“He wishes your patronage.”
“Whatever for?”
“So that he can claim you as a special client of his. Then everyone will flock to his shop to buy the exact sort of gloves you are wearing so they can be like you.”
“But these are too expensive for a gift,” Miranda had protested.
“Pish posh,” Lady Overstreet had said. “He was happy to do anything for you. I had him make three pairs for me.”
“Whatever for?” Miranda had trouble believing he would give such an expensive gift to her, let alone Lady Overstreet merely because she was associated with Miranda.
Her Ladyship smiled benignly. “How did I know the quality was of the sort you should be seen wearing? I had to see for myself.”
“I find this unsettling,” Miranda answered. “One should be paid for one’s work. You don’t give your trade away and expect to keep your doors open.”
“Careful,” Lady Overstreet warned. “You sound like a shopkeeper’s daughter.”
“I am a shopkeeper’s daughter.”
“You are the granddaughter of Lord Bagsley,” Lady Overstreet corrected and leaned forward to confide, “Besides, this is the way things are done when one is of the haut ton. They rarely pay for anything. Ask Colster when the last time was he paid for gloves.”
Miranda would ask him nothing of the sort. She was intimidated by him. It was one thing to think you wanted to marry a duke and another to actually do it. He wouldn’t have questioned receiving free gloves. When maids and footmen and lord and ladies bobbed curtsies to him, he considered it his due. The man was surrounded by servants who saw to his every whim. Just riding in his coach called for two drivers, a footman, and a boot boy.
But what made her the most uneasy was the incredible amount of animosity directed her way from the other debutantes and their matchmaking mothers. She overheard them gossiping about her. Even though she was no stranger to being the food for such conversation, the vehemence directed toward her was disquieting.
She confided her reservations to Isabel, who told her there was nothing she could do—except give up His Grace.
“Would you be willing to do that?” Isabel had asked her.
“No.” Miranda had worked too hard to reach this point. She would not disappoint Charlotte and Constance.
Isabel patted her hand. “You will grow into being a duchess. In time, you’ll accept all this attention as commonplace.”
Miranda didn’t know if that would be true.
One thing she did not do was ask Michael about Alex. She didn’t need to. Without being told, she knew he had left England. That ship of his made it easy for him to escape.
Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, she would lie awake thinking about him. She’d marvel that the moon in the clouds outside her window was the same moon that shone on him…and yet they were lifetimes away.
Had it really been so hard for him to say he loved her? And why would God be so cruel as to bring him back into her life, only to take him away again?
She found no answer.
When the Duke of Colster invited Miranda, the Seversons, and Lady Overstreet for dinner, Her Ladyship almost swooned.
“No one is invited to Colster House,” Lady Overstreet intoned. She waved the card that had just been delivered, with the duke’s own slashing handwriting, in the air in front of Miranda and Isabel.
They were in the sunny morning room, which overlooked the garden at the back of the house. Isabel balanced baby Diane on her shoulder, having just fed her. Miranda admired the fact that in spite of the trend of sophisticated young London matrons to hire a wet nurse for their babies, Isabel delighted in every aspect of being a mother. Miranda thought she herself would be the same way. She’d not want someone else to care for her baby…although the services of a nanny were to be much appreciated.
“This is the most exclusive invitation in the city,” Lady Overstreet declared. “I doubt even the Prince of Wales has seen the inside of His Grace’s dining room. You know they don’t get along. The duke thinks Prinny is a flibbertigibbet.”
Miranda couldn’t imagine His Grace saying such a word, but she nodded agreement. Lady Overstreet enjoyed nothing more than trading on her new acquaintance with the duke.
Tapping the edge of the card on the palm of her hand, Lady Overstreet said, “He’s going to ask you to marry him. This evening.”
Now she had Miranda’s attention. “What makes you believe so?”
Her Ladyship touched the side of her nose with a knowing look.
Miranda turned to Isabel. “It does seem possible,” her friend said.
“Nor should it surprise you,” Lady Overstreet said. “Everyone in London is expecting it. Indeed, they are all holding their breath in anticipation.”
“I wish they wouldn’t. I just don’t understand all this preoccupation over other people’s lives. It’s as if there is no world beyond London.”
“There isn’t,” Her Ladyship declared. She leaned forward to add, “And you shall reign over it. Why, the papers adore you. You are young, beautiful, and will be a duchess. Not even the queen could have so much power.”
“I don’t know if I could take more scrutiny than I have now,” Miranda answered.
“You have no choice,” Her Ladyship returned. “The matter has been set in motion. With my help, may I remind you. None of this could have happened without me.”
“Your services will be sought after,” Isabel commented.
“They will, won’t they?” Lady Overstreet said, pleased. “I shall never have to worry again. Especially after I settle with the duke.”
The comment startled Miranda. Of course she had known Lady Overstreet was in this game for her own gain, but what had seemed reasonable in New York now sounded vulgar. It also meant that not only was her sisters’ well-being resting on Miranda’s shoulders, but Lady Overstreet’s fortune as well. “Have you said anything to him about payment?”
