CHAPTER TWELVE
Simon opened the door to Miranda's adjoining room quietly and glanced inside. If she was not yet fully clothed, he wanted to be able to perform a rapid tactical retreat. He told himself he was relieved when he saw that she was almost ready to go down to breakfast.
Something made him pause in the doorway, though, just watching as a maidservant fluttered around, offering scents and powders. He smiled at Miranda's courteous rejection of all offerings. He liked the vanilla scent of her and the near perfection of her powder-free skin.
He stepped into the room. "Are you ready to meet Arthur this morning?" He kept his tone light and bantering, hoping that a maid's presence would encourage Miranda to do so also.
She whirled from her toilette, surprised that he would just walk in on her as she dressed. The maid, too, seemed more startled than she ought. For a moment he considered turning around and leaving them in peace to get on with the business of dressing. The impulse passed quickly as he savored the view of Miranda with her hair still down, as she had come to him last night.
Though she was already dressed for the morning in a peach gown with cream trim, the fall of her hair made her seem barely decent. It was a luxury he had decided to allow himself. There was little danger of anything untoward happening between them once she was safely dressed and the day had begun. It was evening — and the middle of the night that were dangerous.
Miranda smiled uncertainly at him and once again settled herself so that the maid could pin up her hair. Her eyes met his in the looking glass. "You seem to be well rested and cheerful again."
The little maidservant seemed unnerved by his presence, and Miranda winced as a lock of her hair was clumsily tangled in the brush. As she let out a soft cry of pain, the girl stopped her ministrations and looked as if she might burst into tears.
He stepped forward and took the brush from the maid's trembling fingers. "You may go."
The girl stared uncomprehendingly at him for a moment. "But Your Grace, I must see to Her Grace's hair."
"I shall take over for this morning." Simon gave the girl a slight push toward the door, afraid if he didn't she might remain rooted to the floor forever. With a muted cry, she ran from the room, her cheeks blooming scarlet, her eyes filled with tears.
Simon brushed Miranda's hair gently. "I'm sorry, my dear. I know she is inexperienced, but I thought you might prefer to hire your own personal maid, so I had Mrs. Hoskins promote her into the position of temporary maid."
"She has done her best, Simon. She is simply very young." There was a reproachful look in Miranda's eyes that suggested she was displeased with him, almost as if he had beaten the girl instead of dismissing her from the room.
"Of course. I would never have promoted her not even temporarily — to this position if she had not shown promise."
"She just needs someone to show her how to behave as a lady's maid." Her eyes met his in the mirror and she smiled warily. "Someone to show her how to brush hair as well as you do it. I must wonder where you learned such skills. Did you ever serve as a lady's maid?"
He laughed and kissed the top of her head. It was sweet torment to go no farther, and he began to regret having sent the maid from the room. "It is not proper for a wife to be jealous of her husband's acquired skills, merely to appreciate them. Some things a wife is not meant to know."
In the mirror, he could see the confusion in her expression. He did not want to explain himself, or last night, however. Explanations would close the distance between them, and for his sanity he needed to keep Miranda a few steps away from him, emotionally as well as physically.
So instead of answering , he concentrated on brushing out the tangles he found, reveling in the smooth silky feel of her hair in his hands.· He had decided during his sleepless night that he would enjoy every aspect of being a husband, except one. And he meant to record each day in his memory to warm him in the long, lonely years ahead. He absorbed the feel of her hair into his fingertips as he brushed.
Soon it lay shining and tangle free as it fell down her back. His very own Rapunzel. Simon enjoyed the sight for a moment before he lifted his gaze to hers in the mirror. "I'm afraid my expertise ends here." He sighed, laying the brush on the table beneath the looking glass. "I could no more put your hair up than I could stitch you a gown of moonbeams and sunlight."
His words surprised him, coming from nowhere. But he could see her thusly dressed and suddenly wished he could order it done. Impossible dreams, like the ones he sometimes had of a wife, a family, a life that was truly his own.
"Perhaps you can. Hero once called you our fairy godfather." She smiled, her eyes alight with imagination at his fanciful analogy and he felt a breath of relief that she had put aside her questions about the previous evening. "I can put it up, Simon. I haven't had a maid since — "
She paused. Her eyes darkened briefly before she smiled again. "Hero and Juliet used to help me, but I've often· done it myself. I suppose I shall have to get used to doing without their help in the future."
He heard the lonely note in her voice and stilled the hands she had raised to pin her hair. "Leave it like this for today, and come and meet Arthur."
She lifted one hand to her hair. "He shall be forever shocked. I cannot meet him like this." She looked at him uncertainly, and he cursed himself for bringing her to this. She was bright and beautiful, not meant to be buried in a mausoleum, as this house was. And it would be dangerous for him to offer her too much companionship to ease her natural loneliness.
"Of course you will not shock him. He will be charmed by you, my dear. And jealous of my having rescued my own Rapunzel." At her continued doubt, he added, "I'll take all the blame upon my head for not finding you an experienced lady's maid."
An idea came to him, one that might cheer her up slightly, and possibly keep her too busy to feel neglected. "We'll find you an experienced maid immediately — in London."
