Truly a Wife

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Too late. Miranda inhaled sharply at the pain, but Daniel didn’t seem to notice.

  “When I marry, it must be for the good of the Duchy of Sussex.”

  “You consider me a poor choice for the Duchy of Sussex?”

  Daniel shook his head. “It isn’t that simple.” He pinned her with his gaze, willing her to understand why he felt the way he felt. “My primary duty is to continue the Sussex line, and I need a duchess who is willing to take on the responsibility of bearing my children and of providing for the people whose survival depends upon me. It’s a job to which she must devote a lifetime.”

  “I understand duty and responsibility quite well, Your Grace,” Miranda reminded him. “For I hold an ancient and honorable title of my own. Like you, I must see to the welfare of the people who rely upon the St. Germaine holdings for their livelihoods.”

  “Then you should understand why I must choose with my head instead of with my …” Daniel frowned. He’d almost said his heart, but he wasn’t completely convinced he was thinking with his heart rather than his head and was fairly certain that it was another more insistent part of his anatomy. “I’m a duke and the title affords me great wealth and opportunities of which other men can only dream, but it also means that duty to the title comes before personal desires. A duke must hold a part of himself in reserve. He must practice restraint and never indulge himself overmuch.” He could hear his father’s voice repeating the tenets that had been such a large part of his childhood lessons. “A duke has few friends and fewer peers. He cannot wear his heart upon his sleeve or put his wishes above the needs of his people. He cannot shirk his duty or burden anyone else with it. The responsibilities come with the title and they must never be parceled out to others. The duty is his alone.”

  “Did your father teach you those things?”

  Daniel nodded. “It was the code by which he lived. The code by which all the dukes of Sussex have lived.”

  “You’re describing a very lonely life, Your Grace,” Miranda murmured.

  “It is a lonely life.” Daniel shoved his hair off his forehead. “I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.” He heaved a sigh. “A duke is always set apart from everyone else. Even Griffin is having a difficult time adjusting to the added pressure of being a duke.”

  “Griffin has Alyssa to help him.”

  “My father had my mother,” Daniel replied. “And although I know you’ll find it difficult to believe, she was a great source of strength for him.”

  Miranda wrinkled her brow. He was right. It was difficult for her to believe the duchess had been a source of strength for anyone, but …

  “My mother was the daughter of a viscount, and she’s always been very conscious of the fact that she married well beyond her position in society. She devoted herself to the running of Sussex House and maintaining our position in society. She did everything she could to assist my father in his efforts to increase and preserve our holdings, but the weight of the responsibility drove him to an early grave.” Daniel briefly bowed his head, then met her gaze. “My father was the strongest man I’ve ever known. He died reviewing account books at his desk in his study at Sussex House at the age of five and thirty. One day he was strong and healthy and full of life, and the next afternoon, he complained of eyestrain and a headache while deciphering the account books, then suddenly slumped over his desk and died.” Daniel took a deep breath. “My mother was five years his junior when she became a widow and assumed the daunting task of raising a son and protecting my inheritance until I came of age. Fulfilling her obligations and living up to the promises she made when she married my father has made her the woman you see today.” He pulled a face. “And I can’t imagine asking a woman with a title and grand estates of her own over which to worry to give up dreams and a large part of herself in order to become what my mother has become. I can’t imagine subjecting any woman to the constant scrutiny of the ton and the public—much less a woman for whom I might have deep feelings. I don’t want her to have to put away her girlish dreams or to sacrifice her original obligations in order to fulfill the obligations of a duchess.”

  “Everyone puts away their childish dreams and makes sacrifices for the ones they love, Daniel. That’s part of growing up, part of life.”

  “I don’t want the people about whom I care to have to make sacrifices simply because they wish to share my life. I was born to this position,” he said simply. “I’m a duke. I didn’t ask to be one, but like you, I had no choice. Still, I never believed I would have to assume the title.” Daniel closed his eyes. “I adored my father. We were both early risers.”

