The Fairy Tale Bride

by Kelly McClymer

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As they watched the carriage approach up the drive, Miranda's eyes sparkled up at Simon like fine sherry. Thinking of how small and forced her smiles had been of late, he realized just what he had wrought with his impatient need to possess her. He wanted desperately to lift her up and bury his face in her neck, where the scent of her was strong and sweet, and apologize for his unmeant cruelty.

  He had not considered how full her life had been with family — or how empty of friends his home was. Katherine was somewhat of a confidante, but she was a servant. And he could not understand how Miranda tolerated his mother, never mind enjoyed her company.

  Having her sisters underfoot would be a relief to both of them. She would have them to keep her distracted from concentrating on his false illness, and he would have more than enough chaperones.

  "Miranda! Your house is even nicer than Anderlin. I want to live here." Kate burst from the carriage before it had even rolled to a complete stop. He could not help his own smile as he hurried to catch the irrepressible elf in mid-flight and hand her to her happy sister.

  "Kate! You could have injured yourself." Miranda stood by the carriage, Kate clasped against her side to prevent her from darting into the path of the team as it came to a halt with a jingle of harnesses. The coachman opened the door formally for the remainder of her sisters to dismount more sedately, and Simon went to offer his hand.

  The courtyard itself seemed electrified by the presence of the girls. Even the coachman, a thin-faced, normally somber man, was smiling broadly, albeit a little dazedly. He was not used to the constant high pitched chatter of excited young persons of the female persuasion. Simon found himself overwhelmed with tales of the trip and the inns and food where they had stopped.

  He watched Miranda, choked with emotion at her sisters tumbling from the carriage in bright flounces of skirts and even brighter smiles. She could not speak. He suspected she was close to breaking down into outright sobs. Her hands on Kate were tight, as if she might never let her go — until the little girl broke away to feed a carrot from her pocket to the lead horse.

  Simon allowed his arm to encircle his wife's waist as she, with tears in her eyes, embraced Hero. He saw similar tears in her sister's eyes and realized how much he had missed by never knowing his own brother.

  The sisters hugged each other tightly. Miranda's voice was husky as she said, "It is so good to see you looking well."

  "And you, as well." Hero smiled through her tears, blinking away the moisture until her gaze was focused on her sister. "I have missed you. How do you fare as Duchess of Kerstone?"

  The question was pointed and Simon hurried to answer, fearing that Miranda would be too honest. "Your sister is the most gracious duchess we have ever known. I, for one, cannot think there is one more qualified for the position. And I would not change one thing about our last few weeks."

  Miranda, on the verge of speaking, looked up at him in surprise. Her lips were turned up in a teasing smile as she asked, "Not one thing?" But her eyes were serious.

  Fortunately, at that moment Juliet bubbled up to her. "Oh, Miranda, the duke's coach is just the thing. We traveled in the lap of luxury. You would not believe how comfortable the ride was, compared to our old carriage that Father should have had re-sprung years ago."

  She looked up at Simon with a flirtatious flip of her lashes that made him want to shout with laughter. But then, her eyes widened as she realized what she had said and the color left her face, "I did not mean ... "

  Miranda smiled. "Of course you didn't, Juliet. No doubt, if Papa and Mama had survived their carriage accident, Papa would have seen to the carriage. But that is neither here nor there. Are you well? How do things fare at Anderlin?" She looked toward the abandoned carriage with a little frown line on her brow.

  "Anderlin does well, as do we all." Hero smiled with a hint of pride and confidence. Simon was gratified to see it. He had not hurt the family by taking Miranda away, at least.

  Noticing her sister's contemplation of the carriage, Juliet's hazel eyes sparkled as she added, "And Valentine sends his regrets that he was unable to accompany us, but his business ventures are doing so well that he must go into London first."

  "Oh. I'm glad to hear he's doing so well." Miranda could not hide her disappointment, though. Simon knew how much she had looked forward to seeing her brother again.

  He pressed his palm firmly against the small of her back in sympathy, and she glanced at him, clearly aware for the first time that he was not behaving with his normal reticence. He addressed her sisters. "Your sister and I have a surprise for you. And your brother will be astonished when he arrives — he won't recognize any of you."

  Miranda smiled. With visible effort, she put aside her worries and addressed her sisters. "Yes, indeed. Are you ready to be poked, prodded, and pinned until you are veritable fashion plates?" Halfway through her speech, he heard the excitement and pleasure return to her voice.