Her eyes widened. "London? Oh no, Simon, that will be too tiring for you. I'd rather we stayed here where it is peacefully quiet and — "
Damn these lies. "Nonsense. A young woman needs laughter and dancing." He saw that she intended to argue, so he continued. "And I need to show off my beautiful bride. How can I do that if I don't find an experienced lady's maid to make sure that all the young bucks are green with jealousy?"
She smiled at him, suddenly nervous. Her eyes did not meet his as she confessed, "You needn't bother about the lady's maid. I hired one before the wedding. She should be arriving soon."
He was surprised. Though, of course, since he was dealing with Miranda, he should not have been. "When?"
"I should have told you. I'm sorry. But it's done now. She's very experienced." Miranda smiled and stood, coming up on tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek. "Now let's go meet that heir of yours — and see if your mother has taken herself off as promised."
The reminder of his mother stopped him from giving in to his impulse to pull her into his arms. He followed her, drinking in the scent of vanilla that seemed always to surround her.
Briefly, he wondered what kind of a woman she might have found in the vicinity of Anderlin who would have experience at being a lady's maid. No doubt one who was supremely incompetent but in dire need of a job.
He sighed. Perhaps it would not be wise to bring her to London just yet. A few weeks spent to acquaint her with the reticence of a proper duchess might prevent another scandal. He knew he should be applying himself diligently to molding her into a proper wife, one who realized that fairy tales were for children. Yet he did not want to spoil the magical spell she had woven over his life and his home with the discord that was sure to result.
She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to him. "Have you done with the idea of taking me to London, Simon?"
He nodded. "If you do not wish to go, I will not press the issue." Yet, he added silently.
She smiled at him, her eyes glowing, despite his behavior toward her last night. Was that his fate then? To ta
ke her trust in him and twist it until her eyes no longer reflected a belief in the goodness of life? "Thank you for considering my wishes, Simon. You cannot imagine what that means to me."
It chilled him to think of her at the mercy of the wolves and rakes in London. No doubt the lot of them would scent her innocence and devour her whole, as Grimthorpe had tried five years ago. But how to bring her some worldly ways and keep that beautiful core of sweetness?
It would take weeks, perhaps months, to give her a polished shield to safeguard her. Would there be time to introduce her to London and make certain that she would be safe after he was gone? He took her arm to lead her down the stairs and the feel of her hand in the crook of his elbow was pleasure and pain in every pulse of blood through his veins.
Downstairs in the breakfast room, there was blessedly no sign of his mother. Arthur, however, was enjoying a plate of eggs and smoked sausage. He rose when Simon and Miranda entered the room. "Simon, I beg to be introduced to your lovely new bride." He came around the table and clapped Simon on the shoulder as he beamed at Miranda.
Simon could not help reflecting that Arthur would have been just as effusive if Miranda had been four feet tall and possessed of hairy warts on her nose and chin. Arthur had always been a bit unsure of his ability to carry out the duties of an heir. Simon's mother had sarcastically called him the "heir-reluctant." Simon might have laughed, if it were not so patently true.
He patted Miranda's hand briefly and then released her. "Yes. Miranda, I am pleased to present you to my cousin Arthur. Arthur, this is my bride, Miranda."
Arthur beamed. "Welcome to the family, my dear. I have been telling Simon that what he needs is a bride and children-not a distant cousin culled from nowhere to learn to perform duties he's not very good at to begin with."
Miranda looked at him in puzzlement. "Culled from nowhere? Surely not."
Arthur colored. "Of course I am a bonafide Watterly. I am just from a very distant branch of the family. We'd quite forgotten our ties to the Dukes of Kerstone until Simon reminded us, I daresay."
And happy to have done so, Simon thought to himself as he remembered the arguments that had preceded Arthur's agreement to be trained as Simon's heir. It was only the fact that, as the closest male relative, he would indeed inherit the title and lands whether or not he trained for the task that convinced him to take the offer and come to learn about his future duties.
Arthur seemed also to be thinking along those lines. "Your husband is trying to mold me into a proper duke." He smiled gently as he spoke, as if the outcome — failure — were assured.
"Come, come, Arthur. You have improved greatly in your abilities since you've arrived. You will make an excellent duke."
Arthur raised a skeptical brow.
Simon continued, embellishing upon Arthur's small strides forward in ducal behavior. "Haven't your accidents been much more infrequent of late?"
"Accidents?" Miranda's eyes widened with curiosity and Simon was suddenly sorry he had brought up the subject. The best thing he could do for Arthur was steer them away from this discussion before his cousin became a fresh target for her ministrations.
Arthur, aiding Simon unaware, blushed at her interest and quickly down-played his string of mishaps. "Trivial incidents, really. I just seem to be a clumsy thing."
"I think you are much less clumsy," Simon added, to help ease Arthur's obvious discomfort at the discussion.
"And a duke must not be clumsy?" Arthur smiled again, refusing to take offense, or, Simon thought with chagrin, to take seriously that he would be the next Duke of Kerstone. At least, Miranda was diverted. For that he was grateful.