  Miranda gave him a smug, knowing smile.

  “You may not be able to tell it from your experience this morning, but I am generally quite an early riser,” he protested. “And when I was a little boy my father used to sneak up to the nursery, remove me from Nanny’s supervision, and carry me on his shoulders to the front of the house. Long before Cook had the ovens in the kitchen hot, Father would open a window and we’d call down to the street vendors ordering whatever took our fancy for breakfast.”

  “Like cherry pies.”

  “Cherry was always my favorite,” Daniel said. “We ate cherry pies from the street vendors nearly every day of the season when we were in London. It was our secret, and it made me feel special to have my father’s undivided attention for a while.” He wiped the sheen of perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. “I never had his attention at Haversham House or any of our other houses because there were too many other people who demanded it. The only time I ever really spent with my father was at home in London early in the mornings, when we’d order milk from the dairymaids and hot cherry pies from the pieman.

  “I was only three and ten when he died.”

  “I’m sorry.” Miranda and Daniel had moved in the same circles of society since they were children, but he’d been sent away to school when he was seven, and Miranda had been educated at home. She knew a lot of his history but not all of it.

  “And I’ve been responsible for hundreds of people since that day. Suddenly, everyone looked to me for answers instead of to my father or my mother. Suddenly, everyone depended upon me.” He exhaled. “And although my father had done his best to prepare me, I wasn’t prepared.” He gave a little snort of derision. “What boy that age is? Suddenly, I employed hundreds of people whose livelihoods and in some cases, their very lives depended upon how well I did my duty. And now that I’m a man grown, I find myself in the rather odd position of admitting that I haven’t rushed to the altar for the simple reason that I don’t wish to assume responsibility for anyone else. I’m not ready to put away all my childish dreams or ask anyone else to do so.”

  Especially a freethinker like Miranda. He admired her strong, independent spirit and rebellious streak, and hated the idea of watching her change, hated the thought of watching Miranda reinvent herself as the Duchess of Sussex or anyone else. Daniel wanted her to stay just the way she was. He liked the fact that she stood straight and tall and looked men in the eyes, liked the fact that she considered herself an equal, even if most men—including the peers who sat in the House of Lords—did not. He applauded the fact that Miranda petitioned the Crown for the right to occupy her seat in the House of Lords every year at the opening of Parliament, even though she knew she would never be allowed to take her seat among her peers. But she petitioned the Crown all the same and had done so ever since she’d inherited her father’s title. Daniel admired her for refusing to remain in the background. And he wished he could be more like her.

  He was haunted by the thought of dying the way his father had died. Of being overwhelmed by the business of running the estates, of dying before he had ever truly lived.

  “I still have dreams,” Daniel told her, “and goals to accomplish before I’m required to forfeit my wild ambitions in order to settle down and produce an heir to succeed me.” So that I can die prematurely while working at the same desk where my father die
d.

  He wanted to tell Miranda the whole truth, but the truth sounded juvenile and childish—even to his own ears. The truth was that he was enjoying being a Free Fellow, enjoying the cloak-and-dagger work, the adventure that was so different from his day-to-day life as the Duke of Sussex. “Despite what my mother wants or hopes or thinks, I have no intention of marrying for at least”—he paused to calculate—“another twenty years.”

  “You were ready to marry Alyssa Carrollton three years ago,” she pointed out.

  “I was willing to consider marriage to Alyssa in order to get my mother to stop pushing her candidates for duchess at me.”

  “Three years ago you were willing to marry, but now, you won’t consider it for at least another twenty years?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “Because three years ago, I made a bargain with my mother that I would offer marriage to the girl of her choosing, provided the girl agreed to have me. Alyssa, as you well know, had the good sense to reject me wholeheartedly.”

  “You pretended to pursue her,” Miranda realized, “but secretly, you were glad she rejected you.”

