Unconquered (31 page)

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I have arranged for us to meet Anne at an inn ten miles from here,” he said. “We could hardly meet openly in Swynford village without causing comment, and I want this settled as quickly as possible. I cannot allow Anne to go on believing that I am a married man.”

“Ah,” she teased him, “it is Anne now, and no longer Mistress Bowen.”

“I love her, Miranda!” he said intensely. “She is the dearest, sweetest woman alive, and I want her for my wife. She believes she has gone against everything she believes for love of me. Although she says nothing, I know it hurts her terribly.”

“Then why don’t you marry her, Jon?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you marry her? With our connections it is a simple matter to get a special license. You could be wed in a small parish some miles from here where we are not known.” She paused, then had a wicked thought. “Ask Lord Palmerston to help you. I believe he owes us some small courtesy! Mistress Bowen should feel more secure once she is your wife.”

“You are marvelous!” he cried.

They drove west to a small whitewashed and half-timbered
inn set in the Malvern Hills. The Good Queen had window boxes full of flowers, and was surrounded by a lovely garden. Miranda was puzzled as to how Mistress Bowen would get to such an inaccessible spot.

“I arranged for a closed carriage to meet Anne two miles from the village,” Jonathan enlightened her.

“You are most discreet,” she replied.

As the phaeton pulled up before the inn, a boy ran out to take the horses and Jonathan leaped down, lifting Miranda to the ground. “Walk those bays till they’ve cooled down, lad. Then you may water them.”

As they entered the building the innkeeper hurried forward. “Good day, sir, madam. Would you be Mr. Jonathan?”

“I am.”

“Come this way then, sir. Your guest has already arrived.” The innkeeper showed them to a private room and inquired, “When shall I have them serve tea, sir?”

Jonathan turned to Miranda. “My dear?”

“I believe a half-hour should be sufficient, Master Innkeeper.”

“Very good, madam,” replied the man, closing the door behind him as he withdrew.

A heavy silence hung in the room. Miranda stared openly at Mistress Bowen. She knew the woman was thirty, yet she didn’t look past twenty-five. Her gown was white muslin of poor quality, but beautifully made. It was decorated with pale-blue ribbons, and a straw bonnet with matching blue ribbons lay on a nearby table. She was very pretty, Miranda decided, and probably quite the perfect wife for Jon. As he could do nothing but stare like a lovesick calf, Miranda took the initiative.

“How nice to finally meet you, Mistress Bowen. Come, let us sit down, and we shall explain everything to you.”

Dazed by Miranda’s smile and her kindly attitude, Anne Bowen allowed Jonathan to seat her. The beautiful Lady Dunham enlightened her quickly and without fuss.

“I suspect, Mistress Bowen, that the simplest way to explain this is to be straightforward. This gentleman, whom you and everyone else believes to be Jared Dunham, is actually his brother Jonathan. My husband, Jared, has, since late last summer, been in St. Petersburg on a secret mission for the American
and English governments. Since he could not get back to England before the Russian winter set in and it had to appear that he
was
in England, Jon was smuggled through the English blockade of our American coast in order to impersonate Jared.

“No one but a wife or mother can tell the differences between my husband and his brother. They look more like twins than my twin sister and I.”

“Wh—what are the differences?” ventured Anne Bowen.

“Jared is taller by about a half-inch, and his eyes are a bottle-green, not the gray-green of Jon’s. He has a more elegant hand, and there are other little differences. People here in England do not know Jared well enough to discern those differences. Even my own sister and her husband believe Jon is Jared.”

“Jon is a widower. His first wife died a year ago. You shall have three stepchildren, I should warn you. John is twelve, Eliza Anne is nine, and little Henry is three. If you wed Jon you shall have to live in Massachusetts, for my father-in-law owns shipyards, and Jon is his heir.

“Now I suggested to Jon that he go up to London and obtain a special license so you may be wed immediately. It must be secretly, you understand. I should feel guilty if you bore Jon a child without benefit of clergy.”

“Miranda!” Jonathan Dunham finally found his voice. “For God’s sake, don’t be so indelicate!”

“Indelicate? Good heavens, Jon, are you going to deny the fact that Mistress Bowen is your mistress? Poor Mistress Bowen, not you, would be censured if she finds herself with child. I must insist you marry as quickly as possible!”