However, before Lady Overstreet could reply, Michael appeared at the door. All three women were taken aback to see him. He usually left very early in the morning for his offices and didn’t return until late.
“Michael,” Isabel said in greeting, “what brings you home in the middle of the day?”
His gaze lit on Miranda. “May I have a word with you?”
He was so grave, it made Miranda uneasy. “Nothing has happened to my sisters?”
“No,” he assured her. “But it is a private matter.”
Lady Overstreet clasped her hands excitedly. “He’s asked.”
Michael didn’t answer but turned and walked down the hall in the direction of his study, obviously expecting Miranda to follow.
Isabel reached out and gave Miranda’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It will be all right,” she promised.
Miranda nodded and went after Michael.
His study was a book-lined room made comfortable with heavy leather stuffed furniture, a deep Indian print carpet, and a huge globe of the world. Miranda had walked by many times, seeing him contemplating the globe while Diane slept in his arms.
He had never invited her into his haven until now. She didn’t sit but stood, waiting.
Michael didn’t sit, either. “Colster has sought my permission to ask you for your hand in marriage.”
Miranda’s knees went weak. Here it was.
“What shall I tell him?” Michael asked. “He wishes to speak to you privately tonight after dinner.”
Her mind was scrambled by the realization that the evening Charlotte had imagined had come to pass. A duke. Her sisters would be so pleased.
She should be pleased…
“Have you heard from Alex?” It was not a question her pride wanted to ask, and yet she must.
A frown line formed between Michael’s brows. “No, but this is not unusual.” He raised a hand as if asking for understanding. “You know Alex. He captains his own ship and does as he pleases.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” sh
e agreed, her voice tight.
Miranda walked over to the globe. America seemed so far away right now. She wished Charlotte was here; she was glad she wasn’t.
“What if I say no?”
Michael came to her side and turned the globe so that England faced up. “I’m certain Colster will be disappointed. He wants this match, and he isn’t a man known for making rash decisions.”
“He says I remind him of his late wife.”
“Yes, I know. He told me.”
There was a long moment of silence. She weighed the decision in front of her, wondering whether she was going to spend her life pining for Alex.
She ran a finger along the curve of the globe. “Will he come back?”
Michael turned to her. “I know him better than any man. He is my blood brother and once saved my life. I have no answer for you, Miranda. I’d always sensed that there was someone in Alex’s past, and when I met you, I knew who it was. I’m surprised he left. I thought—” he started and then stopped.
“Thought what?” she prompted.
“That this time he would find peace,” Michael finished. “He’s a proud man. An independent one.”
“He asked me to go with him once. I don’t believe he will ask again.”
Michael didn’t answer.
She squared her shoulders. She was no longer sixteen and she had her family to consider. “It would be nice to be betrothed to a duke when my sisters arrive,” she said quietly. “It would make them happy.”
“What of yourself?”
Miranda waved him away. “I think the time has come for me to consider my own happiness.” And to think with her head and not her heart. “His Grace is a fine man. He’s well respected. I would be honored to be his duchess.” Duchess. The title had a fullness about it. For the first time since she’d entered the study, she drew a full breath and released it. Yes, this was what she should do.
“I will inform His Grace that you are receptive to his offer and will be pleased to speak to him this evening on the matter. Come, let us tell the others. I’m certain Isabel is as curious as Lady Overstreet.”
Miranda paused before going out the door. “Thank you for this and for all that you’ve done.”
“I did it for Alex,” Michael answered.
She frowned at the formality in his tone. “Do you think me foolish?”
“I don’t know what I think, Miranda. I’ve gone from considering you a callous woman who had hurt my closest friend, to thinking you a fortune hunter, to finally realizing you are a young woman trying to make her way in the world as best she can. I like you. Alex is the fool.”
He opened the door, and they went to break the news to his wife and Lady Overstreet.
That evening Miranda chose a dress of the palest hint of blue, trimmed in silver ribbons. She papered and perfumed herself and used every artifice she could. Alice helped her style her hair in a halo of blond curls held in place with tiny silver stars on the tips of pins.
Miranda needed to look her best. She’d made up her mind she would be honest with His Grace. She wouldn’t mention Alex, but she’d let him know that she wasn’t completely pure. She owed him that much.
Colster House was one of the largest and oldest private homes in London. It was a grand place with many halls, more windows than a cathedral, and a huge circular drive hidden behind iron gates decorated with the leaping stag from the ducal crest.
There was a small crowd outside that gate when the Severson party arrived. Bewigged footmen in black and hunter green livery hurried to open the gate while keeping the onlookers at bay.
Lady Overstreet was so excited, she couldn’t sit still. “They are here for you,” she whispered to Miranda. “They know something is afoot.”
“How could they know?” Miranda asked, her stomach fluttery with nerves.
“They know,” Lady Overstreet assured her breezily as they drove through the gates into the inner sanctum of the Duke of Colster.
