Dangerous Secrets (78 page)

Everyone stared at her. Dome, his reserve
breached, colored slightly.
‶
Servants, Your Grace?″ His eyes fastened onto
Simon in a silent plea for a return to sanity.

Miranda seemed unperturbed.
‶
Yes,
but her daughter is quite frail and needs to be in a room with a nice big
hearth.″

Simon′s neck began to tickle with
suspicion.
‶
Send
the servant and her daughter into my study for an interview, Dome.″

Miranda protested.
‶
I′m certain
they must be much too tired for an interview at this point, Simon. Why
don′t we let them get settled in and then you can meet them.″

It did not escape his notice that she had
attempted to change a formal interview into a casual meeting But his new wife
would soon find out that he would not allow her to turn his household upside
down.

If he could not bed her, he could at least see
to teaching her how to conduct herself now that she was a duchess.
‶
Send
them to me immediately,″ he told Dome. He had an uncomfortable feeling
that he was going to recognize the
‶
servant″ in question and
he was not at all happy about it.

As he waited in his study, Miranda anxiously
watching him, he soon found his suspicions confirmed. The woman from the
village ... and Betsy. They stared at him with their big blue eyes, both
seeming to recognize that he was not pleased, and that their fates hung in his
hands.

Nervously, Miranda performed the introductions.
‶
I
have hired Katherine Lawton as my new lady′s maid. Perhaps you remember
her from the night we—″

‶
I remember her well.″
Simon interrupted.
‶
But I do not recall it being said that she was a
lady′s maid.″ He wondered if Miranda had hired her knowing what the
woman did to earn her living. Surely she could not have.

Just then, like a tiny whirlwind, Betsy broke
from her mother′s side and ran up to Simon. She curtseyed deeply, then
stood there, her blue eyes trained on him as she gave him a wide smile and
asked,
‶
Do
you remember me? I′m the little girl you rescued.″

Simon surprised himself when he found that he
had no difficulty in smiling back at her.
‶
I remember you very well
Betsy.″ He lifted the little girl into his arms and she laid her arms
around her neck.
‶
Just as I remember your mother.″ He gave both
women a measured glance, to ensure they knew he had not gone soft-hearted
because of the child.

He said steadily to Katherine.
‶
So
you want to be a lady′s maid? For what reason?″ The flicker of
surprise that passed over the woman′s features as she quickly sought
Miranda′s gaze for guidance confirmed his suspicions. She was no more
than another of his bride′s misguided attempts at rescue.

Miranda stepped toward Katherine, one hand
outstretched. But her eyes were on him, pleading in the oddly imperious way she
had.
‶
Simon,
I know that Katherine will be an excellent servant. Let us call a halt to this
interview now, and let them get settled.″

He opened his mouth to tell her dearly and
compellingly that he was master in his own home, when a new voice interrupted.
‶
Simon,
what is going on? Why is this woman — dragging a child along, no less here?
Surely she is not claiming the child is your by-blow.″

Katherine paled and Miranda tightened her grip
on the other woman′s arm as she addressed her mother-in-law,
‶
Of
course not. How could you think such a thing?″

The dowager turned her attention to Simon, who
was still holding Betsy in his arms.
‶
He seems comfortable enough
with the child. It was a natural mistake to assume he was her father.″

Simon loosened his grip on Betsy when she
squirmed, and he realized that his hold on her had become ironbound. It was a
long practice for him to tamp down his anger and pretend to a cold civility.
‶
Good
morning, Mother. When I did not see you at breakfast, I thought you had taken
your leave.″

‶
That would have been quite rude
of me, Simon. Your bride should certainly appreciate the benefit of my
experience as chatelaine of this home for more than half my lifetime.″

She turned to Miranda and inclined her head
toward the doorway.
‶
Would you like to start with a tour of the main
house, my dear? Perhaps the family wing? I promise not to tell you all the
stories today, just the ones that seem the most important.″

Simon cut off his objection before it began,
realizing that for once his mother was working in his aid. He would be able to
deal with Katherine and her daughter without interference.
‶
An
excellent idea. Miranda, I will handle this matter. You go with my mother.″

She looked from Katherine to Simon, and he
could feel her dilemma as if it were his own. Fortunately, it wasn′t his
to decide whether to try to cushion the interview with Katherine or bear the
cold company of his mother.

