Miracle (52 page)

He swallowed. "She confessed . . . that you are not my child."

Silence.

Gradually, he brought his gaze back to hers. "She told me that the child she was carrying when we married, when I took her to Cavisbrooke, was miscarried. I had already returned to London, of course. She was alone. Terrified that it was only because of the child that I had married her. She turned to the only companion and friend she had."

Miracle covered her ears with her hands and shook her head in denial.

"John is your father, Miracle. Not I."

"Liar." She hissed it.

"My God, you don't remember, do you? You were there, Miracle. You followed John to the hill when he came searching for
Lorraina
. You were watching the entire horrible incident from a distance—a weeping child in the rain. I'll never forget your terrified little face."

"No. You would've known. My birth would have come too late—"

"She went to a woman—Ceridwen—and got from her herbs that brought on her labor. You were born over a month early—at the time when the first child would have
birthed.
No one expected you to survive—you were so weak and tiny. It was
a . . .
miracle that you survived."

Miracle.

"My mother," she began quietly.

"No sooner was the confession out of your mother than she turned to discover you in the distance. John ran to fetch you, and
Lorraina
believed you had overheard everything. One moment she was standing there on the edge of the precipice, her face turned into the wind, a distant, peaceful look on her features, then the next she spread her arms out to her sides and . . . for a moment it actually appeared that she was flying, hanging there suspended. I tried to reach her, Miracle. Then she was gone."

"My lord," came the urgent voice behind Miracle, worming its way through her numb senses. "The man come bursting in the front door with no warning, demanding to see you and the young lady—"

"Meri,"
Salterdon implored.

Standing, Cavendish demanded, "Just who the devil do you think you are—"

"Says he's duke something or other," the servant squeaked. "That he come for Lady Cavendish? I told him her ladyship is out for the afternoon, but—"

"Meri."
Salterdon's big hands closed gently over her shoulders.
"Meri,
come with me." He turned her around, but when he attempted to pull her close, she shook her head and backed away. It seemed that she shook from the inside out. Her blood felt cold, and her teeth chattered.

"He's not my father," she said, staring up into Salterdon's intense eyes. "I'm not certain if I should shout for joy or . . ."

She moved toward the door, did not look back or hesitate as she left the house and boarded the waiting hackney. Salterdon climbed in beside her, filled up the small chamber with his presence, then rapped with his fist on the ceiling. When he reached for her hand, she slid it away, buried it in the folds of her expensive gown. Only when the hackney rolled under way did she speak.

"It seems that, not only am I illegitimate, I now learn that I'm a product of the most common class—a squire's daughter and a groom for parents. It seems sadly and laughably ironic that I came here in hopes that I would confront my father and possibly convince him to acknowledge me so that I might at least be marginally worthy of marrying you. After all, if your grandmother hasn't approved of the other marriage prospects you've presented her—"

"Had my grandmother been presented to any marriage prospects whatsoever by either of her grandsons, she would have fainted with relief and pleasure, I assure you.
Meri
Mine, you must learn not to believe every catty comment you hear muttered under an envious woman's breath."

She fixed him with her eyes. "Then tell me, sir. Have you any mistresses?"

He set his jaw. And shifted on the cushioned seat. His countenance turned dark and agitated, and his eyes became hooded.

"Well?" she demanded. "Has the duke hidden away anyone that I should be aware of? Lovers? Children? Wives? Speak to me, damn you." She waited.

"Meri,"
he finally began.

"Stop the hackney," she demanded in a rising voice. "I said, stop this conveyance this instant before I jump!" She leapt for the door. He grabbed her back, struggled with her as she pounded on his chest and shoulders and struck at his cheek. "I don't want to hear your excuses!" she screamed. "I won't make the same mistakes as my mother. I won't be used, Salterdon. I won't allow you to break my heart—"

"Listen to me,
dammit
!"

"If you truly cared, you would have presented me to your family long ago, the duchess, your brother. But you never intended to marry me, did you? It all makes sense now. How could I have been so blind. I suppose it must run in the family.

"Let me go, sir. It will be a cold day in hell before I

marry you. I would rather spend the rest of my days digging potatoes with an Irishman before I wed the bloody duke of Salterdon."

She yanked her wrists from his hands, breathing hard. "Get out of this hackney—now—or I shall."

He opened his mouth but said nothing. Then, with a guttural growl and a curse and a muttered, "I'm going to murder that son of a bitch when I get my hands on him," he jumped from the hackney and slammed the door hard enough to cause the horses to snort.

"Go," Miracle snapped at the driver.

The hackney lurched forward.

Miracle briefly closed her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Silly girl. There was nothing to cry about, after all. She should be thankful that Cavendish wasn't her father. Oh, poor John. How he must have loved her mother—how he must have loved her—his only daughter. He loved her enough not to ever hurt her with the ugly truth.

