“He seems to be looking forward to seeing them again.”
The dowager touched the edge of one invitation. “Your sisters will need gowns and all the necessities. Simon has not overlooked that detail, has he?”
“No, indeed,” Miranda laughed. “The girls arrive tomorrow and the modiste arrives the day after. Simon says she and her seamstresses are not to leave until my sisters are completely outfitted.”
“It is a shame he will not be here to run Kerstone. He has a natural talent for the job.”
Miranda sat silent, unsure how to respond to the unexpected emotion. When their eyes met, they held for a moment. Miranda felt compelled to reach out and pat the other woman’s arm.
The dowager’s eyes widened slightly and she regained her composure with a prim frown, but her hand came up to give Miranda’s a quick squeeze. “He is even better at it than Sinclair was, and though I despised the man, he was a good overlord to his estates.”
She was silent for a moment, as if contemplating the possibility. “Of course, he would never have thought of arranging for the outfitting of females.” She sighed. “It is a pity that my son is depriving Kerstone of his leadership.”
Miranda felt the wall rise up between them again, just when she had felt that she’d removed a stone or two. The dowager seemed to blame Simon for his illness. “He has no choice.”
Haughty condescension was back in place, as if there had not been any vulnerable emotion moments ago. “You think not?”
“Perhaps he could make some attempts to treat his symptoms, but it is the mark of his care for his responsibilities that he tries to ensure everyone else will be taken care of when he is gone.” Miranda blinked back tears at the thought. “That is why he is working hard to train Arthur — ”
The dowager’s eyebrows lifted quizzically. “Yes, he is working diligently at making a man of that meek mouse. You seem an intelligent girl. Isn’t it obvious to you that he is wasting his efforts? He would be better served to train a manager to manage Arthur than to try to train Arthur to manage anything but his precious library.”
Miranda was inclined to agree, but loyalty prevented her. “Arthur works very hard to learn what Simon must teach him about running the estates.”
The dowager conceded the point. “It is only too unfortunate that he does not have more of the warrior and less of the chivalrous nature of his namesake about him. I suppose, though, that he is the best that Simon can do.”
“What do you mean?”
“He scoured the country for any and all Watterly cousins.” She crumpled an invitation on which she had evidently made a blot. “Of course, they do seem to be a feeble lot.”
Miranda’s curiosity was piqued. Simon had refused to talk about his difficult search for heirs. “Did you know any of the other heirs?”
“No. None actually arrived here. One died en route in a carriage accident, and two succumbed to the grippe just before Simon’s agent located them. He was quite put out.” She looked at Miranda austerely.
“How odd that they should die so conveniently.”
“I believe Simon hired an enquiry agent to make certain there was no sign of foul play.”
Miranda wondered if she should confess to the dowager that not only had Simon set an enquiry agent to look into the deaths of his distant cousins, but she had sent an enquiry agent to find out whether Simon’s brother Peter might actually have left an unknown wife and child behind.
She decided against it, after a moment’s consideration. After all, it had been weeks with no word from the man. There was no point in getting anyone’s hopes up for such an unlikely possibility.
But from every evidence she could see, Arthur himself was not thrilled with his own status of heir. His somewhat endearingly direct comments about children and the patter of little feet bordered on begging Miranda to give birth to a houseful of heirs for Simon.
She had found that he enjoyed collecting old manuscripts. She could imagine his relief if a son was born to Simon. He would be back to his books and his dusty library before the babe’s first cry echoed in the portrait gallery. But babes were not conceived by husbands and wives who did not make love.
With a sigh, she crumpled the invitation she had just ruined with a careless blot of her pen. She closed her eyes and listened to the scratch of the dowager’s pen against parchment.
Resolutely, she cleared her head of thoughts she could do nothing about and began writing again in a careful, flowing script her mother would have exclaimed with pride over. Duchess of Kerstone. Yes, her mother would have been pleased.
She thought of the life her sisters would bring to this austere home tomorrow. Swift upon the heels of that thought was the worry that Simon’s health would be adversely affected. Well, then, Katherine and she would need to be even more observant than they had been. Not that there had been much to discover.
She wondered if Simon had tried the tea she had brought him this morning. The brew had smelled quite awful even with the lemon and sugar they had to add to make the odor more inviting, but Katherine thought it might help.
Try as she might to see Simon’s point of view, she could not see the harm in drinking a cup of herbal tea. But his warning still rang in her ears — he did not want to be dosed.
When he had raised an eyebrow at the tea, she had forced herself to lie and say that Cook had over brewed it. She wondered if he had believed her. At least, if he had not, he made no protest. She took comfort in that small victory.
“There is a gentleman to see you, Your Grace.”
Dome could not hide his disapproval — or, Miranda speculated, he chose not to hide it.
“May I see his card?” Miranda held out her hand.
“I’m afraid he has none, Your Grace.” Dome paused, his face impassive except for the twitch of his nostrils. “He is an ... American.”
“Oh.” Miranda smiled, intrigued. “I have never met an American. Send him in, then.”
The man who followed Dome into the parlor stopped short at the sight of Miranda. He was tall and had a full head of gray hair. His manner of dress could only be called rustic and appeared to have suffered from a great deal of travel and little care. She supposed that Americans did not have valets.
