A Noble Masquerade (15 page)

Another delicate shrug. She started picking at her skirt. Yet another action that would fall outside of the realm of appropriate ladylike behaviors. “Curious, I suppose, given your school story and all. I've never had to deal much with money. Do you like working as a valet?”

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Was she actually considering making a match with him? That had to be the catalyst of this conversation. What else could it be? Shock and pleasure warred inside him. When he showed up in London to court her properly, he wouldn't have to worry about his title being his only appeal to her.

Her face was expectant, waiting. What had she asked him? Oh yes, she wanted to know if he liked shaving her brother's chin and straightening his clothes. “There are worse jobs one can have. All in all it is not a bad lot.”

“That's good. I mean, that's a good attitude to have.”

“So it is.” He was in trouble. She was going to kill him when she learned the truth. The journey her mind must have gone on to even be considering a servant was unthinkably complicated. He didn't for one moment doubt that she'd considered the social ramifications as well as the monetary ones. She was too much of a lady not to be aware of the social ladder.

Who would have thought being a duke could be a detriment to winning his chosen bride?

She sighed. “Maybe I should simply ask Griffith to give me the money. I could set up housekeeping in a little cottage. I've heard spinsters do that sometimes.”

Ryland's air left him in a great
whoosh
. So she hadn't been
thinking of marrying him. Would he ever understand the female mind?

Ryland looked around, noticing the rock outcropping where the Russian stablehand liked to spend his free time. “I recognize where we are now. Riverton isn't far. What will you do when we get there?”

She laughed, making his heart jump a bit. “Take a bath.”

“Miranda,” Ryland said softly.

Her face turned toward him, the corners of her mouth drifting down out of their smile. “What?”

“I want you to know something.” What was he doing? He should be distancing himself, reminding her what she truly deserved in life. As soon as she was settled in Riverton, he'd be leaving, chasing Lambert and his unknown employer across England.

He couldn't leave her thinking she meant nothing to him though.

She swallowed. Her voice sounded almost choked. “What?”

“You are . . . I have enjoyed this time together.”

A weak smile re-formed on her face. “You must be joking. You have enjoyed being beaten, spending the night in a shed, and roaming through farm fields?”

“What I mean is that you are a very special woman. One day, there will be a very fortunate man asking for your hand.”

“God willing,” she whispered with a shake of her head. “Georgina will be out this Season.”

That statement told him more than she would ever know. She may have considered setting up with a valet or even moving out on her own, but she didn't want to do either. Somewhere she'd gotten the idea that her sister's debut was going to hurt her chance at a good match. Ryland wasn't sure when his peers had become so blind, but he wasn't about to complain about it.

They topped a small rise, and the roof of the house became visible over the trees.

“I have never been so happy to see home before.” Miranda shielded her eyes for a better look at the looming structure.

They walked in silence as the house grew larger. People spilled down the steps as they crossed the back lawn. A small brunette in a bright blue dress led the pack.

Miranda dropped Ryland's arm and ran forward to wrap her arms around the slight woman. While the women clasped each other, Ryland intercepted a distraught and disheveled Griffith.

The noise from everyone trying to ensure Miranda's safety and learn what had happened made conversation difficult. Even Georgina was wringing her hands, looking as if she wanted to hug her sister but unsure about the amount of dirt involved in that endeavor.

Miranda worked her way back to his side, dragging a woman in purple with her.

“This is Ry . . . Marlow, Griffith's valet.”

Ryland turned to find himself being presented to the small brunette. Why was Miranda introducing him? They were back at Riverton. No more Ryland and Miranda. No more equals.

“Marlow, this is Lady Amelia, Marchioness of Raebourne.”

Ryland bowed low, but otherwise did not acknowledge the introduction. He was, after all, a servant. Lady Amelia did not simply nod back as he expected. She scrutinized him, looking him up and down slowly before smiling brightly at him.

“Griffith's new valet?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I see. Marlow, was it? Griffith's been talking about you.”

“How long have you been here?” Miranda asked.

“We arrived yesterday, but no one knew where you were. We've been very worried about you.” Ryland felt skewered by Lady Amelia's deep brown eyes. “All of the grooms are out scouring the woods. Griffith and Anthony have made several trips out themselves.”

Miranda glanced at him, a smile no servant deserved on her lips. “Marlow rescued me.”

Griffith looked back and forth between the two of them.

Lady Amelia's eyes widened in shock. “You must be quite the valet.”

“I do good work, my lady.” What else could he say? He probably should have said nothing.

She watched him for a minute more and then guided Miranda toward the door. “Sally has been keeping water warm so you could have a bath as soon as we found you.”

