The Fairy Tale Bride

by Kelly McClymer

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He watched as she retreated into a cold stranger who could stand there and calmly announce that she was leaving him — as if he did not know what he was doing in refusing Katherine. He thought briefly that she was simply being melodramatic. But a glance into her eyes convinced him otherwise.

  She had no idea what she was asking of him, of course. Again, her innocence led her into trouble. Making a friend of a woman like Katherine. It was too absurd for words. And yet, he could still remember the difficulty he had had when his mother had accused him of fathering Betsy.

  He wished he dared to throw in her face the simple fact that he would never deny a child of his — never keep a child from knowing the name of his or her true father, as his mother had done with him. But then the scandal would no longer be a family secret. He could not afford that. He had promised.

  For a moment, he forced himself to consider letting Miranda go. Just nodding, saying nothing as she walked out, her spine stiff, Betsy's tiny hand cradled in her own. She would do it, he had no doubt. She was not threatening him, she was laying down the battle lines and the terms of surrender in one clean shot.

  Valentine would take her in. Her sisters would divert any lingering shame or misery with their demands upon her time. Miranda would go back to her old life as if she had never married. And he would be free of the torment of being married to her yet unable to make love with her.

  But the thought of living the rest of his short life as the duke without her near enough to touch was unbearable. "Don't be ridiculous. You are my wife, you will go nowhere."

  "Oh, Simon," she whispered. "I must."

  "I will not allow it," he said, slowly and clearly. He wanted her to know it would be a waste of time to argue. In this matter, he knew better than she. Though he did not expect her to surrender easily.

  She smiled, almost involuntarily, and his heart gave an extra jolt when he saw that there were tears in her eyes. "It seems that I am the pea to your Princess."

  For a moment, he was flummoxed. And then he remembered the tale to which she referred, in which a princess was so delicate that a pea placed under twenty mattresses disturbed her sleep.

  Fairytales again. Would she never realize that they lived in a world that did not often see a happy ending? "Do not spout your fairytales at me."

  Anger, hurt, and distrust warred on her expressive face as she said softly, "It hardly seems a fairytale to me, who must live it." Her eyes were liquid with pain, but she met his gaze without flinching.

  Her pain echoed within him and intensified as he realized that she was, for the first time, not convinced of a happy ending for them. He had wanted this, but the slow death of her innocence was horrifying for him to watch. As horrifying as the eager young faces of the men he had daily sent off to their deaths as a result of an indifferent ball of lead.

  But what courage she had. Even with her assurance rocked, her voice was steady. "You have told me that to be your wife I must not try to stem the course of your illness." She clenched her fists convulsively as she spoke, he noticed, but otherwise she projected a calm front. "I must not sleep next to you at night – nor kiss you too passionately." A faint blush stained her cheeks and he felt ashamed of how badly he was hurting her. "Now you tell me that I am not capable enough to hire my own lady's maid." Her chin came up. "I am capable of running my own life. I don't need you." She paused and closed her eyes. "I just want you."

  His throat closed as her quiet words cut through him.

  She opened her eyes and made as if to step closer to him, but halted. Her gaze was clear and certain. "Don't you understand? If you do nothing to stop the course of your illness, you will die. And then I will need to do much more than hire a servant on my own."

  The thought of her, alone, after his supposed death, was not a pleasant one. But then, neither was the thought of her being taken advantage of by people with the base kind of motives she was too goodhearted to comprehend. That was the battle, after all. Her autonomy. Not Katherine herself. "I will take you to London. You may hire anyone you choose there –"

  She tried to interrupt, but he held up his hand and finished forcefully. "But Katherine is unsuitable. To be plain, the woman lies with men for money and is no fit company for you." He knew her well enough by now not to be surprised that she did not react with shock or surprise to his bald statement.

  "I see you have made up your mind." There was a touch of scorn in her voice that he could not credit.

  "Some things must be done a certain way. It is not a matter of making up one's mind, but of knowing the difference between right and wrong."

