“So he has killed before? And to think I flirted with him.” For once, Miranda was pleased to see, Juliet was subdued. She had not bounced over to greet them when they entered the inn — although that could have been because of the state of their clothing or Simon’s obviously besotted possessiveness as he ordered blankets and hot cider for his wife.
But the likelihood was more that her younger sister had finally realized how dangerous a man she had tangled with. Why, Miranda realized with a smile, she wasn’t even flirting with Arthur. And flirting had come second nature to Juliet since she’d been a child. Instead, she sat pale and quiet, a blanket thrown over her shoulders and a warm cup of tea in her hands. When she caught sight of Miranda examining her, she said softly, “I thought you were dead.”
Miranda swallowed down her own sudden tears. “I thought you had gone over in the carriage. Thank goodness the two of you were so quick-witted.”
Arthur seemed somehow sturdier, and Miranda marveled at the transformation that a bit of confidence had made in the shy scholar. She was glad that her worried questions had alerted him to the danger. If not, from the ruins of the carriage, she did not doubt that she would have lost her sister today.
Simon, his arm tight around her waist, gave a quiet laugh. “I expect the quick-wittedness of all the Fensters helped us win the day against that monster. You are indeed a formidable family. Grimthorpe was a fool not to have learned his lesson five years ago.”
Miranda blushed at the reminder of the black eye she had given the cad.
“Thank God my shot hit him in the heart.” Valentine flashed her a quick reassuring smile; but then his expression turned grim. “He tried to destroy my sisters enough for one lifetime. I don’t regret killing that wretch and I’ll gladly hang if necessary.”
Simon’s hand tightened to prevent Miranda from leaping to her feet before he could quell her sudden panic by saying, “It is not. I spoke to the magistrate when he came to examine the madman’s body. He is a sensible man and agrees that you acted as you had to in order to save our lives and those of your sisters. There will be no further inquiry. We are free to go.”
Juliet stood. “Yes.” Her eyes scanned the occupants of the inn. “I must get back to the house party and make sure that Hero is coping.”
Miranda could not help smiling when she met Valentine’s eyes. Their sister was returning to normal. She worried that Hero might be even now stealing her beaux.
When she would have followed the group as they left the inn, Simon stopped her. “Valentine,” he called. “Your sister and I have never had a proper wedding trip. I think we shall spend a few nights in this inn. Tell the new duke and my mother to manage without us.”
Miranda’s mouth fell open. “Have you told Valentine?”
“Everything.” He seemed unperturbed, and even a bit surprised at her astonishment. “Don’t you trust your own brother?”
“Well, yes. But I cannot believe you do, so suddenly.”
“I have learned a great deal about your brother since you came back into my life, Miranda. I am certain that he can be trusted with our family secrets.”
Valentine met her eyes and nodded. “I’m glad that you have your happy ending, Miranda. You both deserve it.” He smiled crookedly at her. “And enjoy your privacy.” His look was skeptical as he glanced around the sturdy old inn. “What little you’ll have of it.”
He turned to leave, and then turned back, addressing Simon directly. “I’ll make certain that Juliet and Arthur arrive home safely. You take care of my sister.”
Miranda looked after the others, torn for a moment. “Perhaps we should go along, there are so many things to clear up.”
Simon tipped her head up until she was looking directly into his eyes. “So far today I have taken you by the side of a pond and in a grassy field. I think it is only fair that the next time I give you the luxury of a bed.” His eyes twinkled. “And it is a long ride home.”
She looked up at her husband, who was as much the worse for wear as she was, and said with a thoughtful frown, “Do you think we can persuade the innkeeper to find a bath big enough for the both of us?″
His grin began slowly and then spread across his face. “I shall pay whatever he asks to ensure it.”
Chapter 27
Peter asked for a month to accustom himself to his former home, to allow his daughters to adjust to the changed situation. Simon granted it. It did not please him, but he understood.
Just as he understood when his mother requested he not tell Peter that he knew he was his father.
“He turned away from this life because of his shame, Simon. Don’t add to it by making him face it every day when he sees the knowledge in your eyes. It will be hard enough for him as it is.”
He had wanted to refuse her request. Miranda had persuaded him to abide by it instead. When he agreed, he had every expectation that the secret would make the month pass slowly and painfully. But he had not counted on coming to like the man who had cuckolded his own father and faked his death to avoid living with the results of his own perfidy.
Perhaps he had been a fool to trust such a man. He hoped not. For today was the day that they officially disinterred him from the dead.
He hoped his troubles were over. He had dismissed Miranda’s worries about Peter. If the man’s decision made him miserable, it was only just. He had made so many others miserable for so long. Simon had felt free to make love to his wife with abandon at night even as he tutored his father in his duties as duke during the day. He was determined not to regret this idyll. And to that end, he was willing to do almost anything. Including forcing Peter to resume his responsibilities.
And his title.
With a bold stroke he signed the necessary papers and gave them to the waiting servant. “Deliver these at once.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The man nodded.
Not the proper title for much longer, Simon reflected. “You may tell Mr. Watson that I am ready to speak to him.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The door closed quietly, opening again almost instantly.