  “Glad isn’t the word for it,” he admitted. “I was thrilled beyond belief.” He looked at Miranda to gauge her reaction, well aware that he was talking about her closest friend.

  She scowled. “Yet you continued to play the role of determined suitor after she married Griffin.”

  “I had good reasons for doing so,” he explained. “After all, I am a duke. And Griff was only a viscount. I had a reputation to protect.”

  Miranda smiled. “You didn’t give a fig about your reputation. You simply wanted to make Griffin jealous enough to claim his wife.”

  Daniel refrained from answering. Making Griffin jealous had been a result of his continued pursuit of Alyssa, but it hadn’t been the principal reason behind it. He’d extended his pursuit of Alyssa in order to pass Colin and Jarrod’s test. Passing their test had been Daniel’s entrée into the Free Fellows League.

  “You took a very big chance,” Miranda said. “Your plan might have misfired and Alyssa might have chosen you.”

  He raised his eyebrows and looked at Miranda. “Not likely. She was far too sensible to want to be molded into society’s idea of what a duchess should be.”

  “There’s always a chance you might find someone who would be happy to take on the daunting task of becoming the Duchess of Sussex. A lot can change in twenty years.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. In twenty years, she’d be too old to provide an heir to carry on the St. Germaine line or a ducal one. “For the better.”

  Daniel nodded. “Or I may have even more responsibility in twenty years than I do now.”

  He wasn’t being completely honest with Miranda or himself. Daniel knew that the war with France would be over long before twenty years passed. There might be other wars to fight, but the current Free Fellows would most likely be retired from active service, and there would be nothing to keep him from marrying and having a family. Nothing except the fact that Daniel dreaded the day he would look in his son’s eyes and realize that he was the only thing keeping his son from fulfilling his destiny. Because as long as the ninth duke drew breath, the tenth duke would be forced to bide his time and wait in the wings.

  And the realization would start when his son became old enough to think for himself, old enough to figure things out and see the chinks in his father’s armor. Daniel had been seven when his father had begun to push him away and withdraw. His father had delighted in his company until Daniel had gone away to Eton. Daniel had continued to delight in his father’s company, but the eighth duke had grown colder and seemed determined to avoid Daniel, until the distance between them widened into a gulf that had increased with every birthday.

  There was no question that the eighth Duke of Sussex had loved his young son, but for some unknown reason, he hadn’t been quite as enamored of the adolescent who would one day take his place.

  Daniel didn’t understand why his father had changed. He only knew that he had. And Daniel never wanted to do the same to his own son.

  “That is generally how it works, Your Grace,” Miranda reminded him. “The older we get, the more responsibilities we have. Until the day we hand our responsibilities and our titles to our heirs. Hopefully, those heirs will be the children we’ve borne and reared and prepared for the job ahead of them.”

  “It’s not going to work that way for me,” he protested.

  “Planning to live forever, are we?” She looked him in the eye. “Because if that’s your ambition, Your Grace, you’d best stay away from men who point firearms at you.”

  “I don’t intend to live forever,” Daniel replied.

  “From the looks of you, I’d say that was obvious.” Miranda lowered her gaze to the strips of bandages binding his ribs.

  He didn’t appreciate the devil’s advocate role she’d assumed. “What’s your point, Miranda?”

  “My point is that in twenty years, you’ll be two score and eight, older than my father was when I was born. He was two score and four,” Miranda said. “He didn’t inherit the title until he was forty, so he was compelled to marry a much younger wife. Just as you will have to do in order to get an heir.”

  Daniel frowned. He could barely tolerate the young society misses intent on capturing a lofty title now. How would he manage in twenty years? Daniel had settled on twenty as the number of years because it sounded a long way off, but he hadn’t considered that the passage of time would change him physically or affect the way he chose his duchess. He was foolish not to have realized that the passage of time changed everything. He wouldn’t stay young forever, and neither would Miranda.