It wasn′t hers either. He had decided for
her. With a firm hand on her back, he propelled her toward the door.
‶
Don′t
be shy. I′m sure my mother will be her usual informative self.″

‶
But ... ″ Her eyes were
locked with Katherine′s.

And then something so subtle seemed to pass
between them that Simon nearly missed it. Only the fact that Miranda nodded and
turned toward the dowager made him realize that some form of communication had
occurred. He wondered briefly, as his wife left the room, if he had made a bad
bargain in being left alone with Katherine and Betsy.

The dowager′s method of touring seemed to
consist of walking briskly through room after room while reciting capsule
histories of the room′s flaws. The Elizabethan Parlor, a quite charmingly
sunny room, was too warm in the summer. The formal drawing room, in which hung
a beautiful tapestry in scarlets and bright greens and golds, possibly done by
one of Simon′s ancestors, had a persistent leak on days with heavy rain.

Chapter 13

As the dowager led her quickly through the
various and sundry parlors and drawing rooms, Miranda abandoned all attempts to
commit the lay of Simon′s home to her memory. There were rooms that would
not be found again by any method other than an excellent memory.

Off the White Duchess′s parlor — so named
for a three-generations-removed silver-haired virago--was a tiny, exquisitely
designed reading room with a comfortable chaise lounge, a large sunlit window,
and several shelves of books meant expressly for feminine tastes.

Miranda would have lingered, but the dowager
had no such intention. The room′s flaw seemed to be that it encouraged an
unhealthy degree of solitude.

She found herself able to concentrate on the
whirlwind of information with only half her mind. The other half she was unable
to pry from the study where Simon was undoubtedly cross-examining Katherine.
She believed she could trust the healer not to spill the true reason she had
been hired. Simon would be furious if he found out. Worse yet, he might refuse
the remedies.

Hopefully, Katherine had said nothing to Betsy.
The child had not yet learned to be discreet, as they all had well to remember.
She smiled, remembering how easily Simon had swung her into his arms. It was
heartening to see that he held true affection for the child, despite the way he
had spoken of
‶
urchins″
in the loft. He would make a good father, if he were given the chance.

Miranda hastened her steps, in danger of losing
her companion. Curious, she followed the dowager into a gallery with a high
ceiling that arched overhead. Imposing portraits of men in heavy and ornate
gold frames lined the left wall, while somewhat less imposing portraits of
women hung opposite.

Although they had been painted hundreds of
years apart, by different artists, the eyes in the portraits were all of such a
compelling nature that Miranda felt as if she were being observed by every one
of Simon′s ancestors. Their expressions were all so uniformly solemn she
had no doubt that she had been found distinctly lacking.

For a moment, the two of them stood without
speaking, as if the dowager recognized that the overwhelming watchfulness of
the room was unnerving and was allowing her a moment to recover. And then her
acerbic words made Miranda doubt that she could possibly have had such a kind
motivation.
‶
Impressive
lot, aren′t they? I wonder if they cowed the portrait painters as
effectively as they do anyone who enters this room.″

Miranda stopped at a portrait that held a
strong resemblance to Simon, but seemed somehow wrong.
‶
Is this one of
Simon?″

‶
No, that is Peter, his older
brother.″ Oddly, Miranda noticed, the dowager deliberately did not look
at the portrait before she answered.

‶
I never knew that he had an
older brother.″ The man in the portrait was young, but not a child.
‶
They
are very alike.″

As if drawn against her will, the duchess
slowly turned her head to look full at the portrait. She moved closer. Her hand
hovered near, but without touching the bottom of the gilded frame. Miranda
noticed that the slender fingers shook ever so slightly.
‶
Yes.
They were indeed alike.″

The older woman gave herself a slight shake, as
if it took great effort for her to remove her attention from the portrait and
turn her gaze to Miranda.
‶
At least in looks. They never had the opportunity to
meet each other, since Peter died not long after Simon was born.″

Miranda′s breath caught in her throat.
Somehow the long ago death of the brother seemed to make Simon′s own
impending death a reality. Her sympathy was entirely genuine when she said,
‶
How
awful for you.″

But the dowager seemed to have recovered from
any passing weakness that came from strong emotions. She waved her hand in
dismissal.
‶
He
was not my son. Sinclair′s first wife was his mother. He was older than I
by several years.″

Miranda had no answer for such a cold statement.
‶
Then
I′m sure it was difficult for the late duke.″

The dowager gave a tiny, graceful shrug.
‶
I′m
sure he grieved – in his own fashion. But he had Simon as an heir to replace
him.″

Miranda thought of Valentine and the girls.
They were irreplaceable. Were she to lose one, it would be a permanent and
irredeemable loss. As would Simon′s death, if she could not prevent it.

