Miss Simpkins' School: Miranda

by Raven McAllan

  “Don’t do that,” Molly said in a sharp tone. “You’ll bruise it. Look, I need to know what you know about me, and what it is you think I can help you with. I assume we don’t have the time now? If I know anything about Ash, he’ll be hot on our heels as soon as he can, and I am anxious to meet my godchildren and hug their mama.”

  “Then when?” Miranda despised the whine in her voice. It was childish and grated even to her. “Oh, I’m sorry, but you know how Adriana can tell you something in such a way, you don’t realize until later how much she’s helped?”

  Molly nodded. “She has aided you in a way you didn’t comprehend until after the event?”

  “Exactly. I need help to seduce someone. It has to be soon, before he offers elsewhere. I have to show him that even though the age difference is great, it matters not. He’s the only one for me.” She sighed. “He will not entertain the thought of us being together in any way. The idiot says I need someone younger, and less extreme—whatever that means. Pfft. We all know it’s the norm for a man to take a younger wife. I have to want the only gentleman of the ton who doesn’t agree with the ideas of the ton. Adriana knows this, and began to talk about a school, which could help. Then she mentioned you were coming today. It was only later, when I saw the pamphlet on my dressing table that I put things together. I was to try and meet you alone later. The accident was fortuitous, in one way. I didn’t expect to meet you yet, and especially not have time alone with you. It was an accident, truly.”

  “Then we’ll talk about it later. The school, not the accident. Do I go around to the back of the house with the horses?”

  “What? Oh yes, to the left, the stables are behind the trees.” Miranda hadn’t noticed they were only a few yards from the cluster of buildings. “It will annoy Marsh—he’s the major-domo—but that’s his problem, not ours. There, see Bagshot, the head groom, is coming to meet us.”

  “I see.” The phaeton drew up next to the man, who after one startled glance toward Molly, blinked and took the reins from her. Another groom came running and assisted the two ladies down.

  “The earl is bringing the gig. To my eternal shame, Merry was spooked by a pheasant on the lane just near to the gate,” Miranda said as she shook out her dusty skirts, and envied the quiet elegance of Molly. If the woman was all she’d heard, this understated simplicity was superb. “Miss Simpkins and I will go in and find the countess.”

  She turned to Molly. “We’ll use the garden door. It seems silly to walk all the way round to the front just to make an entrance. And it’s miles.”

  “I doubt it,” Molly replied in a dry tone. “But I’m all for not making an entrance, so the garden door suits me well.”

  Molly tucked her arm through Miranda’s. “We have a few minutes,” Molly said as they strolled out of the stable yard and into a pretty walled garden. “Perhaps I might be informed of just whom you wish to bed or wed?”

  “Both, and in that order. Bed and wed I mean. I suspect if he beds me, he will feel honor bound to wed me. I should of course say no. And continue to do so until he realized it’s not honor, but necessity. But I won’t. He’ll soon realize its lustful, sexual, full-blown coupling he needs. I can give him all that and love. Propriety be damned. If underhandedness is needed, so be it.”

  Molly laughed. “I like your style. But what if he still says no?”

  “Then I’ll at least have some memories. But, oh lud, he cannot.” Her voice broke and Miranda mentally shook herself. This was no time to go to pieces.

  “So, who is it you wish to entice?”

  Miranda wondered why Molly’s voice was strained. Was the identity of her ardor so important?

  “For if it is imperative we sort this before he makes a grave mistake, we must start our plans at once.” Molly added.

  “Oh, it is of the utmost that I change his mind,” Miranda assured Molly. “By fair means or foul, I need to be with him. I have been told he is about to offer for Jane Nicholby. She would bore him in five minutes.”

  “Jane? But she is five and thirty and a wid... Oh, I see. So this man is?”

  “Felix Sotherby.”

  Molly stopped dead. “Felix? But he is over forty.”

  “He will be forty in February, and it makes no odds. Papa says it would be like I was marrying him, and Felix agrees. That is rubbish. I don’t want another father. I love the one I have. But I do want Felix, in every other way except incestuous.”

  “Ah, so your father is?”

  Miranda blinked. Of course she hadn’t said. Perhaps now was the time and the person to open up to.

  “Charles Fairmont. Ashley’s younger step-brother. And before you say, you didn’t know Papa had been or was married, he hadn’t and isn’t. Hence the different surnames. But then, you’d be correct in also saying you had no idea he was a father.”

  She sighed, a soft pathetic noise that annoyed her intensely. How stupid to still react so after all these months. Charles had welcomed her with open arms, and so had his family. But after so long of only her mama and herself, it was so hard to readjust, especially as Mama had then passed away. The last eighteen months had been ones of readjustment for them all, not the least the Anglicization of her beloved surname.

  “Poor Papa. He had no idea either.”

  Chapter Three

  Felix Sotherby, Earl of Kelmarsh, glanced in the mirror, studied the fall of his cravat, and nodded, to the relief of his valet who dipped his head in agreement. Felix smiled inwardly at this supposed show of his vanity. If an affectation was necessary in the world he lived in, then creating an individual method of tying one’s cravat was not too excessive.