The two women disappeared through the door. Ryland followed soon after them, intent on changing his clothes and doing what he could to determine where his suspects were now. Griffith made his own excuses and followed him. Probably to ensure that Miranda hadn't been more hurt than she appeared.

He left the door open to his little room and began untucking his ruined shirt.

The door slammed.

Ryland jerked his face up in time to see Griffith grab fistfuls of his shirt and shove him into the wall.
What on earth?

“I assume you're going to marry her.” Griffith's voice was hard and menacing, his eyes colder than Ryland had ever seen them.

Ryland shook Griffith's hands off and went to the water pitcher. The contents were cold since they were two days old, but it would suffice to scrub some of the grime from his face. A full bath could wait until London since he would get more road dust on him during his journey.

“Don't be ridiculous, Griffith. I'm your valet.”

“We both know what you are and you were alone with her overnight!”

Ryland stared at his enraged friend. “Think, man! Imagine I was one of the other servants. Would you expect her to marry them?”

“Hardly. She'd be better off a spinster than married to a footman.”

“Precisely.” Ryland ripped off his torn shirt and replaced it with a clean one. He only had the one pair of shoes, so he was going to have to go to London with squishy feet.

“You aren't a footman.”

“She doesn't know that.”

Griffith stepped up until their faces were inches apart. “Marry her.”

“You couldn't force me.” It didn't matter that Ryland had already considered courting Miranda. Instinct and self-preservation had him holding his own. Friend or not, Griffith wasn't pushing him around on this.

Griffith threw a punch.

It never landed. Ryland caught Griffith's fist, and the two scuffled across the small room. The water basin crashed to the floor. Griffith had never been a fighter, despite his size, so it didn't take much for Ryland to toss him to the bed.

The two men stared at each other, breathing hard. Griffith finally rubbed a hand over his face.

“You're right. I've never been that scared, though. When you disappeared and then Oscar came back without her from their ride, I didn't know what to think. I never imagined anything happening to my family when you came here to investigate.”

Ryland straightened his clothes and headed for the door. “She's safe now and she should stay that way. I'm assuming Lambert has left the estate?”

Griffith sat up on the bed. “Lambert? My butler?”

Ryland nodded.

“He is involved?”

“Yes, my captors mentioned his name.”

“That explains his absence. We assumed he had joined the
search party for Miranda.” Griffith grimaced. “My butler did it. It sounds like a dreadful novel.”

“Doesn't it? Now I have to go find him, and his trail is cold and rained on.”

Griffith pulled a folded letter from his waistcoat pocket. “‘Sir Gilbert' sent a note yesterday, but you'd already disappeared.”

Ryland ripped open the letter, filtering the words through the decoding process. If only this letter had arrived a day sooner. “No one showed up for the drops.”

Griffith raised his eyebrows. “Any of them?”

It made Ryland want to throw something. In nine years he'd only twice failed a mission. Without Miranda this third time might have been the end for him. There was more to her than the average young lady. He shook his head. Thoughts of Miranda would have to wait. As delightful a distraction as his letters with her were, it was likely the very distraction that made him sloppy enough to cause Lambert and his cohorts to become suspicious.

He needed to focus and finish this mission before they set up their process at another aristocratic estate. “I'm going to London.”

“Godspeed, my friend. I'll pray for you.” Griffith rose and shook hands with Ryland.

“I couldn't ask for more.” Ryland left the room and called over his shoulder as he trotted down the passageway. “I'm borrowing a horse. I'll leave him in your London stable.”

If Griffith responded, he didn't hear it.

“What do you mean, ‘He's gone'?” Miranda sat upright in the bath, sloshing water over the side. She had asked Amelia to make sure someone was taking care of Ryland. He had been through a trying ordeal as well.

Amelia perched on a chair next to the bath and tilted her head at Miranda. “I mean he has left the premises. He has departed. There is no longer anyone with that name residing here at Riverton.”

Miranda allowed her maid to help her on with her dressing robe and accepted a length of toweling to blot her hair. “Sardonicism does not become you, Amelia.”

A grin stretched across the brunette's face. “Dear Anthony has been teaching me many things.”

Miranda frowned. “Dear Anthony should leave you alone. I like you as you are.”

“So does he. That's why he married me.” Amelia's grin was positively cheeky.

Miranda laughed, unable to stop herself in the face of her friend's good humor, but then she returned to the subject at
hand. “Surely he has only retired to his room.” Miranda could not believe that he was actually gone.

Amelia shook her head. “No, there's quite a to-do in the kitchen about it. Griffith followed Marlow straight up to his room after the two of you returned. Lisette was taking fresh water up for him when she heard them fighting. She fled back downstairs. Moments later, Marlow came bursting through the kitchen. He grabbed some cheese, an apple, and a meat pie before leaving out the back door.”

