Unconquered (20 page)

Dorothea awakened with a start. “Wh-where are we?”

“We are at our London house, Mama,” soothed Miranda. “In a few moments you’ll be in a nice hot tub, and you’ll have a pot of China Black all to yourself. It will ease your headache.” She reached for her bonnet, put it on, and tied the strings.

The gentlemen escorted the ladies up the steps and into the house. To Miranda’s surprise, the entire staff was assembled.
She was not used to such formality, but then this was England, not America. She lifted her chin. Feeling the warm pressure of Jared’s hand on hers, Miranda was strengthened. Roger Bramwell stepped forward.

“Miranda, this is my secretary, Roger Bramwell. He keeps everything going for me here in England. Roger, my wife.”

She held out her gloved hand to shake his, but instead he turned it deftly, and kissed it in the European manner. “M’lady, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to London.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bramwell,” she replied, withdrawing her hand.

“Allow me to present the staff,” he said. “Simpson, the butler.”

“Simpson.”

“Welcome, m’lady,” said Simpson, a very tall, large, dignified man.

“Mrs. Dart, the housekeeper.”

“We’re delighted to have you with us, m’lady,” said Mrs. Dart, as tiny as the butler was large, and sweet-faced.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dart.”

“The treasure of our household, m’lady—Mrs. Poultney, the cook.”

“Heh! Heh!” chortled the red-cheeked plump woman, her four chins jiggling. Then she bobbed a curtsey. “Happy to serve you, m’lady.”

“I shall depend on you, Mrs. Poultney.”

“M’lord’s valet, Mitchum.”

Miranda nodded at the tall, rapier-thin man.

“And this is Perkins, m’lady. I’ve chosen her to be your personal maid. Her references are excellent.”

“I’m sure they are,” replied Miranda. “I know we shall get along famously,” she said to the maid, who curtseyed pertly. Good, thought Miranda, this one is no simpering girl. “Mr. Bramwell, I shall need someone to look after Mama and Amanda while we are here.”

“I shall see to it, m’lady.”

The rest of the staff were quickly introduced: Smythe, the coachman, the four footmen, the two parlor maids, the two upstairs maids, the laundress, young Walker, Jared’s tiger, the two stable grooms, the tweeny, and the potboy.

“We’ve prepared the rose bedroom for Miss Amanda, m’lady, and the tapestry bedroom for Mistress Dunham,” said the housekeeper to Miranda.

“Very good, Mrs. Dart. Will you see that the baths are brought up to the bedrooms? I shall also require a pot of tea, China Black, if we have it, for Mama. As soon as I’ve bathed I should like to see today’s menu’s, and perhaps one of the upstairs maids can help my mother and sister until we have someone for them.”

“Yes, m’lady!” Mrs. Dart was impressed by Miranda’s quick authority. “Violet!” She gestured to one of the upstairs maids. “Show the ladies to their bedrooms.”

“You will, of course, join us for dinner, Adrian,” said Miranda.

He nodded, and she turned to follow her mother and sister up the oak staircase.

“M’lady,” said Jared.

“M’lord?”

“I will attend you shortly,” he said.

“I shall await you, sir.”

The staff went back to their duties, and to gossip about their new mistress. The gentlemen repaired to the morning room, and were served coffee.

“I’ve obtained the necessary vouchers to Almack’s for the ladies,” said Roger to Adrian and Jared. “Princess de Lieven and Lady Cowper send their kind regards. They say you’ve broken half the hearts in London by marrying. They also say that they do not remember your wife from last season. They recall Miss Amanda, but not her sister. They say they look forward to meeting Lady Dunham.”

“I’m sure they do,” grinned Jared. “I hope they managed to mask their eagerness.”

Roger chuckled. “Not too well. Mostly they speculated on how Lady Gillian Abbott would take the arrival of you
and
your wife.”

“I say! were you involved with Gillian Abbott?” said Adrian. “She’s a bit of a high flyer, but then old Lord Abbott don’t care what she does as long as she’s discreet, and brings home no bastards.”

“Lady Abbott and I were friends,” replied Jared. “She was
not in a position to offer anything other than friendship; and I certainly had no intention of offering anything else, even under other circumstances.”

“Certainly not, Jared. Even before she married old Abbott she wasn’t a particularly good match. Only thing she’s got is her beauty. The old man was eighty when they were married three years ago. Didn’t think he’d last this long.”