If she and Katherine could not cure Simon, she
would soon be without him. The sense of loss took her breath away. How had she
come to care for him so much in such a short time?

Certainly he was a brave and honorable man, his
loss would be a grave one to society. But it was not a general sense of loss
that she felt. Her feelings of loss came from the thought that she would not be
able to receive one of his quick smiles, and from the realization that she
might soon hear only in her memory the rich voice that set her nerves a-tingle.

She pressed a hand below her heart to ease the
ache. Not being kissed by him ever again. Not touching him, smiling at him
across the table. No, her feeling of loss was personal indeed, for a husband
she had not really wanted and who was, for the most part, maddening in the
extreme.

She looked at the portrait again. The man in it
had the slim build of a young man still approaching his majority. And he had
died before he′d had the chance to know love and have a family of his
own. She would do her best to see that the same was not true for Simon.

Idly, trying to stifle the grief that lingered
at the edges of her consciousness, she said,
‶
If only Peter had lived long
enough to marry and have a son, Simon would not have to scour the hillside for
suitable heirs.″

The dowager′s reaction was remarkable.
Her eyes closed and her voice hushed to a whisper.
‶
Sometimes I imagine
that he did. He was far away in France then, and we did not hear from him. He
could have married and been happy for at least a short while before his death.
Sometimes I pray it was so.″

There was a tremor of sadness that could not be
dismissed. For the first time, Miranda realized that the dowager duchess of
Kerstone was still a fairly young woman. No more than forty-five at most.

The thought that Simon might have an unknown
niece or nephew set fire to her imagination.
‶
Did he investigate the
possibility?″

‶
No. I don′t suppose he
ever thought of it.″ With an almost invisible struggle, the dowager
regained the cold demeanor that Miranda suspected now was only a facade to hide
a lonely and sad woman.
‶
Certainly I didn′t mention the possibility to
him. It was merely a foolish fancy of mine.″

Unbearable sadness swept over Miranda.
‶
I
don′t suppose it is very likely. Even if he were to have been married,
how often does a short marriage produce a child?″

She was not thinking of his brother, though,
but of herself. In this gallery of Watterlys, generation after generation, the
ache for Simon′s child was sharp.

She fancied, as she glanced from portrait to
portrait, the eyes that judged her — women as well as men — seemed to have made
up their minds as to her failure. And she was fearful that there was nothing
she could do to avert that failure. She could not get close enough to Simon to
do her wifely duty without causing him to become overwrought.

The dowager seemed to sense the conflict that
percolated through her.
‶
Even a long union is no guarantee of children. Simon
was my only child in twenty-five years of marriage.″

Once again struck by the dowager′s youth,
Miranda had no time to puzzle the meaning of her statement, for at that moment
the sound of childish sobbing, along with the rapid patter of feet along
parquet, echoed in the hallway. Both women turned to see Betsy running toward
them, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

‶
Betsy!″ Miranda bent to
catch the child and raise her into her arms. Betsy′s arms clung tight and
warm around her neck as the sobs continued.

‶
What on earth is the matter, my
sweet?″ Miranda murmured soothingly.

Between sobs the distraught child managed
eventually to gasp out,
‶
His Grace is going to turn me and me mam out. He
don′t like Mam at all.″ Her wails took on a piercing quality as she
finished.

Miranda forced herself to smile.
‶
Nonsense.
I have hired your mother, and you will both stay here.″

Betsy did not seem convinced, although her
wails lessened in volume. Children were often fearful when adults argued,
Miranda had found. The best reassurance would be for her to swiftly relegate
such fears into the rubbish bin.