  "And Katherine is wrong?" she challenged, her voice taut with sudden fury.

  "She does what she must, no doubt. But I will not have a person like that in my household."

  "Your definition of right and wrong is too restrictive for me." She shook her head. "Perhaps for any frail mortal being, but especially for me. You were the one who insisted we marry and now that I am here, as your wife, I feel as if you wished me anywhere but here."

  The truth of her statement jolted through him, but he rejected it with his very soul as well as his words. "Of course I don't want you to want to be rid of me. You do not understand—"

  "Oh, but I do, Simon." It was her turn to override him. She did so with an imperious military flare, sharply raising her arm high to halt his words.

  "Katherine does not lie with men for money. She is a vicar's widow. From her mother, she has learned herbal healing. People come from London for her help, as Giles Grimthorpe did."

  He was surprised at her naivete. "She is no vicar's widow – she would not be living as she is, threadbare, poor. You have been gulled by a pretty story. But then, you are known to believe in fairytales."

  Indignation burned in her eyes. "So you would think, Simon. But that is because you are a man." She said man as if it were an epithet.

  "When you are a woman and your husband dies, you must fall back on the kindness of relatives." Her eyes widened and he knew she was realizing that very likely she would soon be in a similar position.

  Certainly, he was realizing what that would mean to her as he watched her argue her case for her friend. Thankfully, she had Valentine to fight for her. But it would no doubt set her pride on edge to be beholden to her twin brother for a home.

  Her voice was slightly unsteady as she continued. "Katherine's father was a humble man before his daughter married the vicar, but he gladly gave her and her daughter room in his cottage when her husband died and she was turned out of the vicarage."

  He saw the certainty in her eyes and realized abruptly that he had been the fool, not Miranda. He had come to a conclusion and forgotten to question it. Such things got men killed in war. Fortunately for him, it only lost him this one skirmish with Miranda.

  He scrabbled for a place to make his stand. Surrender was not his way. He had been raised a duke, even if he should not have been. If the woman was not a slattern, then she was worse, a healer.

  Miranda's true purpose in hiring Katherine became clear to him. He felt the anger swell within him as he realized how she had meant to manipulate him. And he knew the weapon to use against her. "You lied to me."

  She did not deny it. But neither did she show signs of remorse. "I intend to have her as my lady's maid, but mostly, I want her so that she might help you. She might discover something you or your doctors have missed. Is that so wrong?"

  "Yes. I will not be lied to." He had made it abundantly clear to her more than once that he did not wish to be subjected to a healer's scrutiny. If Katherine were any good, which was doubtful, she might uncover his secret--that he was healthy and illness-free.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his features into the fierce officer's scowl he had used with his men. "This tendency of yours to think you know what is best for others, to try to force impossible happy endings upon situations and people who cannot have them is what gets you in trouble. You must stop at once before you hurt
someone."

  Or before you are hurt, he wanted to add, but those words would not sway her. For someone who cared so much about creating a happy ending for others, she didn't give a fig about her own happiness. One of many reasons he had taken the task over himself.

  She flashed him a sad, but still triumphant smile. "Then you agree I must leave."

  Again he found himself speechless. She had ambushed him with the skill of a professional. After a moment, he found himself able to utter a strangled, "No—"

  Again she interrupted. "I cannot touch you, I cannot look for ways to cure you--" her voice cut with scorn — "I cannot even hire a lady's maid without causing you undue agitation. I believe, if I remain here, I shall shorten your already brief life, just as that fairy-tale pea shortened the princess's night's sleep."

  "I am no princess."

  That, he was relieved to see, provoked a smile from her, despite her agitation. "No, you are not. But I am definitely an irritation."

  He crossed the distance between them before she could react. He closed his fingers on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. He wanted to make sure she understood him. This was not a fair battle, after all. She was his wife, not his enemy. "I crave the irritation you bring me. I'll never let you leave. Never."

  She touched his chest and whitened. "Simon, your heart." She tried to push him toward his chair. "You must calm down, this disagreement isn't good for you."