To change the subject gracefully, Roger Bramwell said, “You have several invitations, Jared. Sir Francis Dunham and his wife, the dowager Lady Swynford, the dowager Duchess of Worcester. I tendered your acceptances for those three. The others you will have to look over and decide on yourself.”

“Nothing too soon, Bramwell. The ladies haven’t an extensive wardrobe. In fact I want you to send one of the footmen around to Madame Charpentier’s and say that Miss Amanda Dunham is here. We’ll want Amanda’s trousseau delivered, and fittings for my wife and her mother for entire new wardrobes. And Miss Amanda will need a few things to tide her over until the wedding. Send the payment for what’s already done, and give Madame a deposit for what she’s about to do. That should bring her posthaste,” he grinned. “Now, gentlemen, I have something to discuss with my wife. I’ll see you tonight. Adrian …” He bowed and left the morning room.

Miranda was delightedly exploring her bedroom. Done in turquoise velvet and heavy cream satin, it had beautiful mahogany furniture in the Chippendale style. The carpet was Chinese, a thick turquoise blue wool with a cream geometric design. The two long bedroom windows overlooked the garden, which was abloom now with multi-colored flowers. The fireplace had a marvelous Georgian mantel that sported exquisite tall pink and white Sevres vases on either end, and a matching pink Sevres porcelain mantel clock in its center. On a piecrust table by the window was a large Waterford crystal bowl of pink and white roses.

“Shall I see to your bath, m’lady?” asked Perkins.

“Oh, please, yes! I haven’t had a freshwater bath in almost six weeks. Is there any bath oil in the house? No, wait, I’ve some in the little trunk. It’s my own blend.” She sat down in a wing chair by the window and waited.

Perkins bustled around the room unpacking Miranda’s things,
placing her silver brushes on the dressing table, clucking over the condition of her crumpled, trunk-bound clothing, directing with firm authority the grunting footmen who brought in the porcelain tub and buckets of hot water. She was as tall as her new mistress, as big-boned a girl as Miranda was slender. She had neatly braided nut-brown hair framing her round face. It was a sweet face with large gray eyes, a wide mouth, and an upturned nose. She was dressed plainly in an ankle-length gown of good-quality gray kerseymere with a spanking white collar and matching cuffs. She shooed the footmen out, closed the bedroom door firmly, and, taking the carefully hoarded supply of Miranda’s bath oil, poured a generous dollop into the tub, noting the London label on the small flacon.

“I’ll send one of the men around to Mr. Carruthers’ chemist shop tomorrow, m’lady, and get you more of this. Sweet stock, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You’ve a good nose, Perkins.”

Perkins grinned her infectious grin. “I should hope so, m’lady. My family grows flowers for sale, right outside of London. Stand up now, and let’s get those poor, travel-stained clothes off you.” She had Miranda stripped and into her tub in a minute. “Now you just lay there and relax, m’lady, while I get these things to the laundress. I won’t be but two minutes,” and she was gone.

Miranda sighed at the welcome luxury of the privacy and the even more welcome hot tub. During the voyage they could bathe only with salt water, and never in a tub, naked. They had taken what Mama referred to as “birdbaths,” and the cold salt water left them feeling more sticky than clean.

Miranda felt her entire body relaxing, and without even opening her eyes she laved the sweet, oiled water over her shoulders.

“I can almost hear you purring, wildcat.” His deep voice held an amused note.

“I am purring,” she said, still not opening her eyes.

“You make a fetching sight, m’lady. I can only regret that your tub is too small for both of us. I far prefer the tall old-fashioned oak tubs where two can bathe together.”

“Somehow I don’t believe bathing is on your mind, m’lord.”

“Indeed, madam?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“
Say it!
” He dropped the bantering tone, and his voice suddenly had a ragged sound. “Say what?”

“Say it, dammit!”

She opened her sea-green eyes, and looked up into his face. His bottle-green eyes were blazing with gold lights. She could sense the barely restrained violence. “I love you, Jared,” she said clearly. “I love you!”

He reached down and lifted her, sleek and dripping, from the tub. She was clasped against his hard body; his mouth came down fiercely on hers, and she kissed him back just as passionately, finally tearing her head away to gasp for air. “Say it,” she commanded.

“Say what?”

“Say it, dammit!”

“I love you, Miranda! Dear God, how I love you!”