As they spoke there was a discreet cough from the direction of the door. Dome stood patiently.
"Yes?" Simon asked.
"A young lady and her daughter have arrived, Your Grace. The young lady claims to be a new employee?" His eyes were frosty and his back rigidly straight as he glanced at Miranda. "She claims to have been hired by Her Grace."
Simon was outraged. "My mother has hired a servant? For my home? Send her packing at once."
Miranda touched his arm, checking his outrage. "No. She's my new lady's maid."
His sudden rage receding, Simon noted Miranda's unease and wondered what sight would meet his eyes. "Very well, take her up to the servant's quarters and get her settled in."
The butler nodded, and asked, "And her daughter, Your Grace?"
"Put them in a room down the hall from me." Miranda said.
Everyone stared at her. Dome, his reserve breached, colored slightly. "Servants, Your Grace?" His eyes fastened onto Simon in a silent plea for a return to sanity.
Miranda seemed unperturbed. "Yes, but her daughter is quite frail and needs to be in a room with a nice big hearth."
Simon's neck began to tickle with suspicion. "Send the servant and her daughter into my study for an interview, Dome."
Miranda protested. "I'm certain they must be much too tired for an interview at this point, Simon. Why don't we let them get settled in and then you can meet them."
It did not escape his notice that she had attempted to change a formal interview into a casual meeting But his new wife would soon find out that he would not allow her to turn his household upside down.
If he could not bed her, he could at least see to teaching her how to conduct herself now that she was a duchess. "Send them to me immediately," he told Dome. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to recognize the "servant" in question and he was not at all happy about it.
As he waited in his study, Miranda anxiously watching him, he soon found his suspicions confirmed. The woman from the village ... and Betsy. They stared at him with their big blue eyes, both seeming to recognize that he was not pleased, and that their fates hung in his hands.
Nervously, Miranda performed the introductions. "I have hired Katherine Lawton as my new lady's maid. Perhaps you remember her from the night we—"
"I remember her well." Simon interrupted. "But I do not recall it being said that she was a lady's maid." He wondered if Miranda had hired her knowing what the woman did to earn her living. Surely she could not have.
Just then, like a tiny whirlwind, Betsy broke from her mother's side and ran up to Simon. She curtseyed deeply, then stood there, her blue eyes trained on him as she gave him a wide smile and asked, "Do you remember me? I'm the little girl you rescued."
Simon surprised himself when he found that he had no difficulty in smiling back at her. "I remember you very well Betsy." He lifted the little girl into his arms and she laid her arms around her neck. "Just as I remember your mother." He gave both women a measured glance, to ensure they knew he had not gone soft-hearted because of the child.
He said steadily to Katherine. "So you want to be a lady's maid? For what reason?" The flicker of surprise that passed over the woman's features as she quickly sought Miranda's gaze for guidance confirmed his suspicions. She was no more than another of his bride's misguided attempts at rescue.
Miranda stepped toward Katherine, one hand outstretched. But her eyes were on him, pleading in the oddly imperious way she had. "Simon, I know that Katherine will be an excellent servant. Let us call a halt to this interview now, and let them get settled."
He opened his mouth to tell her dearly and compellingly that he was master in his own home, when a new voice interrupted. "Simon, what is going on? Why is this woman — dragging a child along, no less here? Surely she is not claiming the child is your by-blow."
Katherine paled and Miranda tightened her grip on the other woman's arm as she addressed her mother-in-law, "Of course not. How could you think such a thing?"
The dowager turned her attention to Simon, who was still holding Betsy in his arms. "He seems comfortable enough with the child. It was a natural mistake to assume he was her father."
Simon loosened his grip on Betsy when she squirmed, and he realized that his hold on her had become ironbound. It was a long practice for him to tamp down h
is anger and pretend to a cold civility. "Good morning, Mother. When I did not see you at breakfast, I thought you had taken your leave."
"That would have been quite rude of me, Simon. Your bride should certainly appreciate the benefit of my experience as chatelaine of this home for more than half my lifetime."
She turned to Miranda and inclined her head toward the doorway. "Would you like to start with a tour of the main house, my dear? Perhaps the family wing? I promise not to tell you all the stories today, just the ones that seem the most important."
Simon cut off his objection before it began, realizing that for once his mother was working in his aid. He would be able to deal with Katherine and her daughter without interference. "An excellent idea. Miranda, I will handle this matter. You go with my mother."
She looked from Katherine to Simon, and he could feel her dilemma as if it were his own. Fortunately, it wasn't his to decide whether to try to cushion the interview with Katherine or bear the cold company of his mother.
It wasn't hers either. He had decided for her. With a firm hand on her back, he propelled her toward the door. "Don't be shy. I'm sure my mother will be her usual informative self."
"But ... " Her eyes were locked with Katherine's.
And then something so subtle seemed to pass between them that Simon nearly missed it. Only the fact that Miranda nodded and turned toward the dowager made him realize that some form of communication had occurred. He wondered briefly, as his wife left the room, if he had made a bad bargain in being left alone with Katherine and Betsy.
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The Fairy Tale Bride Page 20