by Heather Boyd
“To stop Taverham from starting up with Lady Brighthurst now she’s widowed and clearly interested in him?”
Ah, so Daventry did know what had been going on all along, since before her marriage. The memory of discovering Taverham seducing Lady Brighthurst, his mistress, on her wedding day still turned Miranda’s stomach even now.
She grimaced in distaste at the memory of her farcical wedding day and her shock at discovering the identity of Taverham’s mistress. A mistress everyone but her had likely known of even before that day. A pity no one had thought to warn Miranda of the unbreakable attachment before she’d given her innocence to Taverham. She’d been so naïve. She’d pledged to love, honor, and obey him, hoping he could love her as much. There could be no love and certainly little honor to be so deceived.
Yet now that Miranda was older and wiser, his affair with Emily meant little in the scheme of things. Taverham could have his mistress. She’d not stand in his way as long as she wasn’t subjected to the woman’s company. She sighed softly. “All I need to do is stop him from declaring me dead.”
“Never say so,” both Daventry and his wife whispered in shocked tones.
Lillian reached for her husband’s hand again and tears filled her eyes. Miranda’s acquaintance with Lillian may have been slight and years ago now, but the young countess had always been something of a teary girl. Miranda passed over her handkerchief without a word. It wasn’t likely Miranda would ever need to use one again. She’d done all her crying and railing at the injustice of having happiness snatched from her grasp by deceit. She closed her eyes. “As you can see, I’m far from dead, though I’m sure there are many who would prefer me six feet under about now.”
This time when it came to dealing with Taverham she would win. She had something he really needed this time. She had Christopher. She had Taverham’s heir.
CHAPTER THREE
Kit pounded on the door of the Earl of Daventry’s Orchard Square town house and waited impatiently for admittance. The sun was rising on a new day and his mood was beyond foul. Damn his wife for disappearing so completely from the theater last night that he’d again found no trace of her. She’d made him look a fool.
He’d first thought to find her at their London town house, Twilit House, ensconced in the bedchamber she’d never claimed, where she should have been in the first place. But his butler had assured him she had not come there and had looked quite startled by the news that Kit’s wife was actually alive.
He wasn’t the only one confused.
Kit had returned to the theater to question the manager and anyone who’d lingered backstage after the performance. After hours of interviews and the occasional subtle bribe, he’d learned Miranda had left the theatre in Lord and Lady Daventry’s company, in a carriage headed in a southerly direction.
Clearly a ruse as the Daventrys’ residence was located west of the theater.
To his relief, Daventry’s butler appeared unsurprised to see him and ushered him into the modest town house. He looked about quickly. The house was very quiet. The butler, Dithers, was even more so than normal. Dithers directed him to the earl’s study with few words and even softer footsteps without delay.
“Finally,” Daventry cried softly as he shot to his feet. “I’ve had my servants scouring London for you for hours. Where the devil have you been? You’re the hardest man to find in a hurry, my friend.”
“You utter bastard.” Kit strode forward and glared at his friend. “I’ll see my wife now, if you please.”
“She’s not here.” Daventry frowned. “The lady dropped us at home some hours ago and went on her merry way without a word of her destination passing her lips. I did try to determine where she was headed. I had hoped she’d return to you.”
Kit smacked his fist against his palm and spun around. “Damn her.”
He hadn’t the faintest idea of where else Miranda might go.
“I see the feelings between you are remarkably similar,” Daventry noted calmly. “Control your temper and lower your voice, please, or my wife will come and investigate our discussion. She’s had a restless night again.”
Kit grimaced. Daventry’s wife was a frail woman. He already felt as if he walked on eggshells around her when they met, yet it was a small price to pay to have her visit on rare occasions. Usually she preferred to travel little as the jostling suffered from even the shortest journeys caused the most horrendous headaches. Her attendance at the theater was rare. Kit took a deep, deliberate breath and let it out slowly.
Daventry gestured to a nearby chair. “Miranda is not the loving creature I saw on your wedding day.”
“She was hardly one then.” Kit ran his hand through his hair for the hundredth time. If he lost her again, he didn’t know what he’d do. “What wife runs off the minute her groom’s back is turned?”
“A troubled one.” Daventry moved to the sideboard, and although the hour was early—or late when one hadn’t slept all night—he poured Kit a sherry. “I must say I can understand her anger at you last night. Not terribly well done of you and Lady Brighthurst.”
“Emily is a friend. I’ve known her for years. Miranda knows how I feel about her.”
“Yes, she does.” Daventry pinned him with a serious gaze. “If I’ve learned anything about women, it is not to underestimate what they take offense at. My wife is particularly possessive when it comes to past acquaintances of the female persuasion, and I’d bet your Miranda is just as bad.” Daventry shrugged. “At least you did chase after her last night. What did Louth say?”
“Nothing, why?”
Daventry regarded him with hooded eyes. “She’s with him now, isn’t she?”
Kit reared back as if from a blow. “No. She could not be. I cannot believe that of her.”
Daventry winced. “Then why did I find them together at the theater door as she was leaving? They seemed rather more friendly last night than I recall them being at the wedding party or any time before.”
