Miracle (59 page)

"The horses—"

"An emotional meeting, to say the least."

"You explained—"

"That the horses and John were to be a wedding gift—"

"From Trey—"

"From you." Ben smiled. "The jig is up, my lord. Mr. Hoyt and I have come to the conclusion that, for the lass's sake and yours, the truth should be revealed."

"The hell you say." Spurring his horse, Clayton reined the startled animal toward home.

Ben cried out behind him, "What about Chester, my lord? My lord?
Basingstoke?
Basingstoke!"

Love looks not with the eyes,

But with the mind:

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Chapter Twenty-three

Hidden in the dark, Clayton watched Miracle curry Napitov. She braided his flowing silver-gray mane. She fed him carrots and apples and corn from her hands while Ismail saw to the others—all twelve of them, their beautiful dished heads extended through the opened Dutch stable doors, eagerly awaiting their evening feeding of grain and hay.

She carefully cleaned Nap's hooves and polished them with a soft cloth until they shone, and she spoke openly of her time in London, while John sat near and whittled on a stick, occasionally raising his head to watch her, his brow creased in consternation.

"He can't help being what he is any more than I can. He has such potential. Such great kindness and generosity. I saw it when he was on the island. I miss that man desperately. But he's happy in London. And he has a responsibility to his grandmother, and his title. He's the duke of Salterdon, and he must live and act accordingly. Oh, but I shall miss him," she added more softly, her eyes becoming distant.

Much later, he sat on a marble bench below her room and gazed up at the glowing windows until the lights went out. Then her French doors opened, and she moved out onto the balcony and stood there, staring off over the moon-drenched countryside, the wind blowing her hair and white nightgown.

Why the blazes didn't he say something? Reveal himself and his secret? Go on his knee and beg her forgiveness and understanding. Explain that he was obligated to his brother—Trey had saved his life, after all—as twins they were closer than brothers, which was why he was flailing now in this mire of guilt. He was in love with Miracle Cavendish, had made love to Miracle Cavendish, had purposely charmed his way into her heart, portrayed his brother as someone and something he wasn't. She had fallen in love with a fraud. Was it any wonder that her only desire now was to return to Cavisbrooke, the only reality she had ever known?

As usual, Miracle joined John and Ellie for breakfast on Basingstoke's east veranda. She nibbled her crumpets and sipped her chocolate, looking back and forth between her father and Ellie, who had eyes only for one another. Miracle had dressed to ride, hoping for an earlier lesson on Napitov, only to learn that John had already made plans to take Ellie on a buggy ride through the countryside. She felt inordinately piqued. Then again, such irritation was only one of the emotions she had recently dealt with. She just couldn't seem to get a handle on her feelings. She felt like crying one moment and laughing hysterically the next.

"Don't you think it odd," Miracle suddenly announced, bringing her companions' attention around to her, "that we've resided at Basingstoke an entire week and have yet to meet Lord Basingstoke himself? I'm beginning to think he's as low as his brother."

"Miracle," Ellie scolded. "That's not a very kind thing to say about our host. Especially after he's so graciously opened his magnificent home to us."

"No doubt because his grandmother ordered him to."

Ellie scowled.

Wringing her napkin in her lap, Miracle raised her chin. "I want to go home."

"Not yet," Ellie replied sternly.

"Why ever not? I don't intend to change my mind, if that's what you think. I shan't marry a man who cannot be bothered to come to Basingstoke and attempt to win me over."

"Is that what this is about?" Ellie smiled and glanced at John. "You're angry because His Grace has not come crawling on his knees in hopes of winning you back?"

"If he loved me, he would. Obviously, he doesn't."

"You said you never wanted to see him again."

Miracle sipped at her steaming chocolate and burned her tongue. "I don't."

"Then what the blazes are
ya
complainin
' about," John said, then shook his finger at her. "You've got that damnable stubborn set to your jaw, lass, and we both know what that means. You'll work
yerself
up into a tizzy if you're not careful, then we're all in for trouble."

"Really, Miracle. You're acting like a spoiled child," Ellie added.

"Well!" Flinging her napkin onto her plate, Miracle jumped from her chair, and with her hands on her hips, glared first at Ellie, then at John. "I can certainly see that I'm not wanted here this morning. Good day to you both."

