* * * * *
Katherine offered the only advice she could, little that it might be. "You must take care of yourself, rest, eat well, and take the air frequently. At your age such things are dangerous."
The dowager sighed. "I shall have to leave, of course. I never should have stayed."
Of course not, Miranda agreed in silent yet sympathetic mockery. You should have turned your back on the only man you ever loved simply because his father had the bad judgment to marry you. "Where will you go?"
"Italy, I think. At least for ... a time."
Seven months. Miranda understood all too well, although the thought of a forty-four-year-old woman with a grown son becoming a mother again was somewhat shocking. And thanks to the laws of consanguinity, this child, too, would be a bastard. It just wasn't fair that she and Simon should be so happy while Peter and Cassandra should be pulled apart.
But the dowager had made it very clear that this confidence was to go no further then the three women in this room. Even Peter had not been told. Miranda understood why, but she could not believe it for the best. "There must be some way —"
Katherine raised her eyebrows in unvoiced warning.
"She must remain calm and careful in order to deliver herself safely of a healthy child. Italy will provide her a sunny confinement."
"But to be separated from Peter is not —" There was not a way to describe the distress of such heartbreak.
"A happy ending?" The dowager smiled. She had been pale and wan, tired and listless for weeks. Now they all knew why. "I will have Peter's child and a second chance to be a good mother. That is enough for me."
"You will not isolate yourself from your family," Miranda protested. "You must come to America with us. We can say that you are a widow. We do not have to say for how long."
The dowager raised one eyebrow and smiled. "I do not believe my son would think that wise."
"Simon will not be angry. You know how much he loves children."
The dowager glanced toward the door, ready to answer, and her skin drained of blood. "Simon."
Miranda watched, her heart in her throat as he came into the room. He glanced at her and smiled. She could see no anger in him, although he was wary. "What is it about the children I love that will not make me angry."
Miranda answered nervously, "Oh nothing. I was speaking hypothetically about children in our American home."
His eyes locked on hers with concern. "Are you pregnant?"
"No!" The denial came too quickly. Miranda realized that she would have been better to say she was not sure.
He glanced quickly at Katherine, who sat next to the dowager, holding her wrist in one hand. "You?"
Miranda was shocked. "Of course she is not, Simon." She chided him. "She is a vicar's widow."
He bowed slightly to Katherine. "I apologize." He smiled coldly at his mother. "At least breeding is a condition I cannot accuse you of, Mother."
The room grew silent as the dowager blushed pinkly. "What an imagination you have," she managed at last, her voice faint.
"No." Simon's voice was harsh as he sank to the seat beside Miranda. She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. "I did not know such things were possible. "
The dowager rejoined, "Nor did I."
He smiled grimly at his wife. "I suppose you mean to find her a happy ending? Well, I will not have it. Peter is duke. My mother cannot legally marry her own stepson." He glanced at his mother then. "I thought you hated scandal mother, and would do anything to avoid it." His voice was scornful.
The color drained from her face. "I will have this child without disgracing you, never fear."
"Simon, I must speak with you." Peter stepped into the room and Miranda felt Simon tense like a caged lion beside her.
"You are too late. I have already heard the news."
Peter stared at him in puzzlement. "How could you? I just found it out myself. I think it will change everything."
"It changes nothing." The intensity and anger in Simon's voice finally caught Peter's attention. He took a careful look at the shocked faces in the room. "What is it? What has happened?"
"How dare you and she bring another bastard into this world."
Peter glanced at the dowager in confusion, his gaze hardening as he realized the import of Simon's words. "Is this true, Cassandra?"
"Yes, Peter. I'm afraid so." Cassandra. Miranda marveled at the name of the austere dowager. It was a beautiful name, full of magic and mischief. So unlike the Dowager Duchess of Kerstone. But perhaps like the young woman who had captured and held Peter's heart through a thirty-year absence.
''Another bastard?" The shock on Peter's face flashed into anger. "You told him I was his father? Are you mad?"
His words were harsh, but the dowager did not flinch. "I did not know he was at the door of the room, Peter, or I would not have spoken so freely to Sinclair. Some mistakes cannot be erased." Miranda's heart squeezed with pain as she watched the two tearing open the wounds of the past.
The dowager continued her explanation, her voice husky with emotion. "You said you would not come back and rescue him. I thought that knowing he was true-blooded might change his mind." It was when Peter softened and put his arms around the dowager's stiff frame, that Miranda thought of a tale of hope.
For all the two took notice of the others, they could have been alone. Peter sighed softly against the dowager's elegantly coiffed head resting full on his shoulder. "What a fine mess we have made, haven't we?" Miranda thought of Rapunzel, letting her hair down, and the prince taking hold, and climbing up to free her from her prison.
She looked at Simon, watching his parents, recognizing what she had already known. They loved each other as much as she and Simon. And their love was breaking their hearts. Gently, she tugged on his hand, pulling him from the room.
The Fairy Tale Bride Page 49