“Maybe he went for a walk?” He should have had plenty of fresh air after their experience, but maybe he was still in shock. She moved to the dressing table to allow Sally to brush out her hair. She could see Amelia in the mirror.

Amelia shook her head. “I saw him riding across the field.”

“He took a horse?”

Another nod. “One of the good ones.”

Miranda turned from the mirror to better see her friend's face. There had to be some confusion. If Ryland had taken Griffith's horse, he wouldn't be the man she thought him to be. “He took Griffith's stallion?”

Amelia waved a hand in the air. “No, no, he took Trent's horse. The one he was keeping here for when he visited.”

“That is not much better. He really took a horse from the stable? What will Griffith think?”

“He doesn't seem very concerned about it.” Delicate brown eyebrows pulled together in thought. “He seems much more concerned with having to find another valet. He mentioned something about sending someone after Mr. Herbert.”

Miranda groaned. The poor man deserved to retire in peace. He had worked diligently for the master of the house for years. She was sure that she'd heard his creaking bones as he went up and down the stairs the last couple years.

“I wonder where he went.” She ran a finger along the
embroidery on the edge of her dressing gown. He'd left her. Granted he wasn't anything to her in any official capacity, but they'd had such a nice talk as they walked across the countryside. Was he running from that? From her?

Amelia cleared her throat and rose to take over hair-brushing duties. “Here, Sally, I can do that. Why don't you see to having a tray brought up? I doubt Miranda feels up to going downstairs for dinner.”

Miranda sighed. “A tray would be lovely, Sally.”

Silence weighed down the room for several moments after the door clicked quietly behind the exiting servant.

“Why do you care?” Amelia finally asked.

“You're the one who is always saying I should remember that the servants are people too.”

“And yet you've said nothing about the missing butler or undergardener.”

Miranda rose and went to the window. The rain had returned, bringing an early darkness to the countryside. It looked as if tonight's clouds would bring another ferocious storm. She thanked God that she had merely contended with rain on her adventure and prayed that Ryland was already to his destination, wherever that may be.

“Miranda?”

“I want to get married.”

Amelia's eyes widened. “To the valet?”

“No. Yes. No. Oh, I have no idea.” Miranda threw herself across the bed, burying her face in the silk counterpane.

She rolled to the side as Amelia's slight weight caused the bed to dip. When no words were said, Miranda cracked open her eyelids to try to read what Amelia was thinking.

“I had no idea you knew him so well,” Amelia finally said. “No one else seems to know him at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked around a bit after hearing he had fled the estate. He distanced himself from everyone, which is not all that uncommon for an upper servant, but it was different. They said he never belonged belowstairs. His arrogance seemed genuine. Your housekeeper's words. Not mine.”

Amelia had a way of bonding with people from every station in life. If the housekeeper were going to talk to anyone, it would be her.

“He was born higher. His family became destitute and he had to leave school and find work.” Miranda rubbed her hands over her face. This was crazy. The man was gone, and she should not be despairing over that. She should be thankful he left before she could form a serious attachment that would alter her life drastically.

“That would explain a lot of things, then.”

Miranda listened to her heartbeat echo in her ears, waiting for Amelia to say more.

“You would be destitute.”

“My circumstances would be reduced, yes, but I would hardly be destitute. I bring a fair amount of money with me. He said a person could live modestly on the income that would bring.”

Amelia sputtered. “You . . . you actually talked about . . . I mean, you and he . . .”

“No! No. I hate to admit it, but I'm not very aware of money. I'm starting to think I'll never marry, and I wondered about taking my dowry and my inheritance and setting up house somewhere on my own. Georgina is out this year, and she's going to be so very popular. And . . . I . . .” Tears sprang to Miranda's eyes, and she choked on the sob.

“Oh, Miranda.” Amelia's arms wrapped around Miranda's shoulders and she rocked her friend back and forth, making gentle cooing noises as Miranda sobbed.

Miranda began speaking between hiccups and shaky breaths.
“I don't want to be—
hiccup
—a spinster, Amelia. I want—
cough
—I want a family, and I don't—” Miranda's heavy crying cut off the remainder of her sentence. She pulled a handkerchief from the table by the bed and blew her nose.

“There are many men in London who would marry you, Miranda. You don't have to settle for a servant, no matter his birth.”

“Lord Brigham offered for me last year.”

Amelia's eyebrows shot up. Lord Brigham was considered a fine catch indeed. He was handsome and rich and was known to take good care of his business and family responsibilities.

Miranda sniffed. “First, he asked if I thought I had any sway over Griffith's voting decisions. Then he asked me to marry him.”

“Well, that wasn't very well done of him.” Amelia huffed and crossed her arms.

