The Fairy Tale Bride (23 page)

His mouth twitched slightly as he regained
his color. "Dowager? What an extraordinary thought. Don't expect it
appeals to her."

That comment alone convinced Miranda that he
was indeed an acquaintance of the dowager. "Would you like me to
let her know you are here?"

"Please." He stood there, saying no more, a
slight frown etching the lines deeper into his face.

She had to wonder if his extraordinary lack
of certainty could be attributed to his being American, or was from
some great emotion. "And your name, Mr. — ?"

"Watson." He hesitated. "She might not
remember me. Tell her that I have come to apologize for an injury I
did her in her youth."

Hesitating a bit more, he added, "Perhaps I
should give her a note, or she might refuse to see me."

Considering the injury had been done in her
youth, and the lines on the American's face were deep, Miranda
nodded. "That might be wise." She wondered if he had been a
handsome young man, before time and trials had etched his face
older than his years. Would the dowager even recognize him?

She settled the American in the parlor, rang
for tea, and stepped into the hallway to dispatch a servant to
carry Mr. Watson's note to the dowager, who was taking her daily
walk in the garden.

She hoped seeing the two together would
explain the man's hesitation. An American. How had the dowager met
him? Before she could spin a romantic tale for them, however, Simon
touched her shoulder.

"A carriage is approaching." He was smiling
at her, and his hand dropped to linger at her waist.

For a moment she was startled at his intimate
gesture and then the import of his words hit her. Her sisters! All
thoughts of the dowager and her American were pushed away. Her
sisters were here. At last she would see Valentine and know if he
had truly given up on Emily.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As they watched the carriage approach up the
drive, Miranda's eyes sparkled up at Simon like fine sherry.
Thinking of how small and forced her smiles had been of late, he
realized just what he had wrought with his impatient need to
possess her. He wanted desperately to lift her up and bury his face
in her neck, where the scent of her was strong and sweet, and
apologize for his unmeant cruelty.

He had not considered how full her life had
been with family — or how empty of friends his home was. Katherine
was somewhat of a confidante, but she was a servant. And he could
not understand how Miranda tolerated his mother, never mind enjoyed
her company.

Having her sisters underfoot would be a
relief to both of them. She would have them to keep her distracted
from concentrating on his false illness, and he would have more
than enough chaperones.

"Miranda! Your house is even nicer than
Anderlin. I want to live here." Kate burst from the carriage before
it had even rolled to a complete stop. He could not help his own
smile as he hurried to catch the irrepressible elf in mid-flight
and hand her to her happy sister.

"Kate! You could have injured yourself."
Miranda stood by the carriage, Kate clasped against her side to
prevent her from darting into the path of the team as it came to a
halt with a jingle of harnesses. The coachman opened the door
formally for the remainder of her sisters to dismount more
sedately, and Simon went to offer his hand.

The courtyard itself seemed electrified by
the presence of the girls. Even the coachman, a thin-faced,
normally somber man, was smiling broadly, albeit a little dazedly.
He was not used to the constant high pitched chatter of excited
young persons of the female persuasion. Simon found himself
overwhelmed with tales of the trip and the inns and food where they
had stopped.

He watched Miranda, choked with emotion at
her sisters tumbling from the carriage in bright flounces of skirts
and even brighter smiles. She could not speak. He suspected she was
close to breaking down into outright sobs. Her hands on Kate were
tight, as if she might never let her go — until the little girl
broke away to feed a carrot from her pocket to the lead horse.

Simon allowed his arm to encircle his wife's
waist as she, with tears in her eyes, embraced Hero. He saw similar
tears in her sister's eyes and realized how much he had missed by
never knowing his own brother.

The sisters hugged each other tightly.
Miranda's voice was husky as she said, "It is so good to see you
looking well."

"And you, as well." Hero smiled through her
tears, blinking away the moisture until her gaze was focused on her
sister. "I have missed you. How do you fare as Duchess of
Kerstone?"