  “It will do,” he said slowly. “Now what shall I call it?”

  His valet cocked his head. “Perfection?” he suggested in a hesitant voice. “For to me sire, it is that.”

  Felix raised one eyebrow. “Not yet, Michael, but soon perhaps. I am almost there. It needs something else.” He studied his reflection in the mirror. “Ah, there it is. The sapphire pin.” He picked up a gemstone on a silver reed-like stem and placed it unerringly in the middle of a fold of his cravat. “Yes, now you can say perfection.”

  He did his best not to roll his eyes as Michael clapped his hands in respect. Felix had no exaggerated idea of his importance. He was a peer, yes, but not one who spoke often in the house or who puffed off his importance. His fellow peers knew if The Earl of Kelmarsh stood up in the house it would be to impart words of great necessity. As he came into the Earldom at an early age, Felix had spent many years discovering what he thought important, and what could be ignored.

  He picked up his signet ring from the silver box beside him and slipped it onto his finger. The sight made him frown. Rings went hand in hand with marriage. Something that preyed on his mind more and more these days. Should he or shouldn’t he? He had to decide before long.

  “Michael, don’t wait up,” he said as his valet assisted him into his evening jacket. It was so form-fitting that on anyone without a perfect physique it would be appalling, “I imagine my host and I will get involved talking over the billiards table. I assume he will have returned before dinner. He has insisted on house shoes, so I need not have you on hand to pull off my boots.” The note in his room had puzzled him, but so many gentlemen now chose to take care of their houses, as he himself did, that he assumed Charles was likeminded. “According to the staff, Charles will be ready to greet me well before dinner.” A slight misnomer, but Felix had no intention of gossiping.

  He arrived earlier in the day to be greeted by the major domo. In a regretful voice he had informed Felix that his lordship had been called to his step-brother’s estate unexpectedly. However Tony did not believe he would be away overnight. Because Felix’s visit was for several days, his host asked for him to treat the house as his own until he returned. As they often spent weeks at each other’s estates, for hunting, shooting, or as a respite from marriage-hunting debs and their eager mamas, it would be no hardship. Felix knew t
his house as well as his own.

  But not with both its present incumbents. However, as it had been prearranged, it will be fine. It has to be.

  “Finish up and have the evening dallying with the pretty parlor maid you made blush earlier.” He grinned at his valet, who showed the same rosy face the parlor maid had. “There’s a cottage on the estate with your name on it when you’re ready. It’s about time you settled down.”

  “Ah.” Michael swallowed and seemed lost for words. “But my job is by your side, my lord. If I take a wife you’d need to find a suitable position for her.” The inference that his valet’s wife would be an ideal maid for a countess wasn’t lost on Felix.

  “Stop trying to turn the tables; you won’t succeed.” Felix had an easy friendship with his valet. “You need to settle down, and play with one lady, not several.”

  Michael grinned. “May I suggest pot, kettle, and black, my lord?”

  Felix tapped him on the back, and left the room, whistling as he went. “Suggest away. I’m not listening. One partner, Michael.”

  It was satisfying to say those words to someone else instead of hearing them spoken by others to himself. Felix knew he had to make a decision about his future, and soon. It was all well and good thinking he was fine as he was, but there was other things to take into consideration. Since the death of his younger brother at Waterloo, his heir was now a very distant cousin, who on his own admission wasn’t interested in Kelmarsh. Felix didn’t need subtle and not so subtle hints from his solicitor and factor, to say nothing of an octogenarian aunt, and an even older great uncle. All told him that an heir, who would put time and effort into the estate, was needed, and fast.

  “After all, my lord, although you are not an old man, you’re no longer a stripling.” His solicitor had coughed in a delicate manner. “We need to ensure Kelmarsh will be in good hands for many years.”

  Felix had laughed. “Good grief. I’m not in my dotage either, but I will give it great thought.”

  So, do I do as it has been suggested and offer for Jane Nicholby? An image of a younger, less attainable lady flashed through his mind, and he shook his head in anger. Jane would be perfect. She had been married, and he knew she would only re-marry for security, not love. It was well known Jane loved her late husband dearly and had no interest in replacing him. Was that what he wanted? No, not really, but can I really have what I want? Jane and I would understand each other.

  Or would they? It was a knotty problem he needed to spend time thinking about. Jane would do her duty and give him, if physically possible, his heir and spare, but what about satisfaction? What about... He wrenched his thoughts away from his desires. No more. Not at that moment.

  First he had the even knottier problem of how to keep his cock under control whenever a certain young lady, whom he spent entirely too much time thinking about, was in the vicinity. It wouldn’t be easy. His prick seemed to have a will of its own under those circumstances. He needed a clear head, and a quiescent rod to decide what should happen. Sense not senses needed to prevail. This evening must not be for nothing. It is my only chance to see...well, just to see.

