The Fairy Tale Bride

by Kelly McClymer

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "May I really have two riding habits, Miranda?" Kate asked as she squirmed restlessly at the table.

  "Do hush and finish your eggs, Kate," Hero reprimanded the child, patting the seat of Kate's chair as an indication that she should sit upon it. "You shall have what the duke provides you and count yourself lucky."

  Miranda glanced nervously at the doorway, grateful that Simon had not yet come down to breakfast with them. After yesterday's swift changes in his attitude, she found her sisters' chatter distracting. He had touched her, kissed her — and then turned cold, practically snarling as he announced that his mother's guest would be staying.

  What had changed his mood? Her sisters? The dowager's guest? And could she do anything to improve it? She certainly intended to try, if only she could be certain that she would not cause him harm.

  She had confessed the truth of her virgin state to Katherine this morning and had since been consumed by a single notion. The notion, which seemed to have taken root in her imagination, of deliberately seducing her own husband. Katherine didn't seem to think making love could do him physical harm. But she had warned her in no uncertain terms that a man's fear could be his worst enemy when it came to lovemaking. Seduction could make things worse. Or mend them and give Simon hope for the future.

  She caught Hero's worried gaze and realized that some of her turmoil must be showing in her expression. No one else seemed to have noticed, though; they were all distracted by each other, the excitement of being in a new and different environment, and the thought of more clothes than they had ever had in their lives.

  She smiled at her sister, and Hero smiled back, partially reassured, although Miranda knew she would be on the receiving end of Hero's questions as soon as they had some privacy. Thank goodness for her sister's discretion, she reflected with relief a few moments later when Simon entered the breakfast room.

  "Good morning." His voice was calm and carrying, the voice of an officer, striving to gain the attention of his men. The chatter quieted at once, and a soft round of greetings met him as he helped himself to smoked salmon and buttered bread and sat down beside Miranda.

  He seemed in a better mood this morning, but who knew when his mood might change for the worse? Worrying about him made her feel as if she were sitting on pins and needles. It was fortunate that there was no one else but Hero who might notice and question her distress. The dowager and her guest had breakfasted earlier and left for a ride about the estates.

  Though she forced herself to smile at him as if nothing was amiss, she was not certain that her performance was flawless.

  Before normal conversation could resume, Arthur entered the room. He stopped a moment upon the doorsill. There was a shocked expression on his face as he took in the very female, very youthful nature of the other occupants. He had been away until very late yesterday, in pursuit of an old book he had heard of in a neighboring town. Miranda could not help smiling at his expression.

  "May I introduce you to my wife's sisters, Arthur?"

  Simon's voice held a hint of amusement. Miranda glanced at him obliquely, not wanting to catch his eye. There was no smile on his face, he seemed utterly earnest in his introductions.

  As he took in the names of the five new faces, Arthur was his usual shy yet charming self. "How very fortunate I am to be in the company of six such lovely ladies," he stammered, and then recovered. He smiled at Simon, as if making contact with the one person in the room he understood. "I had no idea how very lively a room could be made by so much feminine company."

  Simon's brow rose. "Indeed. We must remedy that part of your education with a trip to London in the Season, then." His eyes roamed the room, lighting upon the twins, who were arguing over a pitcher of cream, and Kate, who had risen from her seat once more and was twirling about, in an ungraceful attempt at the waltz.

  Juliet had brightened when Arthur had entered the room, and she tried to engage him in a flirtation. Arthur, however, as quickly as his plate was full, began a discussion with Hero about Plato and the works of the classical writers. Juliet pouted for a moment and then began to practice her charms on Simon.

  He was patient, but with a smile at Miranda, he reached out to grasp her hand. "How is it to have your family back?"

  "Wonderful." Turning from the spark of admiration that was in his eyes again, unable to bear the pain of hoping that her seduction might be a success, Miranda looked at both her sisters. They had grown up in the few months she had been away from them. Or had the separation only allowed her to see how very nearly grown they were?