The question was pointed and Simon hurried to
answer, fearing that Miranda would be too honest. "Your sister is
the most gracious duchess we have ever known. I, for one, cannot
think there is one more qualified for the position. And I would not
change one thing about our last few weeks."

Miranda, on the verge of speaking, looked up
at him in surprise. Her lips were turned up in a teasing smile as
she asked, "Not one thing?" But her eyes were serious.

Fortunately, at that moment Juliet bubbled up
to her. "Oh, Miranda, the duke's coach is just the thing. We
traveled in the lap of luxury. You would not believe how
comfortable the ride was, compared to our old carriage that Father
should have had re-sprung years ago."

She looked up at Simon with a flirtatious
flip of her lashes that made him want to shout with laughter. But
then, her eyes widened as she realized what she had said and the
color left her face, "I did not mean ... "

Miranda smiled. "Of course you didn't,
Juliet. No doubt, if Papa and Mama had survived their carriage
accident, Papa would have seen to the carriage. But that is neither
here nor there. Are you well? How do things fare at Anderlin?" She
looked toward the abandoned carriage with a little frown line on
her brow.

"Anderlin does well, as do we all." Hero
smiled with a hint of pride and confidence. Simon was gratified to
see it. He had not hurt the family by taking Miranda away, at
least.

Noticing her sister's contemplation of the
carriage, Juliet's hazel eyes sparkled as she added, "And Valentine
sends his regrets that he was unable to accompany us, but his
business ventures are doing so well that he must go into London
first."

"Oh. I'm glad to hear he's doing so well."
Miranda could not hide her disappointment, though. Simon knew how
much she had looked forward to seeing her brother again.

He pressed his palm firmly against the small
of her back in sympathy, and she glanced at him, clearly aware for
the first time that he was not behaving with his normal reticence.
He addressed her sisters. "Your sister and I have a surprise for
you. And your brother will be astonished when he arrives — he won't
recognize any of you."

Miranda smiled. With visible effort, she put
aside her worries and addressed her sisters. "Yes, indeed. Are you
ready to be poked, prodded, and pinned until you are veritable
fashion plates?" Halfway through her speech, he heard the
excitement and pleasure return to her voice.

There was a cheerful chorus of assent. She
turned to him with a worried frown, "They do add a bit of
liveliness, don't they? If you think the uproar will be too much
for you — "

For the hundredth time, Simon damned his
'illness'. "Not at all. The look on your face is worth every bit of
inconsequential chatter and feminine foible. Perhaps they might
even chase my mother away." He realized then, that his mother had
not shown herself to greet the guests. "Where is she? Waiting to
greet everyone formally like the dowager dragon she is?"

Miranda flashed him a guilty-innocent smile
that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. "I think she
has an unexpected guest of her own."

"A guest?"

"An American."

That was interesting — and called for further
investigation, without Miranda's involvement. "Well, I'm glad she's
not here to put a chill on all this warm chatter."

"Perhaps it would be better for you if she
did, though. I could not bear the thought of you becoming ill
because — "

He bent to kiss her, once, quickly, just as
they all began to ascend the stairs. "Don't worry about me. I'll
enjoy being a brother for the first time." A little flicker of hope
kindled in her startled eyes. And then Kate pulled on her arm,
demanding to be shown her room.

He smiled. Her sisters were here and things
were just a little bit more like they had been before he had come
into her life with his proposal and turned it upside down. He hoped
he could relax and enjoy her, now, in company. Once she had her
sisters settled — which would likely take all day.

The one sour note in his perfect married life
– besides the fact that he couldn't touch his wife — was his
mother. He wondered if he could convince her to leave? It was worth
a try. Especially now that she had brought a 'guest' into his
home.

He headed toward the gardens. He had no doubt
that his mother's guest was a man. It infuriated him that she would
bring her amoral ways to poison his home. He would not stand for it
– especially now that he was the protector of innocent young women.
He would not allow her corrupting influence to affect Miranda or
her sisters.