Isabel reached over and covered Miranda’s hand with her own. It was a sign that she was as nervous as Miranda. Even Michael appeared a touch awed.
The coach pulled to a stop. The door opened, the last rays of the evening sun seeming to turn the stone walls of the house to gold.
As Miranda climbed out of the coach, it struck her that it was one thing to say you wanted to marry a duke and quite another to realize all that it entailed. The house was even more imposing when one was standing on its doorstep, and someone had to give directions to all these footmen scurrying around. And if his grace had ten or so out here, how many more would be inside?
They walked into a white marble entranceway, their footsteps echoing off the walls. There was a great circular staircase leading to the upper floors. His Grace came down them to meet them.
He seemed to have taken as much care with his dress as Miranda had. He was always fashionable, but this evening she sensed he’d worried over every detail, much as she had done. He greeted them warmly and led them into a paneled room with a painting of the heavens and Apollo the sun god decorating the ceiling.
Miranda knew it was not the thing to look up and stare, and yet she couldn’t help it. She tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, but the duke caught her. He had come up behind her, personally bringing her a glass of Madeira instead of leaving it to one of his servants.
“Go ahead and look,” he said, his voice close to her ear. “I used to lie on the floor as a child and try to measure Apollo’s progress across the skies. I always wanted a white stallion like his.”
Miranda smiled, picturing him for the first time as a boy. She took the glass he offered. Their fingers brushed. Even through her gloves, she could feel his warmth.
“I’m not about to lie down on the floor,” she confessed. “Lady Overstreet would swoon if I did.”
He smiled, his gaze not leaving hers. “Pity. She’s a pushy woman. It might be good for her.”
Miranda’s heart leaped to her throat. “She hasn’t pushed you to do something you don’t want—”
“No,” he interrupted her. “Please, I have no reservations about her role in all of this. From what I understand, she played a part in your coming to England.”
“I might not have come if she hadn’t been there.”
“Then she is worth whatever commission she asks.”
This was heady stuff. He’d not spoken so intensely or so freely to her before. They’d usually been in rooms full of acquaintances. Here, under his own roof, the Seversons and Lady Overstreet had left them alone.
He took her glass. “Would you like to see the house?”
For the slightest moment, Miranda was tempted to hold back. “Should we take the others?”
“No, I want to show you alone.”
She glanced at Isabel, who smiled encouragingly. Certainly she had overheard the exchange between them…
“A tour would be nice,” Miranda murmured.
The duke took her hand and led her from the room. Across the entranceway, the dining table was set for dinner. He led her down a long hall, pointing out the important painting of his ancestors. His family had enjoyed a long and illustrious career.
However, the picture placed in his library, a very masculine room and obviously his personal domain, was of a golden blond–haired woman a few years younger than Miranda.
This was His Grace’s first wife. Miranda crossed to the picture. The resemblance between them was uncanny. The first duchess had blue eyes, high cheekbones. Her mouth had the same set as Miranda’s, although her neck was longer and more graceful. Miranda thought her own features were a bit sharper, and then realized that was because she’d been defined by life. The woman in the portrait would never age, never struggle, fear, or question her judgment.
They’d not talked often of his first wife save for when they’d met in the lending library. Miranda now turned and said, “I didn’t realize she was so young.”
His Grace nodded, coming up to her side. “Elizabeth was three and tw
enty when she died. We’d known each other all our lives. I’d wanted to marry her since she was sixteen.”
The same age Miranda had been when she’d met Alex.
The duke turned to her. “I loved her.”
There was a great depth of the unspoken in those simple words.
He reached for her hand. “I knew I would have to marry again someday. I won’t lie to you, Miranda.” It was the first time he’d used her given name. It sounded strange, formal coming from him. “I wouldn’t marry if I didn’t have the responsibilities to my family name. It can be a burden.”
She understood. She was here for her family.
“However, during these past weeks, I have come to sense a kindred spirit in you. I believe we would do quite well together. I’m asking you to be my wife.”
As an impassioned declaration, his proposal was decidedly flat. She heard what he was not saying. He’d never love anyone as much as his Elizabeth. Ever.
“I believe you should know something before you consider me suitable for a wife,” she said, her chest suddenly tight.
“Do you have a wicked secret?” he asked, a smile in his eyes, and she knew he was teasing.
“There was someone I was particularly close to.”
“There was?” His smile faded.
“I understand what it means to love deeply even when one is young.” She hesitated. If he didn’t like what she was about to say, she would lose all.
Still, honesty propelled her to admit, “I’m not completely what you would want in a wife.” Please God, give her the right words. She could claim Alex had forced himself on her. But that wouldn’t be the whole truth, and she had to be loyal to him, even now. “I’ve had an indiscretion.”
His Grace raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t mistaken her meaning. “And where is he now?”
“Gone,” she admitted sadly. “There is nothing between us.”
The clock on the mantel beneath Elizabeth’s portrait ticked the seconds.
“Are you carrying his seed?”
The Price of Indiscretion Page 17