Anne Bowen had sat almost silent throughout Miranda’s whole recitation, her gray eyes occasionally widening in surprise. Now she looked from Miranda to Jonathan, convinced that Lady Dunham was telling the truth.

She placed a gentle hand on Jonathan’s arm. “I believe Lady Dunham’s point is well taken, m’lord—I mean, Mr. Dunham. Perhaps, however, you do not wish to offer me marriage. A gentleman such as yourself could seek a finer match, I know.”

“Oh, Anne, of course I want to offer you marriage! Will you marry me? We have fine schools in America, not as old as Harrow, Oxford, and Cambridge, but very good. I swear I’ll educate your son, and I’ll dower Mary Anne as well as my own Eliza! Massachusetts is a fine place for children.”

“What of the wild Indians there?” she ventured nervously.

“Indians? Well, there are Indians in the Western territories, and some sections of the South, but there are no more wild Indians in Massachusetts.”

“What will your family say if you bring home a new wife?”

“They will say that I am the most fortunate of men to have found such a treasure.”

“I shall be a good mother to your children, Mr. Dunham.”

“Jon. Oh God, Anne! How I long to hear you say my
real
name!”

“Jon,” she breathed the word. “I shall be a very good mother to your children. We will, however, have to begin calling my John Robert, plain Robert, so we will not confuse him with your oldest son. How fortunate we are that the children are of like ages.”

“You mean you will marry me?”

“Did I not say so?” she said. “No, I didn’t, but yes, Jon, I will most certainly marry you. Oh, my darling, I love you so very much!”

“Excellent!” said Miranda as Jonathan took Anne in his arms and kissed her. “Now that that is settled we can have tea. I am famished.”

Rosy with kisses, Anne said happily, “How can I thank you, Lady Dunham?”

“You may begin by calling me Miranda,” was the sensible reply. “In America there are no titles, and I am plain Mistress Dunham, as you shall soon be!”

It was a lovely afternoon, one that Miranda would remember for a long time. She genuinely liked Anne Bowen, instinctively knowing that despite the difference in their ages they would become good friends. She knew that Anne could be trusted to keep their secret. Mistress Bowen left them immediately after tea to return to Swynford Village. She had left her children in the care of a neighbor, but did not wish to impose.

“I like her,” said Miranda, helping herself to another cucumber sandwich and a cream cake. “You are very wise to wed her. I suspect your father has Chastity Brewster in mind for you. Your choice is far more suitable.”

“Chastity Brewster! Good Lord, I should never wed that giggling, overstuffed creature. She turned down every eligible bachelor who ever asked her because she fancied she could catch
brother Jared!” He chuckled. “She’s not Jared’s type at all. He fancies far more fiery wildcats with sea-green eyes and silver-gilt hair. Thank you, Miranda, for all your help.”

“You deserve some consolation for putting up with me, Jon.”

He laughed. “You’re too much for me to handle, Miranda, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

She smiled mischievously at him. “Go up to London tomorrow on the pretext that Palmerston has sent for you. You will, of course, see him, and when you do, insist that he arrange for you to have a special license. If he demurs simply threaten to return to Swynford as Jonathan Dunham, not Jared. If he still demurs, tell him I shall scream to high heaven about my missing husband and the nefarious dealings of England’s War Department. Whether people believe me or not I shall cause a stir and the gossip will last for several months. Lord Palmerston is not the most popular gentleman in England. I do not think he can afford the fuss I shall cause.”

“You are a very tough opponent, my dear,” he said. “May I ask when you have decided my wedding should be?”

“Oh, yes! Let Adrian go off to Lord Stewart’s alone. Promise him you will follow him in a week. Use our friend Palmerston as an excuse again—a quick mission perhaps. Then you and Anne can be wed and have a few days together. She can claim a dying, elderly relative, and arrange for her neighbor to care for the children during those few days. It is quite simple if you plan ahead.”

“So I see,” he remarked. “I begin to think, my dear, that you have missed your calling. You would make Bonaparte an ideal strategist.”

They rode back to Swynford Hall, the bays, fresh and well rested, stepping smartly along. Upon their arrival they found the Swynford barony in an uproar. Miranda hurried up the stairs to her sister’s apartment and was greeted by the dowager Lady Swynford, looking somewhat distraught.

“Oh, Miranda, my dear! Thank heavens you are here! Amanda will not cooperate with Dr. Blake, and I fear for both her and the child!”

