. “Although, perhaps I shall temper my boldness with a touch of wisdom. Katherine, as a former vicar’s wife, has much to teach me about patience.”
She stretched up on the tip of her toes to press a kiss to his lips.
Fortunately, before he could move his arms to her waist and capture her against him, she slipped away. “I must tell Katherine and Betsy the good news.”
“Curing someone who will not even admit the possibility for cure is difficult, Your Grace.” Katherine’s tone was grave, but her color was no longer pale. In fact, her cheeks had already taken on color rather rapidly when she learned what Simon’s objections had been. “I didn’t realize ... in our discussions he made it seem that he wanted someone with experience.” Her mouth twisted with uncharacteristic bitterness. “I should have realized ... everyone thinks such things.”
“I don’t,” Miranda co
mforted her.
Katherine smiled in response. “Thank you for giving me a chance. Ever since my husband died and Betsy and I came back to live with my father, I have known what others suspect of me. I just don’t know how to make them realize it isn’t true. I’ve tried speaking the way they do, dressing the way they do, helping them. But nothing seems to work.”
“What happened to you wasn’t fair. You went out of your way to be kind to others, you deserve to be rewarded like the good kind sister in Mother Holle and be showered with gold. Instead you are showered with pitch, as if you were lazy and unkind.”
Katherine laughed. “It is not so bad. I am paid for healing, and the money helped Da buy a cow and some chickens. We are better off than many. Perhaps that is why the lies persist.”
Miranda understood too well how that might happen. And it was a worry she must overcome before her house was overrun by those who would delight in her social downfall. “Well, Simon now knows the truth. About you, and about my motives for bringing you to work for me. And, as I had feared, he has forbidden you to concoct any tonic for him.”
Katherine pressed her hand against Miranda’s. “I’m sorry.”
“Not that I will let his reluctance stay me — he will die if we do nothing. We shall just have to be cautious.”
“Perhaps we should simply tell him the truth?” Katherine’s voice was gentle, and her sojourn as a vicar’s wife came through clearly. Miranda squirmed under the patient gaze, unwilling to give up any chance that Simon might have.
Betsy stirred and whimpered. The child, unaware of the reprieve she and her mother had been given, lay flushed and still upon a chair. It was perhaps for that reason that Katherine’s hushed tone conveyed so much concern. “Any patient, duke or no, must want to be well.”
Miranda sighed. “I know. But for now, I shall have to do the wishing for Simon. He is beyond influence about his chances for survival.”
Katherine nodded. “He is a lucky man, if only he knew it.” She rose to her feet. “It would help if I knew what ailed him.”
“He will tell me naught. But when we ... “ Miranda broke off, blushing. “When we are close, his heart beats impossibly fast, his breathing becomes labored, and his face becomes quite flushed.”
Katherine searched Miranda’s face. “More so than usual?”
Her face must have revealed her confusion, because when she did not answer, Katherine waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. We shall both watch him from now on. Any unusual behavior, temperament, or daily habits shall be noted down so I may find out what is wrong with him.”
With a tired smile, Katherine scooped her sleeping daughter up into her arms. “I had best get this little one tucked in for her nap.”
“Yes.” Miranda smoothed a stray lock of Betsy’s hair, as she might have done to a sleeping Kate. “You and Betsy have a place here with us from now on.”
Chapter 15
“Less than a month to prepare a house party to reintroduce you to polite society? And I suppose it must be perfect? How very like Simon to set such an absurd standard.”
The dowager sat at a fragile cherrywood writing desk, a pile of invitations in front of her, her quill waving through the air for emphasis as she spoke.
Miranda wondered, not for the first time, if she would be better served to permanently alienate the dowager, rather than attempt a reconciliation between Simon and his mother. She smiled with strained patience. “We certainly have made a good start on it in these last weeks. I thank you for your help, despite the need to do so much so quickly. It’s just that there are considerations ...”
The dowager raised one elegant eyebrow, reminding Miranda uncannily of Simon. “Such as the haste of your marriage? The scandal you fear? Your five younger sisters, two of whom must be brought out quickly and well?”
Miranda thought she had hidden her anger — and astonishment — well, until the dowager continued. “My dear, don’t look surprised. I am very well informed — even if not kept so by my son. And never fear. I am very organized. We shall be the talk of the season.”
She couldn’t help wondering if that would be a good thing or not, but she kept her reservations to herself, and if she somehow let them show on her face, the dowager was mercifully tactful enough not to bring it to her attention again.