“I have begun the paperwork. The agreed-upon month is over. Welcome home, Your Grace.” Simon used the term determinedly as he stood away from the desk he had sat behind for five years.
He took the leather pouch from his pocket and removed the sealed envelope meant for the true Duke of Kerstone. He tossed the envelope, unbroken seal up, atop a pile of papers that would require the new duke’s attention. He commanded, “Sit.” Peter would not escape the truth of his destiny. He would not allow it.
The older man — his father, Simon acknowledged painfully as he looked into eyes the same color as his own — met his gaze steadily.
“I don’t believe you have considered all the ramifications of my becoming duke, Simon.”
“Of course I have. A matter of a few formalities. I have just sent the papers on this minute. No doubt we must wait a few weeks, but Parliament will not refuse to recognize you. You are Peter Watterly, Duke of Kerstone.”
“I am. I am also the father of three daughters. No sons.” There was a flicker of shame in Peter’s eyes for a moment. Simon was sure he saw it, even as the chill of his mother’s long-kept secret coursed through him. “You, as my brother, will be my heir.”
Simon was prepared. “Then you must marry and father a son.”
“I cannot.”
He looked at Peter in surprise. “You are still a young man. You can marry and father enough sons to fill this house.”
A sad smile lit Peter’s face. “Indeed. But I will never marry again.” He seemed to regret it, but there was no doubt he felt he would never change his mind.
Simon refused to accept that. “My mother has explained to you that I am a bastard. I thought you understood.” He shook his head. “If you can’t bring yourself to remarry, then I suggest you keep Arthur nearby.”
“Simon — ”
Simon interrupted. “I will leave you to the business of Kerstone, Your
Grace. He tapped the envelope that had weighed down his life for so long. “I believe this deserves your attention.” He continued, with his hand on the doorknob, “It has been waiting five years to be opened by the true heir to Sinclair Watterly and the new Duke of Kerstone.”
As he fled the room, and the sad misery of the man who had fathered him, he said quietly, “I will see you tonight, at the celebration of your rebirth.”
Katherine offered the only advice she could, little that it might be. “You must take care of yourself, rest, eat well, and take the air frequently. At your age such things are dangerous.”
The dowager sighed. “I shall have to leave, of course. I never should have stayed.”
Of course not, Miranda agreed in silent yet sympathetic mockery. You should have turned your back on the only man you ever loved simply because his father had the bad judgment to marry you. “Where will you go?”
“Italy, I think. At least for ... a time.”
Seven months. Miranda understood all too well, although the thought of a forty-four-year-old woman with a grown son becoming a mother again was somewhat shocking. And thanks to the laws of consanguinity, this child, too, would be a bastard. It just wasn’t fair that she and Simon should be so happy while Peter and Cassandra should be pulled apart.
But the dowager had made it very clear that this confidence was to go no further then the three women in this room. Even Peter had not been told. Miranda understood why, but she could not believe it for the best. “There must be some way — ”
Katherine raised her eyebrows in unvoiced warning.
“She must remain calm and careful in order to deliver herself safely of a healthy child. Italy will provide her a sunny confinement.”
“But to be separated from Peter is not — ” There was not a way to describe the distress of such heartbreak.
“A happy ending?” The dowager smiled. She had been pale and wan, tired and listless for weeks. Now they all knew why. “I will have Peter’s child and a second chance to be a good mother. That is enough for me.”
“You will not isolate yourself from your family,” Miranda protested. “You must come to America with us. We can say that you are a widow. We do not have to say for how long.”
The dowager raised one eyebrow and smiled. “I do not believe my son would think that wise.”
“Simon will not be angry. You know how much he loves children.”
The dowager glanced toward the door, ready to answer, and her skin drained of blood. “Simon.”
Miranda watched, her heart in her throat as he came into the room. He glanced at her and smiled. She could see no anger in him, although he was wary. “What is it about the children I love that will not make me angry.”
Miranda answered nervously, “Oh nothing. I was speaking hypothetically about children in our American home.”
His eyes locked on hers with concern. “Are you pregnant?”
“No!” The denial came too quickly. Miranda realized that she would have been better to say she was not sure.
He glanced quickly at Katherine, who sat next to the dowager, holding her wrist in one hand. “You?”
Miranda was shocked. “Of course she is not, Simon.” She chided him. “She is a vicar’s widow.”
He bowed slightly to Katherine. “I apologize.” He smiled coldly at his mother. “At least breeding is a condition I cannot accuse you of, Mother.”
The room grew silent as the dowager blushed pinkly. “What an imagination you have,” she managed at last, her voice faint.
“No.” Simon’s voice was harsh as he sank to the seat beside Miranda. She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. “I did not know such things were possible. “
The dowager rejoined, “Nor did I.”
He smiled grimly at his wife. “I suppose you mean to find her a happy ending? Well, I will not have it. Peter is duke. My mother cannot legally marry her own stepson.” He glanced at his mother then. “I thought you hated scandal mother, and would do anything to avoid it.” His voice was scornful.