Miranda went immediately into Amanda’s bedroom. “So,” she said cheerfully, “the Swynford heir has finally decided to make an appearance. Good afternoon, Doctor. Would you like to get a cup of tea while I sit with my twin?”

Dr. Blake looked at Lady Dunham with new respect. “Thank you, m’lady. I shall just be in the anteroom.”

As the door closed after the doctor, Miranda looked at her sister. Amanda’s golden curls were lank and lackluster. Her pretty face was drawn and frightened, and there were damp spots of perspiration showing through her long white nightgown. “What is the matter, Mandy? You have frightened Adrian’s mama to death. This is not at all like you.”

“I am going to die,” whispered Amanda, turning terror-filled blue eyes on her sister.

“Fiddlesticks, twin! Did I have any great difficulty birthing Thomas? Of course not! Just the usual labor pangs. You were with me the entire time.”

“I am like Mama. I know it! You know all the miscarriages she had.”

“She had them early, between the second and third months, Mandy, not at full term. You may look like Mama, but you have been disgracefully healthy these whole nine months.” Then Miranda gave a deep chuckle. “I received a letter from Mama just last week. She did not want me to tell you this until after you delivered the baby, but I think I had better tell you now if your own child is to born safely. We have a new half-brother, Mandy.”

“What?” The fear drained instantly from Amanda’s face and she struggled to sit up. Miranda propped two large down pillows behind her sister’s back. “
We have a half-brother?
” repeated Amanda. “How? When?”

“Yes! We have a half-brother. Peter Cornelius Van Notelman, born on March the twenty-second. As to how,” giggled Miranda, “I imagine in much the same way as we became enceinte. Did you not tell me the day Mama married that you heard her and Uncle Pieter in their bedchamber? He is obviously quite the vigorous lover. Mama is ecstatic, and sounds as giddy as a young girl.”

“She could have died, Miranda! My God, at her age!”

“Yes, perhaps she might have died, but she didn’t, and neither will you! Our baby brother is a healthy, plump dumpling of a fellow with a prodigious appetite.” Miranda saw the spasm cross her sister’s face. “Bear down, Mandy.”

For the next few hours Miranda sat chatting by her twin’s bedside, and Amanda, her fear vanished, worked hard under her sister’s gentle instruction. Finally Miranda summoned Dr.
Blake, and within the next hour Amanda successfully bore her child. Joyously the older twin wiped the blood from the squalling infant, cleaned it in warmed oil, and swaddled it carefully. All the while the baby howled its outrage at having been thrust from its warm home into a drafty and uncertain world. The bedroom door flew open, and both Adrian and his mother pushed in. Smiling, Miranda handed the squalling bundle to Adrian. “M’lord, your son!” she said.

Adrian Swynford stared wide-eyed at the red-faced baby. “My son,” he repeated softly. “
My son!
”

“Give me my grandson before you mash him,” snapped the dowager as she snatched the infant from his father. “Now go thank Amanda for her travail, Adrian!”

Young Lord Swynford stumbled happily across the room to congratulate his wife on their miracle while his mother cradled and cooed at the baby. The head nursery maid arrived flushed with importance, and relieved the reluctant dowager of the child. Agatha Swynford put her arm through Miranda’s, and the two women walked from the room.

“Bless you, my dear Miranda! I believe you saved my grandson’s life as well as Amanda’s. What happened to frighten her so, and how did you calm her fears?”

“For some reason,” replied Miranda, “my sister began to see herself as our mama who suffered many miscarriages. I tried explaining to Mandy that just because she
looks
like Mama doesn’t mean she
is
like Mama. That didn’t help, so I told her the news that Mama sent me in the letter I received last week. Our mother, who was told she must never have another child, gave birth to a son on March twenty-second.”

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the dowager, and then she chuckled. “Good for your mama, my dear, and good for you, too! You’ve a good head on your shoulders, my gel, and you’re a quick thinker.”

Miranda smiled sweetly. Soon they were going to have an excellent sample of her good head. “My sister will not be frightened by childbirth again, ma’am, and I’ll wager she will soon feel foolish over her behavior.”

Indeed, in the morning Amanda had returned to her even-tempered, sweet-natured self, and thanked her twin for helping
to calm her fears the previous night. She was ecstatic over the birth of little Neddie, as Edward Alistair George was to be called. “He is not the least bit wrinkled and red,” she enthused. “I’ll vow he’s the prettiest baby ever born!”