His face called some recognition from deep within her, but she could not place it. Certainly, she had never met an American before today. The sight of his lined and sun-chapped skin seemed romantic to her. Americans were little more than ruffians and barbarians, but that had its own charm.
He stared in disbelief at her for a long moment until she became uncomfortably aware of the danger of ruffians and barbarians, despite the romance of their hard lives. “How may I help you, sir?”
His voice was rough and his accent uncultivated when he grated out, “There must be some mistake. I want the Duchess of Kerstone.”
Feeling like a schoolgirl caught in her mother’s finery, Miranda protested with absurd formality. “I am Miranda Watterly, the Duchess of Kerstone.”
He paled. For a moment she thought the big American barbarian would collapse to her carpet in a dead faint.
She hastened to add, “I am married to the present duke, Simon Watterly. Perhaps you were expecting his mother, the dowager duchess?”
His mouth twitched slightly as he regained his color. “Dowager? What an extraordinary thought. Don’t expect it appeals to her.”
That comment alone convinced Miranda that he was indeed an acquaintance of the dowager. “Would you like me to let her know you are here?”
“Please.” He stood there, saying no more, a slight frown etching the lines deeper into his face.
She had to wonder if his extraordinary lack of certainty could be attributed to his being American, or was from some great emotion. “And your name, Mr. — ?”
“Watson.” He hesitated. “She might not remember me. Tell her that I have come to apologize for an injury I did her in her youth.”
Hesitating a bit more, he added, “Perhaps I sh
ould give her a note, or she might refuse to see me.”
Considering the injury had been done in her youth, and the lines on the American’s face were deep, Miranda nodded. “That might be wise.” She wondered if he had been a handsome young man, before time and trials had etched his face older than his years. Would the dowager even recognize him?
She settled the American in the parlor, rang for tea, and stepped into the hallway to dispatch a servant to carry Mr. Watson’s note to the dowager, who was taking her daily walk in the garden.
She hoped seeing the two together would explain the man’s hesitation. An American. How had the dowager met him? Before she could spin a romantic tale for them, however, Simon touched her shoulder.
“A carriage is approaching.” He was smiling at her, and his hand dropped to linger at her waist.
For a moment she was startled at his intimate gesture and then the import of his words hit her. Her sisters! All thoughts of the dowager and her American were pushed away. Her sisters were here. At last she would see Valentine and know if he had truly given up on Emily.
Chapter 16
As they watched the carriage approach up the drive, Miranda’s eyes sparkled up at Simon like fine sherry. Thinking of how small and forced her smiles had been of late, he realized just what he had wrought with his impatient need to possess her. He wanted desperately to lift her up and bury his face in her neck, where the scent of her was strong and sweet, and apologize for his unmeant cruelty.
He had not considered how full her life had been with family — or how empty of friends his home was. Katherine was somewhat of a confidante, but she was a servant. And he could not understand how Miranda tolerated his mother, never mind enjoyed her company.
Having her sisters underfoot would be a relief to both of them. She would have them to keep her distracted from concentrating on his false illness, and he would have more than enough chaperones.
“Miranda! Your house is even nicer than Anderlin. I want to live here.” Kate burst from the carriage before it had even rolled to a complete stop. He could not help his own smile as he hurried to catch the irrepressible elf in mid-flight and hand her to her happy sister.
“Kate! You could have injured yourself.” Miranda stood by the carriage, Kate clasped against her side to prevent her from darting into the path of the team as it came to a halt with a jingle of harnesses. The coachman opened the door formally for the remainder of her sisters to dismount more sedately, and Simon went to offer his hand.
The courtyard itself seemed electrified by the presence of the girls. Even the coachman, a thin-faced, normally somber man, was smiling broadly, albeit a little dazedly. He was not used to the constant high pitched chatter of excited young persons of the female persuasion. Simon found himself overwhelmed with tales of the trip and the inns and food where they had stopped.
He watched Miranda, choked with emotion at her sisters tumbling from the carriage in bright flounces of skirts and even brighter smiles. She could not speak. He suspected she was close to breaking down into outright sobs. Her hands on Kate were tight, as if she might never let her go — until the little girl broke away to feed a carrot from her pocket to the lead horse.
Simon allowed his arm to encircle his wife’s waist as she, with tears in her eyes, embraced Hero. He saw similar tears in her sister’s eyes and realized how much he had missed by never knowing his own brother.
The sisters hugged each other tightly. Miranda’s voice was husky as she said, “It is so good to see you looking well.”
“And you, as well.” Hero smiled through her tears, blinking away the moisture until her gaze was focused on her sister. “I have missed you. How do you fare as Duchess of Kerstone?”
The question was pointed and Simon hurried to answer, fearing that Miranda would be too honest. “Your sister is the most gracious duchess we have ever known. I, for one, cannot think there is one more qualified for the position. And I would not change one thing about our last few weeks.”
Miranda, on the verge of speaking, looked up at him in surprise. Her lips were turned up in a teasing smile as she asked, “Not one thing?” But her eyes were serious.