Kit shifted in his chair uncomfortably as an irrational suspicion surfaced. In the weeks before the wedding, Kit had entertained an uncomfortable feeling about Louth’s interest in his soon-to-be wife. Miranda had assured him they were merely being friendly and that if an infatuation did exist on Louth’s part, it would easily fade in time. But what if there was more? What if Miranda had in fact fallen in love with Louth? She had used his given name in conversation as if she was used to doing so.
Kit slouched deeper into the chair as the idea of a friend such as Louth being involved with his wife in an intimate way played through his head. Louth had acted surprised to see her last night, but how could Kit know he wasn’t being fooled? He didn’t want to believe it, and yet once considered, Kit couldn’t easily dismiss their obvious affection for each other when Louth had appeared in his box. Had the pair run off together, and if that was the case, then where had Louth kept Miranda all these years?
Daventry continued to talk as if the idea of Kit’s wife being unfaithful wasn’t at all horrifying. It had never once crossed his mind that Miranda could have fallen in love with another man. The very idea disappointed him.
The earl tapped his shoulder. “I say, are you even listening?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve always been puzzled how you didn’t know Miranda was missing for an entire day after the wedding?”
Kit licked his lips, trying to remember the exact events surrounding his wedding. “After so long, my memory is somewhat hazy on the details. There was the wedding, a fire at a neighboring estate to help put out, my guardians and guests to apprise of the reasons for my sudden disappearance. I recall being so exhausted that I slept alone the night we wed. When I went to her the next day, late, she’d not moved into the marchioness’s bedchamber. I never imagined Miranda wouldn’t be somewhere at Twilit Hill, entertaining our guests while I saw our plans set into motion.”
“With her money.” Daventry stared at him until Kit grew uncomfortable. “You know, you
might have given her the impression that you married her only for her dowry.”
“I did.”
Daventry folded his arms over his chest. “No woman would want that little fact bandied about for all to hear, least of all by her future husband.”
“I hardly think she didn’t know why or found it offensive. She knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t as if she wasn’t compensated. She became a marchioness, after all.”
“A title that she has little used until tonight.” Daventry pursed his lips. “Were you really going to have her declared dead so you could remarry?”
“Damn. Does everyone know?” Kit sighed at how fast gossip could spread when you needed to keep a secret. “I suppose my mother started that one. She’s been harping in my ear on the subject for an eternity.”
“Actually, no. Miranda herself told me and she seemed less than pleased.”
He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He’d resisted the decision long after he could have petitioned for freedom. A part of him had always wanted Miranda back. Now, if she loved someone else, he wasn’t so sure what to do about it. He did not enjoy losing to anyone. “How did she find out?”
“She didn’t say and I didn’t press for too much information. Perhaps Louth told her and suggested she come forward. If so, then you must thank him. Quite a definitive return to society if ever there was one. A performance worthy of the very venue it was enacted in.” Daventry crossed the room and passed another sherry into his hand. “What are you going to do?”
“Find her.” He swallowed the drink, enjoying the burn as it slid down his raw throat. He felt like he’d been demanding answers for hours, and with a start he discovered he’d been chasing after Miranda for at least nine. “I’ll tear London apart. And if I discover her with Louth…” He let the rest go unspoken. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’d do about that yet, but he doubted the encounter would be pleasant.
“Listen to me. I love Louth as a brother, and if he has wronged you, by all means beat him to a pulp until you feel better. But I suggest some degree of restraint is in your best interest. May I propose you regroup and rest first? You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”
Hell sounded pleasant in comparison to the night that had just passed. “I cannot rest until I find her.”
Daventry nodded slowly. “Miranda did not disclose much of a certainty, but she hinted she intended to reclaim her place in society.”
A little of Kit’s frustration lessened. His suspicions, though damning, were simply speculation at this point. He would find Miranda first and see what she had to say for herself. “That’s something in my favor.”
Daventry patted his shoulder. “Go home, eat, sleep, rest, and before you know it you’ll have all the joy a married man can expect and look forward to.”
“I wouldn’t know what that is.”
Daventry smirked. “Trust me. Once you sort through whatever problems exist with Miranda, you’ll feel a whole lot better.”
Kit scowled and shoved his glass aside. “Marriage hasn’t done you any favors. You’re one of those besotted fools we used to joke we would never be.”
Daventry’s expression grew serious. “You may laugh all you want at my expense, but marrying Lillian was the best decision I ever made. Don’t ever think I’d choose to live a different life than the one I have now.”
“Good God. You truly are one of them.” He shuddered. “Keep this up and I’ll have to content myself with only Lord Acton’s sensible company from now on.”
Daventry smirked. “You’d be lost without us married fellows in your life, giving you hell from time to time. Give yourself a week of marriage to judge for yourself, then come and talk to me again. You’ll sing a different tune, I’m sure.”
Kit stood quickly. Marriage was the biggest and only mistake he’d made in his life. How foolish he’d been to marry so young and expect to be content. He took his leave and strode out of Daventry’s town house, collapsed into his carriage, and put his head into his hands.
The wild pulse of his blood sounded louder when he was alone. Miranda lived.