  He resisted the force of her hands easily. "Agree to stay." He knew he was using the lie of his health to coerce her, but he didn't care. Neither life, love, nor war was fair. If she left, his remaining days here would be unbearable.

  She reached up and gently touched his cheek. Her fingers were cool and trembled lightly against his skin. "I want you to live, Simon. Is that so terrible?"

  He shook his head. "Herbs will make no difference to my fate." He felt a bittersweet regret that there was no herb to cure bastardy. And no way he would win this battle without concessions. "If you wish her to attend you, she may."

  He wagged his finger sternly, though, with a need to prove he was master in his own home. "But at the first sign that she is interfering in matters of my health, I shall send her packing."

  Relief shone on her face and he felt a curious lightening of the heart to see it. He wondered if he had set a bad precedent, letting her threaten him this way. And then he realized that it would make no difference in a few months. He put his arms around her, determined to indulge her for the short time he could. She leaned her head against his chest, resting against him. He felt the smooth lump of the leather pouch between them. "Katherine will do well enough, you'll see."

  "Just don't expect me to become an experiment for every obscure remedy she can concoct." He caressed the back of her neck. "I want to spend the time with you, like this. Can you understand that?"

  She sighed. "I do understand, but — "

  He quickly moved to cement his position and distract her from this matter before she had managed to persuade him to physic a body that had no need of it. She was formidable in battle and it would take all his wits to outflank her.

  "If we are to introduce you and your sisters to society, we should do so immediately. So you had best see to ensuring that Katherine is adequate to the task of dressing you and putting up your hair. No one is so cruel as the ladies of the court."

  He saw the shadow alight in her expression and cursed the thoughtlessness of his words. She, better than most, had cause to know exactly the measure of that cruelty. Her voice broke as she began, "Perhaps we should wait ... "

  "We cannot afford to wait. We will have a house party in mid-June."

  She drew in her breath. "What?" The color drained completely from her skin. He watched in alarm as it bloomed again in her cheeks.

  To calm her panic, he added soothingly, "Nothing large, Miranda, just thirty people or so." The thought seemed to distress her even more, so he added, "My mother can put herself to use in helping you plan the thing."

  A memory came to him, unbidden, of the large summer parties his mother had hosted for his father. She had seemed so beautiful as she drifted through the groups of guests in her flowing pastel gowns; cool, laughing, sneaking bits of pastry and sweetmeats for her son.

  That was before he understood that the laughter wasn't real, it was rehearsed, calculated, cold. That after every weekend party his parents would argue bitterly, and his mother would retreat to her wing for days.

  But there was no doubt that these parties had been successful affairs for all but the host and hostess. In fact, it was to her credit that no one realized how much she hated her husband. "She has a great deal of experience. I daresay she could impress Grimthorpe himself."

  Her mouth quirked downward. "Shall we invite him also, then?"

  "By all means. We have nothing to hide — or so we shall have them all believing before the weekend is through."

  Her brow wrinkled and he longed to bend and brush it smooth with his lips. "Do you suppose he still has my boots?"

  He knew what she feared — that Grimthorpe would somehow brew a new scandal. "It matters little, now. You are my wife."

  "I suppose it is too late to cause trouble with a pair of old boots." The doubt did not entirely erase from her face.

  "No doubt, if he hasn't already thrown them away, he's given them to one of his servants."

  She nodded, but he could feel the worry radiating from her.

  "The best way to ensure Grimthorpe's gossip is neutralized is to have you quickly accepted back into society." Knowing her weaknesses well, he urged, "We must be bold about introducing you. You do not want your sisters to suffer because of rumors and gossip, do you?"

  "You are right. We will be bold." She turned her lips up in a half smile. "Although, perhaps I shall temper my boldness with a touch of wisdom. Katherine, as a former vicar's wife, has much to teach me about patience."

  She stretched up on the tip of her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

  Fortunately, before he could move his arms to her waist and capture her against him, she slipped away. "I must tell Katherine and Betsy the good news."