“No, I am afraid the only men who seem to like talking to me are scandalously below me, or nonexistent, for all intents and purposes.” Once Miranda started talking, everything seemed to spill out. She told Amelia about the letters with the duke and her many encounters with the valet. “So you see my romantic prospects are nigh on hopeless.”

“I think you need to sleep.” Amelia guided Miranda to a more conventional position on the bed. “When Sally returns with the tray, you are going to eat and then go to sleep. While you do that I am going to sit here and read to you so your mind doesn't go off on some despondent bent. In the morning, you'll see that things are not quite so hopeless.”

Amelia tucked the blankets around Miranda as the maid returned with a loaded tray. Miranda snuggled into her pillows and began to eat. Amelia went to the desk where Miranda kept the Bible her brother had given her the year before her debut Season. It took a few moments for Amelia to situate herself in the chair beside the bed with the large book open on her lap.

She began to read from chapter twenty-nine in the book of Jeremiah.

“‘For thus saith the Lord, that after seventy years be accomplished at Babylon I will visit you, and perform my good word toward you, in causing you to return to this place. For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.'”

Miranda set her barely touched tray aside and eased down under the cover, closing her eyes as she listened to Amelia's sweet voice drift through the room.

“‘Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you. And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.'”

Sleep pulled at her, offering blissful peace and quiet. Her thoughts meandered as she relaxed into the pillows. She'd be a lot happier if she knew that God's plan for her included marriage, because she wanted to seek God. If that involved giving up her dream and expectations . . . did she have enough faith to see it through?

Georgina proved extremely helpful in keeping God at the forefront of Miranda's mind over the next several weeks. As Christmas approached, her excitement could not be contained. She talked of nothing but her debut in London. It was enough to make the stoutest saint beg God for mercy.

Miranda felt the loss of Ryland more than she could have ever imagined, considering he'd never been part of her everyday life. Knowing he wasn't there made the house feel different. She still expected him to pop around a corner just as she did something foolish or unladylike.

He didn't.

The letters stopped as well. She knew it had been a mistake to tell the duke about Ryland, even in passing. She wanted to write him again, find out if he would be in London, but she had never obtained the direction for the duke's letters. It had been her excuse to see Ryland. She'd clung to it jealously and now she suffered for her indulgence.

Her heart pounded when a letter finally arrived—on her birthday of all days—marked with that now familiar bold, slanted script. She tore into the note, anxious for a miracle. It contained only one line.

I have not forgotten you.

What did that mean? It was nice to know, of course. But did that mean she was a pleasant memory? That he intended to seek her out in London? That he wished she'd write him again? Frustration poured through her.

It didn't matter what he meant. She couldn't respond. There was no way to get his direction without explaining to Griffith why she was corresponding with a man she wasn't related or engaged to. Just the prospect of the conversation made her wince.

With no other outlet, she continued to pour her heart out in letters, although she found herself occasionally writing to Ryland as well.

On Christmas Eve, unable to sleep, pen in hand once more, she sat before the brightly burning Yule log and pleaded with the duke to come to London this year. If they could connect as well in person as they did through letters, he might be her only hope of a happy marriage.

She read over the letter, something she rarely did. Despair and self-disgust dripped from the pages. Was that really how she saw herself? Her life? She tossed the journal entry into the fire, watching the pages curl in the festive holiday flame. Maybe she
should drag the entire trunk full of misbegotten letters down to give them the same funeral.

Why was it so important that she marry? Between her three siblings and Amelia, there was certain to be enough children around to dote on. She was more than the men she had lost, the men she had never truly had to begin with. She was a daughter, a sister, a friend.

She watched the flame burn until her eyes began to cross and she drifted off to sleep on the sofa.

Weeks passed and the Christmas cheer faded. To Georgina's delight, Miranda focused on the people in front of her. As much as Miranda loathed the constant trips to the modiste for fittings and perusing the shops for matching hats, gloves, and slippers, she enjoyed putting a smile on Georgina's face.

It had the added benefit of providing Miranda with her smartest spring wardrobe ever.

If Miranda found herself quoting certain Bible passages in an attempt to deal with Georgina's exuberance, well, that was a good thing as well. How else was she to find the patience to listen to one more prediction of what the confirmed bachelors would do once Georgina appeared in the ballroom door?

When Mother returned at the first of March to make final preparations for the family's journey to London, Miranda was able to find a glimmer of excitement within herself for the coming Season.

Maybe God had a gentleman in London for her.

Maybe He had a servant waiting in Kent.

It was possible He had a different future for her entirely, helping the widows and sick on her brother's estate. Whatever it was, she finally felt ready for it. The verses Amelia had read all those weeks ago had become etched in Miranda's brain. She recited them frequently to herself.