The door flew open. “There, m’lady! I’m back! Ohh! Oh, m’lady! I beg your pardon. I—I—”

Jared calmly lifted Miranda back into the tub. She was shaking with laughter. “Finish attending your mistress, Perky,” he said calmly. “I just came to tell her that the dressmaker will be here shortly.” He turned, and Perkin’s eyes widened, for Jared’s clothes were soaked through from chest to knee. “I shall rejoin you when Madame Charpentier arrives, my dear,” he said, going through the connecting door between their rooms.

“Will you please wash my hair, Perkins? It’s really quite disgraceful,” Miranda murmured. “What was that my husband called you? Perky? How charming, and it does suit you better. You’re far too young to be a Perkins. Perkins is an elderly, gray-haired lady with a flat chest.” The maid giggled, beginning to recover somewhat. “I am going to call you Perky,” said Miranda firmly.

An hour later, Miranda’s hair had nearly dried and she felt deliciously clean. A knock on the door sent the maid to answer it and admit the volatile Madame Charpentier with her two assistants. A tall, gaunt woman of indeterminate years, always dressed in black, she was the most sought-after dressmaker in London. Looking down her long nose at Miranda, she said, “Mees Dunham, it is nice to see you once more.”

“It is
Lady
Dunham,” Jared interjected quietly, coming in behind Madame Charpentier.

The dressmaker ignored him. Husbands, she had long ago decided, were of little account, good only for paying the bills. “Clarice! Ze tape!” she ordered an assistant, and went quickly about the job of measuring Miranda. “You ’ave not changed, Mees Dunham. Your measurements are ze same. We will use ze same colors as last year, pale pinks and blues and greens.”

“No!” said Jared firmly.

“M’sieur?”

“You are not dressing Miss Amanda, Madame de Charpentier. My wife is totally different from her sister. Pale colors are not suitable for her.”

“M’sieur, it ees the fashion!”

“The Dunhams of Wyndsong make their own fashions, Madame Charpentier. Are you equal to such a challenge? Perhaps I should have Simone Arnaude dress my wife.”

“
M’sieur!
” The gaunt dressmaker had the look of an outraged chicken, and both her mousy assistants were pale and gasping.

“Look at Lady Miranda Dunham, madame!” One elegant hand reached out, and lifted her hair to let it sift through his fingers. “Her hair is gilt, her eyes sea-green, her coloring wild roses and cream. Every bit of her is exquisite, but dress her in the pale fashionable colors of today and she fades into the background. I want to see color! Turquoise! Burgundy! Garnet! Emerald! Sapphire! Black!”

“
Black
, M’sieur?!”

“Black, madame! We will be going to Almack’s this Wednesday night. I want my wife’s gown to be made of black silk to set off not only her fair skin, but the diamonds she’ll be wearing.”

“Black,” mused the dressmaker. “Black.” She looked long and hard at Miranda, causing her to flush, then a note of respect crept into her voice. “M’lord Dunham ees correct, and I am certainly not too old to learn. M’lady will be
ravissante
, I promise! Simone Arnaude, indeed! Come, Clarice, Marie!” And gathering up her tapes, and pads, she stalked regally from the room, her two assistants fluttering in her wake.

“What diamonds?” demanded Miranda.

“Perky, out! Don’t come back till you’re called.”

“Yes, m’lord!” cried Perkins, giggling as she left the room.

“What diamonds?” repeated Miranda.

“The ones I’m going to buy you tomorrow. Get into bed!”

“In my undergarments?” she teased him, feigning shock.

He calmly tore her chemise from her, and dropped the two pieces on the floor. With equal calm she reached out and ripped his shirt off, dropping the two pieces next to the remains of her chemise. But when her hands reached for the waist of his breeches he caught them.

“Oh, no, m’lady! I have plenty of shirts, but with every tailor in London booked for the season and decent fabric for breeches at a premium …” He undid the offending garment and stepped out of it. Then, with a swift movement, he swept her up and carried her to the turquoise-satin-hung bed. Cradling her in one arm, he drew back the covers and gently deposited her. He stood by the bed for a moment looking down at her, drinking in the perfection of her beautiful body. The small, yet perfectly formed breasts, the slim, exquisitely molded waist, the long, slender legs. Jared ached, not simply with his desire but with another sort of longing, a longing so elusive he could not even put a name to it. She held up her arms to him, and with a groan he entwined his body with hers. Their mouths touched, gently, tenderly, and he held her so tightly she could barely breathe.

“Oh, wildcat, I love you!” he murmured helplessly. “You must be a sorceress to have woven such a tight web of enchantment around me. I am a fool to admit my weakness to you, but then I suspect you knew all along that I loved you.” His big, bronzed hand caressed her silky hair.