  Ignoring Daniel’s mighty scowl, Miranda continued her story. “My father grew to love my mother, but they had almost nothing in common. And although my mother was fond of my father and respected him very much, she married him to please her parents, not because she loved him.” She met Daniel’s gaze. “My mother was ten and seven, and Father was over twice her age. So, they agreed that he wouldn’t trouble my mother with his conjugal visits once she had conceived and borne an heir. My mother did her duty when she conceived and gave birth to me. And because my father kept his word, he knew I would be his only child and his heir. But I was a female who hadn’t a prayer of surviving and prospering in a man’s world unless I learned to think and act the way a man would think and act. My father barely lived long enough to see me reach my majority.” She met Daniel’s gaze. “I certainly wouldn’t wish his way of life on you, Your Grace.”

  “What way of life would you wish on me?” he asked.

  “A long, happy, and healthy one,” she replied. “Surrounded by the people you love and the people who love you—with a wife and children who love you.”

  Daniel recognized the sincerity in her eyes and tried to lighten the atmosphere. “With the way I feel at the moment, there is always the possibility that I won’t be here in twenty years.”

  Miranda nodded, then reached out to press her palm against his forehead. “There is that.”

  “What?” Daniel sounded alarmed.

  “You may die reviewing the account books at your desk in the study at Sussex House at the age of five and thirty like your father. Or you may succumb to this fever,” she reminded him. “Your Mistress Beekins may not have gotten everything out of your wound. Or you may have damaged something when you pulled the stitches loose. Or I may have done something wrong or forgotten to do something when I restitched the wound. You could die from infection in this wound despite my best efforts to insure that you do not.”

  “What do you intend?” Daniel was wary of the look in Miranda’s eyes.

  “I intend”—she paused for effect—“to have my way. So, lie back and let me look at your injury.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds.”

  —William Shakespeare, 1564–1616

  Romeo and Juliet

&nb
sp; “Pastel thread?” Daniel watched Miranda remove the bandage from his side to reveal a long S-shaped gash, two or three inches of which were stitched in sky-blue thread. “You sewed me up with pastel thread?” Thank God Malden couldn’t see that!

  She bit her bottom lip at the sight of his injury. The area around the gunshot wound was bruised, and the bruise had turned from dark red to an angry blue-and-purple color. Miranda untied the bandage and removed it, immensely relieved to find the linen clean and fresh. The ugly gash was about five inches long and marked a line from his ribs to his abdomen. The neat blue stitching she’d done on him had held, and although the wound was an angry pink color, there was no sign of infection.

  “Be glad I sewed you up at all,” Miranda defended her actions and her choice of thread. “And be thankful that I found silk, because according to Alyssa, it works best.” She gave him a quelling look. “Or would you rather have had pink?”

  “You couldn’t match Mistress Beekins’s serviceable black? Don’t they make silk thread in black?”

  “I’m sure they do, Your Grace,” Miranda snapped, “but beggars cannot be choosers. I was only able to find one sewing basket in this house, and it contained a limited supply of silk thread.” She turned away and picked up the bar of soap she’d used the night before and a clean cloth, and dipped them into the basin she’d filled with water from the bathing room tap. “I chose blue because it matches your blood, and because I thought you would rather have blue silk stitches than stitches the color of this room.” She wet and soaped the cloth, then wrung out the excess water and pressed it against Daniel’s side.

  He sucked in a breath. “Blast it, Miranda! That’s cold!”

  “As cold as your heart, Your Grace?” Miranda asked in a sickly sweet tone of voice. “Could mere water be that cold?”

  Daniel blinked. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

  “Then allow me to make it clear for you, Your Grace,” Miranda continued, diligently bathing the wound, pleased to see that her blue stitches had held and that while there had been a bit of drainage, the bleeding had stopped. “Might it be possible that you’ve become so spoiled by your lofty title that you have no consideration for lesser beings?”