Daventry wasn’t wrong that she might have had reason to be angry. Today he would have petitioned to have her declared dead, their marriage set aside. And then after a suitable period, a mourning period he’d considered it to be, he would have married again. He’d decided that a dowry wouldn’t sway him in the least. Connections and a sensible approach to life were all he’d require a second time around.
Except, his heart clenched. Miranda had returned to him. Well, almost.
To his dismay, he was firmly back where he’d always been—waiting for Miranda to come back into his life. How the devil had his marriage gone so wrong? To this day, he’d never known what had driven her to flee his home, and only Miranda could explain it. Perhaps he hadn’t been man enough for her desires.
He slammed his fist into the roof of the carriage, relishing the burst of pain that cleared his mind, then gave directions to Lord Louth’s home. He had to know if they were together or not.
CHAPTER FOUR
Miranda raised her hand reluctantly and winced as she struck her cousin a soft blow across the cheek to break her from her daze. Agatha, now Viscountess Carrington, had been staring at her with widened eyes for several minutes. Miranda didn’t have the leisure to wait much longer for the girl to collect her sensibilities. “Agatha. It really is me.”
Her younger cousin blinked slowly and then, on coming out of her stupor, bit her lower lip.
“You are not dreaming. I am here in the flesh and growing cross with your childish behavior.” Miranda drew back in satisfaction as Agatha shook her head.
“Merry?” Agatha shrieked the next moment and caught Miranda in a none-too-gentle embrace.
Miranda hugged her tightly in return. “I had hoped your propensity for overreaction would have subsided by now, but perhaps you’d better sit down while we speak before you actually faint on me.”
Reluctantly Agatha released her completely, recovering her poise to a fair degree. But then she all but fell into the nearest chair with a laugh, spoiling the impression that she was anything but the enthusiastic young girl Miranda remembered. “I thought you dead. Or ruined. Or worse, immigrated to America. I cannot believe you’ve come back after all these years.”
“You and everyone else.” Miranda surveyed the Carrington town house surreptitiously, noting the disarray and clutter that spoke of a large family living beneath one roof. Agatha could use another set of competent hands to assist her, or better ones than she currently employed. She glanced up at the molded ceiling as a heavy thump reverberated above her head. “You have children, I believe.”
“Yes.” Agatha’s face creased into a stunning smile. “The orphanage Grandfather patronized had to close. Did you know Grandfather was so charitable? After I came to live with him, I discovered he was always willing to help those less fortunate than himself. The Grafton Street Orphanage was an endeavor he allowed me to visit. I played the pianoforte for the children every day and came to love them.”
Another thump and then a wail. “Should they be left alone?”
“I have help, and Jeannie can manage them for a little while without me.” Agatha smiled timidly. “You’ll take tea, of course?”
“Thank you but no. I don’t wish to trouble you. I’d rather talk.”
“Me too.” Agatha frowned and continued her retelling. “When the trustees decided to close after Grandfather died, the children had nowhere to go but back onto the street. The Carringtons were involved with the orphanage, and in the end Oscar adopted them. We were wed soon after, so they truly are my children now.”
Miranda eased into a chair close to her cousin, relieved that Agatha seemed more composed now. “I wanted to call on you immediately, to discover how you’ve been firsthand.”
“I am well. Oh, Miranda. How I have longed to see you these past years.” She inched forward and clasped Miranda’s hand. “I was delivered of a child,
a son, recently and have only begun moving in society again these past weeks. Motherhood, true motherhood, was such a remarkable experience. You should have been here to see little Elliot come into the world.”
Miranda peered at her cousin, noting her eyes glowed with satisfaction. Miranda was familiar with that look and feeling. She had only to think of Christopher to know her life was made whole by his existence. “Motherhood agrees with you, but then you were always the one little children flocked to when we were growing up.”
Agatha’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring in them briefly. “A fact you used to tease me about unmercifully.”
“Did I?” She laughed as she struggled to recall their long-ago interactions. “Well, can you blame me? Children never warmed to me when I was younger and you always took everything I said so seriously.”
“I looked up to you. Tried to follow in your footsteps.” Agatha wrinkled her nose. “Well, up to a point. I did not run away on my wedding day as you did. Why did you?”
Of course Agatha would ask. But Miranda couldn’t bear to tell her the truth. Despite her best intentions, she still felt remarkably let down by her own behavior. She should have known Taverham could not love her. And yet she should never have let events drive her away either. But at the time she’d wanted nothing but escape from him and the people who knew his mistress too well.
What was she but a wealthy cit’s daughter with a dowry Taverham desperately needed and a gullible disposition to boot?
“I was deceived,” Miranda told her finally, squeezing Agatha’s hands. “But I’d rather not talk about something that no longer matters. I am so sorry I was not here for you last year when Grandfather died. By the time I heard of his passing, you had already wed Viscount Carrington and had moved to a house in the country. By all accounts you were content. I hope this marriage was what you truly wanted.”
“It was.” Agatha’s eyes grew soft, the dreamy look of a besotted fool if ever there was one. “I have loved him all my life. We almost lost each other too, but when Grandfather died, he took care of me. In the end it all turned out for the best.”