  Hero had a sparkle in her eye as she talked about long-dead authors with Arthur. The two seemed almost oblivious to the noisy chaos that had resumed around them.

  The sound of a cream pitcher striking a water glass resounded clearly through the noisy room. Looking at the twins and Kate, Miranda realized the breakfast room was not the appropriate place for them. They, at least, had not grown out of childhood while she was not looking.

  She turned to Simon, interrupting Juliet's flirtation. "I'm sorry for the disorder. I had not realized how great a disruption they would cause." She smiled. "It never seemed so obvious at home."

  "You had a nursery set up at home," Simon observed dryly, but she did not sense that he was unduly upset.

  Arthur and Hero looked up from their conversation and laughed together. Arthur teased, "Well it is only a matter of time, Simon. Soon the nursery will be open again."

  Simon's hand tensed on hers, then withdrew. But if she did not know how the subject distressed him, she would not have guessed when he laughed along with Arthur. "Perhaps we might as well put it to good use now? I see what you mean."

  The topic resonated with discomfort for her. Nurseries, babies, making love. She could barely look into his eyes. She hoped he could not read her mind. As quickly as she thought of setting up a nursery, the need for a governess fixed one problem that Miranda had not known how to deal with — the fact that Katherine was not an adequate lady's maid. She would, however, make an excellent governess. "Shall I set the nursery up here? For my sisters?"

  "An excellent idea," he concurred, just as Kate's glass of milk spilled onto the damask tablecloth. The servants leaped to clean the mess, but not one touched Kate when she began to wail.

  Juliet scolded, "Kate, you clumsy thing, if you had been sitting still like a true lady, that would not have happened."

  Miranda sighed and rose, feeling the familiar status of oldest sister falling back onto her shoulders. It was a sweet pleasure. She took Kate into her arms and lifted her up. The child was getting too big for such comforts, but Miranda needed the feel of her sister in her arms.

  She glanced at Simon, but could not make herself smile. She would have to make up the nursery, look at the toys, at the cradle waiting for a baby that would never come. The thought made her want to cry, so she gave the command to see to the freshening of the nursery to Dome, ignoring his disapproval as she sailed out of the breakfast room.

  "Miranda." Simon's voice halted her in the doorway. She turned reluctantly to look at him. "Shall we hire a governess?"

  She smiled, and answered as coolly as possible with Kate a squirming weight in her arms. "Katherine will make a better governess than a lady's maid. Unless you object?" She raised a brow, daring him.

  "As you wish." He added, one hand on the honey pot and an odd expression that made Miranda suspect the pot was sticky under his fingers, "There is no reason, is there, why Betsy might not join your sisters?"

  "None that I know of." She tried to remain impassive, but she could not help a tiny smile. His mother was right, he was excellent at running things. "I'm opening the nursery for my sisters. But if Katherine acts as their governess, it would work very well if Betsy remains there, with them."

  "Perhaps then we might begin to have decent coddled eggs again," he said, turning to his morning papers.

  Embarrassment shook her that he knew of the problems in the kitchen. After all,
it was not as if Betsy had been a bad child. Simply a bit impulsive around the biscuits. Why had the servants seen fit to tell Simon their problems?

  Running the house should be her worry, not his. One less burden. And she had failed in her duty yet again. Not wanting Simon to think that Betsy alone was responsible for the trouble, she said, "Cook threatened to quit yesterday. I don't know why the woman doesn't like children, but I certainly don't want Betsy around her any longer."

  He looked up from his papers, then glanced back at his plate of inedible eggs. "No, we certainly don't want Betsy anywhere near the kitchens. Perhaps we might prevail upon the modiste to provide her with a dress or two, to convince her to stay in the nursery."

  She wanted to strangle him — or kiss him insensible. How could he be so concerned about others and so unconcerned about his own illness?

  Belatedly, she realized just what Katherine's new position entailed — and curtailed. With her attention on four young ladies, the healer would have little time for brewing teas, or searching through her dusty notes for remedies for whatever ills Simon might possess. Had Simon foreseen that when he agreed to her solution?