  There was a cheerful chorus of assent. She turned to him with a worried frown, "They do add a bit of liveliness, don't they? If you think the uproar will be too much for you—"

  For the hundredth time, Simon damned his 'illness'. "Not at all. The look on your face is worth every bit of inconsequential chatter and feminine foible. Perhaps they might even chase my mother away." He realized then, that his mother had not shown herself to greet the guests. "Where is she? Waiting to greet everyone formally like the dowager dragon she is?"

  Miranda flashed him a guilty-innocent smile that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. "I think she has an unexpected guest of her own."

  "A guest?"

  "An American."

  That was interesting — and called for further investigation, without Miranda's involvement. "Well, I'm glad she's not here to put a chill on all this warm chatter."

  "Perhaps it would be better for you if she did, though. I could not bear the thought of you becoming ill because—"

  He bent to kiss her, once, quickly, just as they all began to ascend the stairs. "Don't worry about me. I'll enjoy being a brother for the first time." A little flicker of hope kindled in her startled eyes. And then Kate pulled on her arm, demanding to be shown her room.

  He smiled. Her sisters were here and things were just a little bit more like they had been before he had come into her life with his proposal and turned it upside down. He hoped he could relax and enjoy her, now, in company. Once she had her sisters settled — which would likely take all day.

  The one sour note in his perfect married life — besides the fact that he couldn't touch his wife — was his mother. He wondered if he could convince her to leave? It was worth a try. Especially now that she had brought a 'guest' into his home.

  He headed toward the gardens. He had no doubt that his mother's guest was a man. It infuriated him that she would bring her amoral ways to poison his home. He would not stand for it — especially now that he was the protector of innocent young women. He would not allow her corrupting influence to affect Miranda or her sisters.

  He saw her then, among her lilacs. There was indeed a man beside her. A man with white hair. Unusual. He wondered, briefly, if the man was his father, and then shrugged his shoulders as he headed toward them. He doubted even his mother knew who his father truly was. Why else would she refuse to tell him, to give him the one thing he wanted from her?

  They stopped talking when they saw him. For a moment he had the absurd impression that his mother was crying, but when he was close enough to see, her eyes were dry and her expression was, as usual, serene.

  "Good day, Mother. Your garden looks lovely." He glanced curiously at the man beside her. Tall, craggy-faced, not her usual style in lovers. He would have expected young, leonine, a spoiled sneer, and a need for ready cash.

  "Thank you, Simon. Has Miranda's family arrived?"

  He nodded, still staring at the gentleman who, as yet, had not been introduced.

  With a glance at the dowager, apparently co
nfirming that she had no intention of introducing him, the man startled Simon by sticking his hand out and beginning, "I'm —"

  She interrupted, even as she raised her hand to pull on his outstretched arm. "We don't shake hands here, Mr. Watson." Her eyes bored into the American's and he slowly, reluctantly, relaxed his arm to his side.

  With a sigh, she smiled at him. "I'm so sorry. I neglected to introduce you to my son. Simon is now the duke. Simon, this is Mr. Watson. He is from America."

  "I had not realized you knew any Americans, Mother."

  "I am not a snob. The colonies won their independence before I was born. I thought it quite romantic when I learned of it." She drew her mouth down, with a glance at the stranger. "As I said, I was just a child."

  "Your mother and I knew each other years ago, Your Grace."

  Simon was startled at the correct use of his title. Most Americans of his acquaintance called him my lord, sir, or — with belligerence — Mr. Watterly.

  To taunt his mother he asked, "How many years ago, Mr. Watson?" He did not believe she had ever let this crude American touch her, so there was no question of his being the lover who fathered her bastard — no matter how young or how full of romantic idealism she had been. His mother had high standards when it came to the blood of her lovers; no stableboys, tradesmen, or Americans for her.

  As if he understood the insulting nature of Simon's question, Mr. Watson said dryly, "I would say it was a lifetime ago, your Grace. But how can I when your mother is still as young and beautiful as the last time I saw her?"

  Simon felt a jolt of recognition as he watched the stranger. The man was infatuated with his mother. Still. After a lifetime apart. His stomach churned as he discarded all his former impressions. One glance at his mother's stricken face confirmed his fears. This man could be his father, after all.

  Pasting a polite smile onto his face, he said exactly the opposite of what he had intended to say. "I do hope you will stay with us for a few days. I look forward to getting to know you better, Mr. Watson."

  His mother's face was white when he turned and walked away.

  ***