The Fairy Tale Bride (20 page)

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."

"I hired her. I think I have that right.
After all, you will not have to suffer any mistakes she might make
in dressing my hair or tightening my laces." She truly could not
fathom the reason for his upset. She had thought it was simple
masculine dismay at not being consulted in the decision. But from
his words, it was becoming increasingly clear that his objections
were with Katherine herself.

He was adamant. "I could not bear it if she
were to lay one finger on your hair, or even your clothing."

"How can you be so harsh. I realize she is
not your typical maid, but with proper training ... " She felt
slightly ridiculous, making a case for Katherine as a lady's maid
when it was all a subterfuge to keep Simon from finding out that
she would be trying to cure him.

"I would prefer to keep you sheltered. Please
don't press me. Simply give the woman notice and send her home
again."

"I know she made her living in a rather
unorthodox manner — ',

"Unorthodox?" He paused and glared at her.
"Just exactly what do you know of how she made her living? Surely
you did not discuss it with her?"

"Of course I did! She has much to teach me —
"

"What?" He found this preposterous
conversation was giving him a headache. "I shall be the one to
teach you about such things."

"Well, I don't see how. You won't even
consult a doctor about your health. I cannot understand why you are
being unreasonable. I should be able to choose my lady's maid for
myself."

"She is a wholly unacceptable person!"

Miranda rounded on him. " I had no idea you
were so intolerant or I would never have married you. Katherine may
have had a hard life, but she is a good person — too good to be a
lady's maid. It is simply the best I could offer her."

"Too good?" He could not believe his
ears.

"She has been living with her father, doing
her best to keep her daughter fed and clothed with her healing
talents. But her village is poor and they had little to offer. I
will have her, and you will not stop me."

"A healer? What nonsense has she filled your
head with, Miranda? The woman has been lying with men for
money."

Miranda blinked. For a moment she did not
take in his meaning. And then she did. "How dare you say that about
Katherine!"

He shook his head. "You sound as if she were
your most trusted friend."

It was true. She did consider Katherine a
trusted friend. Miranda reflected that perhaps such was her nature.
After all, she had bonded with Simon more quickly and fully than
she had imagined possible in a lifetime of days together. "Perhaps
that is because she has become one — because I took the time to get
to know her."

He stilled, the muscle that twitched when he
was overwrought pulsed in an alarming fashion. "What do you mean,
you took the time to get to know her? Have you spent time with this
woman?"

She nodded, understanding his dismay now that
she knew the misapprehension under which he labored. "And Betsy —
in fact it was Betsy I went to see, but Katherine's plight tore at
my heart."

"And so you offered her a position here?"

"Yes."

"It will never work."

"We will see." She did not really care if
Katherine was the worst lady's maid ever known. She wanted her
husband cured and for that she needed Katherine here to help.

"I want her out of my home. You do not know
what you are about in this matter. You must trust my judgment."

His harsh, unfeeling words echoed in her
ears. He trusted her no more than her own father had. Worse, he had
taken her for wife and did not treat her as a wife. "No. You must
trust mine."

He looked at her seriously, then sighed. "She
must go."

She felt herself inexplicably blinded by
tears as she stood. "Very well. If you cannot be reasonable, then
Katherine, Betsy, and I will be out of your home within the
hour."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

He watched as she retreated into a cold
stranger who could stand there and calmly announce that she was
leaving him — as if he did not know what he was doing in refusing
Katherine. He thought briefly that she was simply being
melodramatic. But a glance into her eyes convinced him
otherwise.

She had no idea what she was asking of him,
of course. Again, her innocence led her into trouble. Making a
friend of a woman like Katherine. It was too absurd for words. And
yet, he could still remember the difficulty he had had when his
mother had accused him of fathering Betsy.

He wished he dared to throw in her face the
simple fact that he would never deny a child of his — never keep a
child from knowing the name of his or her true father, as his
mother had done with him. But then the scandal would no longer be a
family secret. He could not afford that. He had promised.

For a moment, he forced himself to consider
letting Miranda go. Just nodding, saying nothing as she walked out,
her spine stiff, Betsy's tiny hand cradled in her own. She would do
it, he had no doubt. She was not threatening him, she was laying
down the battle lines and the terms of surrender in one clean
shot.

Valentine would take her in. Her sisters
would divert any lingering shame or misery with their demands upon
her time. Miranda would go back to her old life as if she had never
married. And he would be free of the torment of being married to
her yet unable to make love with her.

But the thought of living the rest of his
short life as the duke without her near enough to touch was
unbearable. "Don't be ridiculous. You are my wife, you will go
nowhere."

"Oh, Simon," she whispered. "I must."

"I will not allow it," he said, slowly and
clearly. He wanted her to know it would be a waste of time to
argue. In this matter, he knew better than she. Though he did not
expect her to surrender easily.

She smiled, almost involuntarily, and his
heart gave an extra jolt when he saw that there were tears in her
eyes. "It seems that I am the pea to your Princess."

For a moment, he was flummoxed. And then he
remembered the tale to which she referred, in which a princess was
so delicate that a pea placed under twenty mattresses disturbed her
sleep.

Fairytales again. Would she never realize
that they lived in a world that did not often see a happy ending?
"Do not spout your fairytales at me."

Anger, hurt, and distrust warred on her
expressive face as she said softly, "It hardly seems a fairytale to
me, who must live it." Her eyes were liquid with pain, but she met
his gaze without flinching.

Her pain echoed within him and intensified as
he realized that she was, for the first time, not convinced of a
happy ending for them. He had wanted this, but the slow death of
her innocence was horrifying for him to watch. As horrifying as the
eager young faces of the men he had daily sent off to their deaths
as a result of an indifferent ball of lead.

But what courage she had. Even with her
assurance rocked, her voice was steady. "You have told me that to
be your wife I must not try to stem the course of your illness."
She clenched her fists convulsively as she spoke, he noticed, but
otherwise she projected a calm front. "I must not sleep next to you
at night – nor kiss you too passionately." A faint blush stained
her cheeks and he felt ashamed of how badly he was hurting her.
"Now you tell me that I am not capable enough to hire my own lady's
maid." Her chin came up. "I am capable of running my own life. I
don't need you." She paused and closed her eyes. "I just want
you."

His throat closed as her quiet words cut
through him.

She opened her eyes and made as if to step
closer to him, but halted. Her gaze was clear and certain. "Don't
you understand? If you do nothing to stop the course of your
illness, you will die. And then I will need to do much more than
hire a servant on my own."

The thought of her, alone, after his supposed
death, was not a pleasant one. But then, neither was the thought of
her being taken advantage of by people with the base kind of
motives she was too goodhearted to comprehend. That was the battle,
after all. Her autonomy. Not Katherine herself. "I will take you to
London. You may hire anyone you choose there –"

She tried to interrupt, but he held up his
hand and finished forcefully. "But Katherine is unsuitable. To be
plain, the woman lies with men for money and is no fit company for
you." He knew her well enough by now not to be surprised that she
did not react with shock or surprise to his bald statement.

"I see you have made up your mind." There was
a touch of scorn in her voice that he could not credit.

"Some things must be done a certain way. It
is not a matter of making up one's mind, but of knowing the
difference between right and wrong."

"And Katherine is wrong?" she challenged, her
voice taut with sudden fury.

"She does what she must, no doubt. But I will
not have a person like that in my household."