In the last few weeks they had planned a menu, entertainment and — most importantly — a guest list. Miranda found herself reluctant to make the decisions and deferred to the dowager on almost all things — where the dowager would allow the decision to be deferred, of course. All that was left to be done was pen the invitations.
“Are you certain you want to include him?” The dowager pointed to Giles Grimthorpe’s neatly penned name.
“Simon thinks it best.” Miranda was annoyed at her own timidity. She had agreed with him, so why hadn’t she said, we think it best? What was it about the dowager that made her feel as if she were back in the schoolroom?
“Yes, I can see his point. He is a relative, after all.”
The dowager brushed the feathered edge of the quill against the underside of her chin. “Still, it makes for an awkward weekend.”
Miranda shrugged her shoulders. “I suspect the entire weekend will be unpleasant.”
“I meant awkward in the sense of where to place his room, and who to seat him near at table, child.” She did not hide her amusement — or her condescension.
“I meant unpleasant in that he — and everyone else — shall be whispering and buzzing about the rumor that something untoward happened between us five years ago and hoping for a scandal. If they even deign to attend.”
“Of course they will attend. The hint of past scandal as well as the curiosity about Simon’s new duchess will ensure that.” The dowager seemed to find that an encouraging fact.
Miranda nodded miserably, trying to maintain the stiff upper lip the dowager so admired at the thought that she would be on exhibit like an ancient ruin for the pleasure of her guests.
The dowager said sharply, “And they will whisper, as well, but you will deal with that.”
“I will do my best.” Of course, her best had not been good enough five years ago. Had she learned enough cloistered at Anderlin, selling candlesticks and jewelry and raising her sisters, to handle London society again? Even with Simon’s protection and in her own home?
She would feel safer back on the street where that awful man had relieved her of Anderlin’s candlesticks and her mother’s necklace. Those things were much less precious than the secrets that she had to guard now from the gossipmongers. How titillating they would find it that the Duke of Kerstone was ill — too ill to make love to his wife. Worse, would the rakes consider her sisters fair game?
As if sensing her concerns, the dowager commented with acerbity, “I trust that you have learned to control your own behavior. Have you spoken to your sisters? It would be unfortunate to have one of them repeat the lesson you have already learned.”
“Yes, I have warned my sisters. But I would prefer to protect them by not exposing them to such potential for predation. I would not mind canceling these plans and never going into ‘polite’ society again.”
The dowager’s disapproval tinged her words with ice. “That is not the attitude of a duchess.”
Miranda acknowledged the rebuke with a sigh. “It has been some time since I was in society, and that was only for a brief part of one season.” And even then she had not coveted the position of duchess, which according to the dowager, required one to never allow any room for evil to been seen or spoken of in connection with oneself.
At times she felt very much like the miller’s daughter, pretending to spin straw into gold and any moment waiting to be found out as a fraud. Only Miranda’s Rumplestiltskin did not want her firstborn son — he wanted her husband’s good name destroyed.
The dowager looked up. Her sharp eyes seemed to pick at the threads of Miranda’s frayed nerves. “When do your sisters arrive? It is a wonderful t
onic to have others to look after.”
Miranda could not help but smile at the thought of the five females due to turn this sedate home into a beehive of activity. “They arrive tomorrow. Though perhaps you will wish them away the day after.”
To Miranda’s surprise, the dowager’s expression grew distant and her lips curved upward slightly. “Five young girls running through these halls. Sinclair would never have countenanced it. He did not value girl children.”
Miranda did not want to encourage the dowager to speak disrespectfully of her dead husband. She found herself all too easily picturing the man as a monster, and that could not be true. “Surely he would have loved a daughter, if you and he had been blessed with more children.”
A brief flicker of pain crossed the dowager’s face. “That would have been a miracle, indeed. More children. Sinclair did not need more children. He had Simon.”
“Did you not ever wish for another child?”
The dowager’s intensity surprised her. “Every day.”
Instantly, as if she regretted her revelation, she shuttered her features and gave a cold smile. “Children running through the house, the gardens, through the kitchens; they would have driven Sinclair to his grave much, much sooner.”
The words shredded Miranda’s anticipation of her sister’s visit. “Do you think they will have an ill effect on Simon?” She had not considered that the noise and flurry of activity that her sisters would bring might be detrimental to Simon’s health.
The dowager knocked the pile of invitations askew with an awkward jerk of her hand, so very different from her normally elegant movements. “He always begged for brothers and sisters when he was small.” She quickly rearranged the stack of invitations until the edges were even and straight. “Now he will have to cope. I’m certain he can.”
[Once Upon a Wedding 01.0] The Fairy Tale Bride Page 16