The color drained from her face. “I will have this child without disgracing you, never fear.”
“Simon, I must speak with you.” Peter stepped into the room and Miranda felt Simon tense like a caged lion beside her.
“You are too late. I have already heard the news.”
Peter stared at him in puzzlement. “How could you? I just found it out myself. I think it will change everything.”
“It changes nothing.” The intensity and anger in Simon’s voice finally caught Peter’s attention. He took a careful look at the shocked faces in the room. “What is it? What has happened?”
“How dare you and she bring another bastard into this world.”
Peter glanced at the dowager in confusion, his gaze hardening as he realized the import of Simon’s words. “Is this true, Cassandra?”
“Yes, Peter. I’m afraid so.” Cassandra. Miranda marveled at the name of the austere dowager. It was a beautiful name, full of magic and mischief. So unlike the Dowager Duchess of Kerstone. But perhaps like the young woman who had captured and held Peter’s heart through a thirty-year absence.
“Another bastard?” The shock on Peter’s face flashed into anger. “You told him I was his father? Are you mad?”
His words were harsh, but the dowager did not flinch. “I did not know he was at the door of the room, Peter, or I would not have spoken so freely to Sinclair. Some mistakes cannot be erased.” Miranda’s heart squeezed with pain as she watched the two tearing open the wounds of the past.
The dowager continued her explanation, her voice husky with emotion. “You said you would not come back and rescue him. I thought that knowing he was true-blooded might change his mind.” It was when Peter softened and put his arms around the dowager’s stiff frame, that Miranda thought of a tale of hope.
For all the two took notice of the others, they could have been alone. Peter sighed softly against the dowager’s elegantly coiffed head resting full on his shoulder. “What a fine mess we have made, haven’t we?” Miranda thought of Rapunzel, letting her hair down, and the prince taking hold, and climbing up to free her from her prison.
She looked at Simon, watching his parents, recognizing what she had already known. They loved each other as much as she and Simon. And their love was breaking their hearts. Gently, she tugged on his hand, pulling him from the room.
Miranda was gazing at him, her eyes full of sorrow.
He knew some of her sorrow was for him when she asked softly, “What shall you do if Peter is not willing to be duke now?”
Her words struck fear in his heart. He could not allow it. “He understands his obligations.”
“His obligation to his father? The man who embroiled him in this untenable situation.”
“To his blood.”
“And what about his obligation to your mother? He cannot marry her unless he returns to America as Peter Watson.”
“He has none. I will take care of her and her bastard. She is my mother.”
“And what about her? Is she to have no say?”
He did not want to consider his mother. Wed to an older man, bedded by a young one. Falling in love with her husband’s son. “Nothing can be done now.” He stayed her lips with a gentle kiss. “Not even one of your fairytales can save them. In the eyes of the law she is his mother — she married his father. They cannot ever marry.”
“In England, yes.” Miranda closed her eyes. “I wonder how she will bear it.”
“She always manages.”
“Simon — ”
“No more fairytale endings, Miranda. They cannot have a happy ending together. They cannot marry.”
“I owe your mother, and I owe you, so I’ll stay.”
His father had been drinking. His American habits were more pronounced when he was foxed, Simon found. “Your mother is a stubborn woman.”
Simon felt only relief as he glanced at Miranda and wondered if he should ask her to leave t
hem alone. “I believe I know that well.”
Peter watched him from his position slumped in a chair by the fire. “We’ve got a problem, Simon.”
Simon tightened his arm around Miranda’s waist and drew her closer. She smiled at him, but her expression was troubled. “I have none, Your Grace. You solved them all for me.”
“Wrong. “ Simon found himself slightly uncomfortable with this new, hardheaded Peter. “You’re still my little brother to the world. I don’t plan to marry again, or outlive you. Not by a long shot. So you’ve got some time to sort yourself out and take your responsibilities like a man. I don’t like it. But like I said, I owe you. And I owe your mother.”
“Take her as a lover, then. She has had her share.”
Miranda shot Simon a look filled with disappointment, and he warmed with shame. Why he said it he could not explain, even to himself.
Peter sat up, incensed. “Your bitterness is out of place, Simon. Your mother was blameless. Sinclair, our father, and I were the fools.”
“Your father, not mine.”
The older man met his gaze steadily. “I wanted to explain to you why you are truly Sinclair’s son, and not my own, but I was distracted by the news I was going to be a daddy again.” He sighed. “But it’s time for you to face the fact that you are a true heir as no future son of mine could ever be.”
“I do not need to accept a lie as fact.”
Peter lurched over to the desk and shuffled through the papers on the desk and tossed something to Simon. “Read this.”
It was the envelope, seal broken. The one meant only for the eyes of the duke. “This is not for me to read. He told me you did not understand the Kerstone motto. I presume that is why he was so careful to drum it into my head.”
“Honor and truth in all.” Peter’s lips twisted with distaste. “It is as much a part of me as the Watterly blood.”
“It could not be.”
“Read it. Until then, you do not know enough to judge.”
[Once Upon a Wedding 01.0] The Fairy Tale Bride Page 26