Fortunately, at that moment Juliet bubbled up to her. “Oh, Miranda, the duke’s coach is just the thing. We traveled in the lap of luxury. You would not believe how comfortable the ride was, compared to our old carriage that Father should have had re-sprung years ago.”
She looked up at Simon with a flirtatious flip of her lashes that made him want to shout with laughter. But then, her eyes widened as she realized what she had said and the color left her face, “I did not mean ... “
Miranda smiled. “Of course you didn’t, Juliet. No doubt, if Papa and Mama had survived their carriage accident, Papa would have seen to the carriage. But that is neither here nor there. Are you well? How do things fare at Anderlin?” She looked toward the abandoned carriage with a little frown line on her brow.
“Anderlin does well, as do we all.” Hero smiled with a hint of pride and confidence. Simon was gratified to see it. He had not hurt the family by taking Miranda away, at least.
Noticing her sister’s contemplation of the carriage, Juliet’s hazel eyes sparkled as she added, “And Valentine sends his regrets that he was unable to accompany us, but his business ventures are doing so well that he must go into London first.”
“Oh. I’m glad to hear he’s doing so well.” Miranda could not hide her disappointment, though. Simon knew how much she had looked forward to seeing her brother again.
He pressed his palm firmly against the small of her back in sympathy, and she glanced at him, clearly aware for the first time that he was not behaving with his normal reticence. He addressed her sisters. “Your sister and I have a surprise for you. And your brother will be astonished when he arrives — he won’t recognize any of you.”
Miranda smiled. With visible effort, she put aside her worries and addressed her sisters. “Yes, indeed. Are you ready to be poked, prodded, and pinned until you are veritable fashion plates?” Halfway through her speech, he heard the excitement and pleasure return to her voice.
There was a cheerful chorus of assent. She turned to him with a worried frown, “They do add a bit of liveliness, don’t they? If you think the uproar will be too much for you — ”
For the hundredth time, Simon damned his ‘illness’. “Not at all. The look on your face is worth every bit of inconsequential chatter and feminine foible. Perhaps they might even chase my mother away.” He realized then, that his mother had not shown herself to greet the guests. “Where is she? Waiting to greet everyone formally like the dowager dragon she is?”
Miranda flashed him a guilty-innocent smile that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. “I think she has an unexpected guest of her own.”
“A guest?”
“An American.”
That was interesting — and called for further investigation, without Miranda’s involvement. “Well, I’m glad she’s not here to put a chill on all this warm chatter.”
“Perhaps it would be better for you if she did, though. I could not bear the thought of you becoming ill because — ”
He bent to kiss her, once, quickly, just as they all began to ascend the stairs. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll enjoy being a brother for the first time.” A little flicker of hope kindled in her startled eyes. And then Kate pulled on her arm, demanding to be shown her room.
He smiled. Her sisters were here and things were just a little bit more like they had been before he had come into her life with his proposal and turned it upside down. He hoped he could relax and enjoy her, now, in company. Once she had her sisters settled — which would likely take all day.
The one sour note in his perfect married life — besides the fact that he couldn’t touch his wife — was his mother. He wondered if he could convince her to leave? It was worth a try. Especially now that she had brought a ‘guest’ into his home.
He headed toward the gardens. He had no
doubt that his mother’s guest was a man. It infuriated him that she would bring her amoral ways to poison his home. He would not stand for it — especially now that he was the protector of innocent young women. He would not allow her corrupting influence to affect Miranda or her sisters.
He saw her then, among her lilacs. There was indeed a man beside her. A man with white hair. Unusual. He wondered, briefly, if the man was his father, and then shrugged his shoulders as he headed toward them. He doubted even his mother knew who his father truly was. Why else would she refuse to tell him, to give him the one thing he wanted from her?
They stopped talking when they saw him. For a moment he had the absurd impression that his mother was crying, but when he was close enough to see, her eyes were dry and her expression was, as usual, serene.
“Good day, Mother. Your garden looks lovely.” He glanced curiously at the man beside her. Tall, craggy-faced, not her usual style in lovers. He would have expected young, leonine, a spoiled sneer, and a need for ready cash.
“Thank you, Simon. Has Miranda’s family arrived?”
He nodded, still staring at the gentleman who, as yet, had not been introduced.
With a glance at the dowager, apparently confirming that she had no intention of introducing him, the man startled Simon by sticking his hand out and beginning, “I’m — ”
She interrupted, even as she raised her hand to pull on his outstretched arm. “We don’t shake hands here, Mr. Watson.” Her eyes bored into the American’s and he slowly, reluctantly, relaxed his arm to his side.
With a sigh, she smiled at him. “I’m so sorry. I neglected to introduce you to my son. Simon is now the duke. Simon, this is Mr. Watson. He is from America.”
“I had not realized you knew any Americans, Mother.”
“I am not a snob. The colonies won their independence before I was born. I thought it quite romantic when I learned of it.” She drew her mouth down, with a glance at the stranger. “As I said, I was just a child.”
“Your mother and I knew each other years ago, Your Grace.”
[Once Upon a Wedding 01.0] The Fairy Tale Bride Page 17