He saw her then, among her lilacs. There was
indeed a man beside her. A man with white hair. Unusual. He
wondered, briefly, if the man was his father, and then shrugged his
shoulders as he headed toward them. He doubted even his mother knew
who his father truly was. Why else would she refuse to tell him, to
give him the one thing he wanted from her?

They stopped talking when they saw him. For a
moment he had the absurd impression that his mother was crying, but
when he was close enough to see, her eyes were dry and her
expression was, as usual, serene.

"Good day, Mother. Your garden looks lovely."
He glanced curiously at the man beside her. Tall, craggy-faced, not
her usual style in lovers. He would have expected young, leonine, a
spoiled sneer, and a need for ready cash.

"Thank you, Simon. Has Miranda's family
arrived?"

He nodded, still staring at the gentleman
who, as yet, had not been introduced.

With a glance at the dowager, apparently
confirming that she had no intention of introducing him, the man
startled Simon by sticking his hand out and beginning, "I'm –"

She interrupted, even as she raised her hand
to pull on his outstretched arm. "We don't shake hands here, Mr.
Watson." Her eyes bored into the American's and he slowly,
reluctantly, relaxed his arm to his side.

With a sigh, she smiled at him. "I'm so
sorry. I neglected to introduce you to my son. Simon is now the
duke. Simon, this is Mr. Watson. He is from America."

"I had not realized you knew any Americans,
Mother."

"I am not a snob. The colonies won their
independence before I was born. I thought it quite romantic when I
learned of it." She drew her mouth down, with a glance at the
stranger. "As I said, I was just a child."

"Your mother and I knew each other years ago,
Your Grace."

Simon was startled at the correct use of his
title. Most Americans of his acquaintance called him my lord, sir,
or – with belligerence – Mr. Watterly.

To taunt his mother he asked, "How many years
ago, Mr. Watson?" He did not believe she had ever let this crude
American touch her, so there was no question of his being the lover
who fathered her bastard – no matter how young or how full of
romantic idealism she had been. His mother had high standards when
it came to the blood of her lovers; no stableboys, tradesmen, or
Americans for her.

As if he understood the insulting nature of
Simon's question, Mr. Watson said dryly, "I would say it was a
lifetime ago, your Grace. But how can I when your mother is still
as young and beautiful as the last time I saw her?"

Simon felt a jolt of recognition as he
watched the stranger. The man was infatuated with his mother.
Still. After a lifetime apart. His stomach churned as he discarded
all his former impressions. One glance at his mother's stricken
face confirmed his fears. This man could be his father, after
all.

Pasting a polite smile onto his face, he said
exactly the opposite of what he had intended to say. "I do hope you
will stay with us for a few days. I look forward to getting to know
you better, Mr. Watson."

His mother's face was white when he turned
and walked away.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"May I really have two riding habits,
Miranda?" Kate asked as she squirmed restlessly at the table.

"Do hush and finish your eggs, Kate," Hero
reprimanded the child, patting the seat of Kate's chair as an
indication that she should sit upon it. "You shall have what the
duke provides you and count yourself lucky."

Miranda glanced nervously at the doorway,
grateful that Simon had not yet come down to breakfast with them.
After yesterday's swift changes in his attitude, she found her
sisters' chatter distracting. He had touched her, kissed her — and
then turned cold, practically snarling as he announced that his
mother's guest would be staying.

What had changed his mood? Her sisters? The
dowager's guest? And could she do anything to improve it? She
certainly intended to try, if only she could be certain that she
would not cause him harm.

She had confessed the truth of her virgin
state to Katherine this morning and had since been consumed by a
single notion. The notion, which seemed to have taken root in her
imagination, of deliberately seducing her own husband. Katherine
didn't seem to think making love could do him physical harm. But
she had warned her in no uncertain terms that a man's fear could be
his worst enemy when it came to lovemaking. Seduction could make
things worse. Or mend them and give Simon hope for the future.