Opening her eyes, she stared first at the canary in the cage, then down at the bouquet of yellow and white flowers near her feet. She picked them up and slowly turned to look back down the road.

He stood there, in the growing distance, his hands on his hips, his head down.

Damn her heart for drumming at the sight of him, even now. For loving him despite everything. A cry worked up her throat. Traitorous emotions. Disloyal heart!

Furious, she flung open the birdcage, watched as the canary took flight, soared toward the blue sky and white clouds. Then she went to her knees, and as hard as she could, flung the bouquet of flowers into the air. They scattered, the yellow and white blooms floating over the road as lightly as feathers. She watched, with hot tears running down her cheeks, as Salterdon's image faded behind the rising wall of dust.

Mistress
Ellesemere's
face turned white as a sheet at first sight of Miracle. "Oh my," Ellie cried, wringing her hands and jumping aside as Miracle stormed through the front entry and headed for the stairs. "Whatever has happened, dear? Where is—"

"I don't wish to talk about it now or ever," Miracle declared so loudly Gertrude and Ethel came running. "And his famously handsome and distinguished—not to mention philandering—duke is somewhere along the highway to Islington, sufficiently boot sore by now, I should think. Bloody serves him right."

Ellie scrambled up the stairs behind her.

Entering her bedroom, Miracle flung open the wardrobe doors and snatched for her clothes: the ones she came to London in, the ones she had sewn herself, the browns and simple calicoes, the unadorned chemises, worsted stockings, worn kid slippers.

"What are you doing?" Ellie demanded.

"Leaving. I'm going home. To Cavisbrooke. To be with the only friend-—family—I have in the world."

"Miracle. Please, let's discuss—"

"I'm finished talking. I'm done with understanding. I'm through allowing him to change me into something or someone I'm not just so I don't cause him embarrassment—"

"Oh no! That was never his intention!"

Miracle dragged a valise from under the bed and slammed it onto the mattress. Not bothering to fold the limp garments, she shoved them unceremoniously into the bag. "You must have thought me a naive ninny, thinking I could make a man like him happy. That I could be enough for him. That I could fill up his empty days, replace his hours of frivolous debauchery with something so insubstantial as love and companionship. Seems he's got more companionship than he knows what to do with."

"Meri—"

"Don't call me that.
He
calls me that. And do you know why? Because I make him happy—"

"You do!"

"Because I make him smile and laugh—"

"But you do!"

"A hunting hound can accomplish the same thing, my dear Ellie, and will be far more willing than I to lick the back of his hand."

Hefting the heavy valise from the bed, Miracle turned toward the threshold, just as Ellie stepped from the room, slammed the door, and locked it.

Dropping the bag to the floor, Miracle sprang at the door, grabbed the knob, and attempted to turn it. She banged on the door with her fist. "Unlock this door!" she demanded.

"I won't until you calm down and think rationally."

"This is the first moment I've entertained a rational thought since
I
met him!" she cried, and kicked the door. "Now open the bloody door before
I . . .
I throw myself out of the window."

"Quickly, Gertrude," came the urgent plea. "Have Thaddeus fetch a ladder and nail shut her ladyship's window."

Hands on her hips, glaring at the door, Miracle exclaimed, "Surprise! I'm not a lady, either. I'm just the misbegotten daughter of a groom—a mere groom. Imagine that! The man who raised me, who taught me how to read and encouraged my admiration for the man whom I
believed
was my father is actually my father. Are you sufficiently shocked, Mistress
Ellesemere
?"

Nothing.

"Can you understand now why my remaining here would be sheer folly? The duchess dowager—the cranky old crone—would never approve of my marrying her precious grandson."

A gasp. Frantic whispers.

Finally, "Miracle, I don't intend to unlock this door until you've calmed down. When you wish to discuss these unfortunate circumstances in a mature and adult fashion, without this angry tantrum, then I shall allow your release."

Miracle stubbornly crossed her arms. Tapped her foot on the floor . . . and listened to the ensuing silence. Finally, she pressed her ear against the door, strained hard for any sound. Nothing.

She spun toward the window, just as Thaddeus popped up atop the ladder, his lips pressed around several nails, a hammer in his hand. He waved to her. She glared back, making his Adam's apple quiver and bob in his scrawny throat. Then he proceeded to nail closed her window.

As the light of the moon spilled through her window, Miracle softly blessed three white candles and made the sign of the cross on each one. Then she lit them. According to Ceridwen's bible, silver ones would have been better, but white was all she had and would, therefore, have to do. Her hands clasped, her head bowed over the flickering flames, Miracle chanted:

Angel of the Mirror, Angel of the Moon,

Grant to me your presence as a precious boon.