However, in order to convince the child, she
needed to suppress her own annoyance with Simon. She forced herself to continue
smiling as she hugged the child to her.
‶
I′m afraid some of this
might be my fault, sweet. You see, I had neglected to inform him that you and
your mother would be joining our establishment, so His Grace was merely
surprised.″

The child shook her head against the shoulder
of Miranda′s gown, which was becoming increasingly damp.
‶
He
said he would not have her in his home.″

‶
Did he indeed?″ The
dowager′s question was tart.
‶
I wonder why?″

Miranda ignored the pointed dig.
‶
I
promise, Betsy, you and your mother are staying here with me. I will explain
everything to His Grace, and soon he will tell you so himself.″

Betsy lifted her head from Miranda′s
shoulder.
‶
For
truth?″

‶
Of course.″ Miranda
wondered how difficult it would be to convince Simon. She could not understand
his reaction. He had affection for Betsy, that had been obvious when he had
caught the child in his arms in the study. Even if Katherine was not
experienced, she was intelligent and capable of learning quickly. But she hid
her chagrin from the obviously frightened child.

The dowager′s eyes were focused on
Betsy′s tearstained cheeks and bright eyes. Her mouth was a thin line
broken only when she asked,
‶
Whose child is she?″

‶
My lady′s maid,
Katherine′s.″ Miranda explained shortly, still stung by the
dowager′s assumption, in the study, that Betsy was Simon′s own
child.

The dowager nodded.
‶
So you are certain
the child is not his, then.″

‶
I am quite certain.″
Miranda wondered if the dowager was aware that she asked the most outrageous
questions as if she were inquiring over the weather. She suspected the older
woman actually cultivated the practice, so she dealt with her accusations
plainly.

She stopped in the hallway, forcing the dowager
to turn and face her instead of walking imperiously forward.
‶
And
I must tell you that I would not think less of Simon if he did choose to take a
child of his into his home to raise — legitimate or not. That he might do so
would only raise him in my esteem.″

‶
Well, I am glad to see that you
have a sensible attitude about such things. So many young women
don′t.″ There was a wistful look in her eye for a moment and to
Miranda′s amazement, the slim and elegant arm extended to allow the
dowager to pat Betsy on the head. The child′s last lingering sobs stifled
at once and she began to hiccup.
‶
It must have been the blonde
hair that made me think ... never mind. Come, I will show you both the line
from which Simon has sprung.″ She looked pointedly at Miranda.
‶
Perhaps
you will understand him better, then.″

With that disheartening statement, she turned
and walked briskly toward the end of the hallway in which hung the oldest
portraits. As they moved back toward the more recent portraits, Miranda barely
heard her pithy descriptions of each of the ancestors, male and female, so busy
was she looking for Simon′s portrait. It was puzzling to her, but
apparently he had no portrait in the gallery. Perhaps it graced the mantel of
another room? Somehow, though, that did not seem in keeping with what she knew
of Simon.

The dowager′s brisk recitation of history
ended so abruptly that Miranda, Betsy still in her arms, nearly bumped into her
before she, too, managed to stop. The dowager stood looking up at the portrait
of one of the sternest of the men, which hung on the wall next to the one of
Peter. There was a streak of white at his temples that seemed to emphasize the
sharp jut of both his nose and chin.

‶
Was that his father?″

A flicker of distaste crossed the
dowager′s features.
‶
My husband, God rot his soul.″ When
Betsy′s head once again came up from Miranda′s shoulder, the older
woman seemed to realize what she had said.
‶
Forgive me. Children should not
hear such talk. This gallery has always put me on edge. I think it best if we
depart.″ She turned on her heel to leave and then paused to make one more
comment, looking directly at the portrait of the old duke.

‶
Simon was a beautiful baby. I
was happy to have him, despite the fact that his father was a wretched
demon.″ She broke off, her expression indefinably, unbearably sad as she
looked up into the stem eyes of the first duke.
‶
It is sometimes hard to imagine
any of these illustrious gentlemen as innocent babes in their mother′s
arms, is it not?″

*****

Miranda tried in vain to see Simon as a babe in
arms as he paced the room, anger setting his chin at such a sharp angle that he
resembled his ancestors′ portraits. A vein at his temple visibly throbbed
as he repeated, for the third time,
‶
The woman is no lady′s
maid. I will not allow it.″