She stormed to the stables. As she waited for Ismail to saddle Napitov, she paced. It was then she noticed a servant emerge from a thicket of trees beyond the barns. Miracle had previously paid little attention to the distant, mostly hidden brick building, thinking it was a forgotten outbuilding. The realization occurred her, however, that that was where her unsociable hermit of a host probably resided.

Miracle hurried to the servant, stopping the surprised girl with a "Wait!"

"Milady?"

"His lordship . . . is that where he resides?"

"Yes, milady."

"Is he there now?"

"No, milady."

"When will he return?"

"I wouldn't know, milady."

Miracle frowned and tapped her skirt with her riding crop. "Is he always so rude as to completely ignore his houseguests?"

"Milady?"

"Nothing . . . Tell me this: Is his lordship in residence, or has he fled the country?"

Smiling, the girl nodded. "Oh, yes, milady. His lordship is definitely in residence."

With a curtsy, the servant continued on her way, and Miracle returned to the stable.

As usual, she allowed Napitov the freedom to work off his excess energy. With the wind roaring in her ears, they galloped cross-country, taking the hedges in high, clean leaps. By the time they reached the tenant's cottages, Nap was lathered and content to trot.

A half dozen children ran out to greet her. Their mothers hurried behind. They curtsied and smiled, first at Miracle, then at the children who clustered about their skirts.

"Our apologies," a woman declared, and mussed her son's hair. "It isn't often that we're visited by gentry— unless it's his lordship, of course."

Miracle slid from Nap's back. A boy hurried to her, hefting a bucket of cool water, which he placed before the horse. Miracle glanced about the cluster of houses. She noted there wasn't one among them that needed repair. All were beautifully kept, their gardens immaculate, as were the tenants themselves. The children were rosy-cheeked with good health. There wasn't even a tatter on their freshly laundered clothes.

"Does his lordship get by often?" she asked.

"Several times a week, milady."

"To make certain the work is being done properly, I assume."

"Yes. And to see to our general welfare."

"Are you happy here? Is Basingstoke a considerate landlord?"

The women all exchanged smiles and soft giggles. Lifting a toddler in her arms, a yellow-haired woman in a calico dress and apron replied, "I've never known another landlord to be so generous and mindful of his workers. Before he sells a bushel of his crops, he makes certain we have all that we need. He sells what he needs to see a slight profit, then the excess he contributes to London charities."

"Such as the Charterhouse—"

"And the Foundling Hospital," another woman added.

"Not to mention the schools—"

"And free dispensaries. The food his lordship supplies them is enough to feed a thousand children."

"He's ever so kind," a tiny lad with a skinned nose declared.

Smiling, Miracle went down on her knee before him. "Is he?" she asked softly. "Why do you think so?"

"When I hurt me leg, he sent all the way to London for a doctor. And 'cause I was so brave, he said someday he wanted a son just like me."

"Does he like children?"

The lad nodded and beamed.

The child's mother laughed. "As we said, his lordship is most generous. Just a week back, he presented each of our husbands with a new shirt—the most exquisitely made garments we've ever seen."

"They came from the Isle of Wight," another said.

Slowly, Miracle stood. She looked from one face to another. "The Isle—?"

"I have one here," A short woman with her arms full of laundry stepped forward and handed the shirt to Miracle. It was her shirt, one that she had sewn with her own hands.

As they had for the past several nights, Ellie and John talked softly in the moonlight, each sitting a respectable distance apart, but their occasional smiles and Ellie's soft, feminine laughter bespoke their growing fondness for one another. With her French door slightly ajar, Miracle sat in the darkness and listened to their murmurings and wished they would find someplace other than Ellie's balcony to do their courting. How damnably inconvenient.

Miracle waited until midnight before slipping from her room. At the far end of the corridor, a manservant snuffed the last burning candle, and complete darkness fell with a silent implosion around her. Quiet voices touched her ear: servants bidding each other a good night. Then silence.

Miracle fixed her path straight down the center of the hallway, moved carefully, cautiously, her hands out before her, every sense straining, ears roaring with her own breathing, her heart thumping loudly. For the last two days she had memorized every hallway, corner, and piece of furniture down the corridor walls, counted strides, knew exactly when she passed the dining room, the anteroom, and reaching the top of the stairs, her hand sought for and found the smooth banister. Thirty-five steps to the floor, then left, down the long corridor with its draped windows, then into the entrance hall and out the front door.