Alyssa didn’t see Miranda again until supper that night. She had spent the afternoon reading and rereading Griffin’s letters. And when she finished reading them, she began making lists of the items she would need for a new batch of herbal remedies for him and for his men, especially Eastman and Lieutenant Hughes. She lost track of time and forgot about Lady Miranda’s presence until Durham reminded her that she had a houseguest.
Alyssa hurried into the petite salon where a table had been laid for two. She had decided to use the small salon for dining, as it was an easier trek from the kitchens for the staff than the much larger dining hall. And she liked dining beneath the watchful eyes of the portraits of Lord and Lady Weymouth and that of the eight-year-old Griffin.
Alyssa curtsied as she entered the room. “I apologize for leaving you alone all afternoon, Lady St. Germaine, and for not being here”—she glanced around the salon—“when you appeared for supper.”
“Not at all, Alyssa.” Miranda waved Alyssa to her feet. “And please, no formalities. I know I’m a marchioness and you’re a viscountess, but this is your home now. You shouldn’t have to curtsy to anyone in it. Besides, we’ve become friends. You’re to call me Miranda, and I will call you Alyssa.”
“Thank you,” Alyssa said. “And for bringing my husband’s letters and allowing me a few private hours in which to read them. I’m afraid I’ve been a very poor hostess.”
“Not to worry,” Miranda said. “I made myself at home in the library.” She frowned. “It took me a few moments to discover the shelving system. I remembered it as being alphabetical.”
“I rearranged it,” Alyssa told her. “And I decided that since one can’t always remember the author or the name of the book one is seeking, shelving them according to subject matter made the most sense.” She glanced over at Miranda. “Of course, the subjects are grouped alphabetically. I created a sketch of the shelf arrangements in the library, labeling each subject, and posted copies on the tables beside each chair. I do hope you located the book you wanted.”
Miranda nodded an affirmative. “I used the sketch to locate Shakespeare’s works. I chose a volume of the bard’s comedies.” She smiled at Alyssa as they sat down for the first course. “Tell me, how is Griffin?”
Alyssa took a deep breath, then slowly expelled it. “He remains unharmed.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.”
Alyssa nodded. “I have been so very worried about him.” She turned to Miranda and related the impersonal bits of Griffin’s letters that could be shared. She had been disappointed to note that with the exception of his letter releasing her from all responsibility in her failure to live up to her end of their bargain by conceiving his heir, there was very little that Griffin wrote that couldn’t be shared with others.
Alyssa hoped he would share his feelings with her, but his letters gave only the merest hint of them. It was almost as if their nights together had never happened. He spoke of missing her, but not of loving her. And he rarely mentioned his physical need for her.
She understood.
Logically, she understood that Griffin had distanced himself from her. She had done the same.
He wrote of his life as a soldier.
She wrote of her life as mistress of Abernathy Manor.
Neither spoke of their deepest feelings or fears. And although she knew he had married her to fulfill an obligation, Alyssa never gave up hoping that one day, Griffin would speak of his feelings or at the very least, sign his letters with love.
“What about the Duke of Sussex?” Miranda asked.
“What about him?” Alyssa was puzzled.
“He’s going to continue to call on you.”
Alyssa sighed. “I wish he would not. I haven’t done anything to encourage him and everything I know to discourage him.”
Miranda gave a short laugh. “I must admit I’m a bit surprised that he’s being so persistent. His mother must be determined to have you for the next duchess; otherwise, Sussex would have given up. He certainly didn’t devote nearly as much effort into courting the last young woman he thought would make a suitable duchess.”
“Who was she?” Alyssa asked, more out of a sense of curiosity than anything else.
“Me,” Miranda answered.
Alyssa gasped. “Oh, Miranda, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“There’s no reason you should,” she answered. “He only called upon me four times, and that was years ago during my first season.”
“What happened?”
“Her Grace, the dowager duchess, did not approve. As you’ve no doubt noticed, I don’t look the part of a dainty debutante or of a darling daughter-in-law.”
Alyssa widened her eyes, and understanding dawned. “You love him.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
“Not that he deserves it,” Miranda answered belligerently. “But yes, I love him. I think I’ve loved him from the first moment I met him and will probably continue to do so unto the day I die.”
“Does he know?” Alyssa asked.
Miranda shook her head. “He thinks I despise him,” she said. “And I like it that way.”
“But Miranda—”
“No, buts.” Miranda was firm. “I’d rather have his dislike and his contempt than his pity. I’m a wealthy marchioness in my own right. I don’t need to marry, and I certainly don’t need any man’s pity.”
“Did you accept my invitation to visit because you knew he would continue to pay me court?”
Miranda paused before answering honestly. “I didn’t know for certain if he would continue to court you, but… Well, anyone with half an eye—anyone except Sussex, that is—can see that you’re crazy about Griffin. Let’s just say I hoped if I were here, he’d remember I was alive and available.”
Alyssa smiled. “Then I’ll see what I can do about encouraging him to visit.”
Barely a Bride Page 42