  As he reached the head of the staircase, Felix hesitated. His host and he became great friends as scrubby schoolboys in their first days at Eton. They’d fought and stuck up for each other through thick and thin, and had remained just so ever since. It was unfortunate, Felix thought, that he lusted after his host’s daughter. Even if she is an adult, and ripe to be wedded, I worry. Am I too old and worldly wise for her? Do I continue on my path? Or do I go to Jane? Felix straightened his shoulders, annoyed at the sense of loss that filled him at the second of his thoughts. He moved to put his foot on the tread of the first step when a noise behind made him turn.

  The bag over his head took him by surprise. Before he had time to react his arms were bound to his side, and then someone kicked his feet from under him. In his soft house shoes he was powerless to kick out and injure. He did his best to relax to cushion his fall. The last thought he had was he hoped to hell he didn’t topple down the stairs.

  He didn’t. Before he hit the floor, strong arms held him horizontal, something rough—rope he surmised—was wrapped around his ankles. How he wished he had his top boots on, it would have been so much harder for him to be secured. Resigned for the moment, he assumed he was carried along the corridor. Even though he knew the house as well as his own, unsighted, and with his hearing muted, he was hard pressed to tell just where they were.

  Ever the fatalist, he mentally shrugged and awaited his fate, whatever it might be. It seemed someone was having a laugh at his expense.

  Kidnap? Unlikely in this house. Mistaken identity? Also unlikely. Her? He thought of the tormentor of his dreams. Surely not. She is not capable of executing such a thing.

  Several minutes later he wasn’t quite so insouciant about everything. He was still being carried. They had, as far as he could tell under the circumstances, descended a long flight of stairs and ascended a shorter one, entered and also exited several rooms. Sometimes the footsteps of whoever carried him sounded heavy and hollow, at other times he heard nothing at all. Without reverberations, he assumed that sometimes they moved over carpeted floor and others bare boards. It was no help. His host’s house was old and had a mish mash of floors and coverings in no particular order. They could be going around in circles for all he knew.

  His captor, he decided that was the best name applicable, halted and through the fusty material that enveloped him, Felix heard several faint door hinge squeaks and dull thuds. The dust and fibers over his face made breathing ever more difficult, and his mouth was dry. If I’m not released soon, I won’t have to worry about my knotty problems. I’ll be deceased and Soutar can deal with the lot of them.

  That morbid thought didn’t sit well with him. Instead he began to get annoyed. Whatever was happening had been going on far too long, and it was no longer a joke. As his captor paused once more Felix kicked out. The curse he heard was loud enough to cut through his covering like a knife through butter, and it was good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon. The jarring went up his leg, travelled through his body, and made his teeth rattle.

  “Give over, you’ll get hurt.”

  Felix wondered if he recognized the voice, and decided he didn’t care. If it was who he thought it was, he deserved the kick for his roughness. If it wasn’t, he deserved the kick anyway. He struck out again and to his delight his bound feet connected with a body. He could only hope he’d got him in the bollocks.

  “I warned you.” The thump to his head was worthy of any devotee of Jackson’s Boxing salon.

  Bugger, that wasn’t in the plan. It was Felix’s last thought before he saw stars and then nothing else.

  Chapter Four

  “Good grief how hard did you hit him?” Miranda glared at Ashley, who grinned unrepentantly. She looked down at Felix snoring gently on the velvet-covered bed next to them. At least, Miranda hoped that was all he did. Ashley assured her Felix would suffer no lasting damage and perforce she had to trust him. However, his pallor and unnatural stillness worried her.

  “He was about to ensure I sired no more children, and Adriana assures me she wants a large family. He’ll come round properly in a few minutes and I need to be gone. You’re on your own now, except for Molly and Towse who are on the end of the bell rope. You have until the morning before your father returns here, but you need to be at Addersley to greet him over breakfast. I must get back before he wonders why I asked him to visit me so urgently. He may never forgive me.” Ashley didn’t meet her eyes.

  Oh lud, I never thought of that. Truly, trying to seduce a man is so difficult, it’s no wonder young ladies don’t bother. “What excuse did you give?”

  “Concern over the flooding in the middle meadow.” Ashley picked up his riding crop and walked toward the door. “If it rains at full moon, it is likely to return, and then not only the meadow but the road will be under three feet of water. We can’t afford to lose the cr
op, or the road surface. So it is a concern, just not one I’d have dealt with so unexpectedly. Now, if you’re sure this is what you want, I’ll be off.”

  Miranda nodded. “I’ve spoken about it to Adriana and Molly, and I’ve promised to do nothing more than speak to him.” She crossed her fingers. “Uncle Ash, why did you help me?”

  Ashley narrowed his eyes, but in the end nodded. “You remind me of my wife when she is up to mischief.” He paused. “No, that is not why. Because I think you deserve the chance, and also because I see the way Felix looks at you when he thinks no one else is looking. It may still not go as you want it, but you will have had the chance to talk to him, and plead your case. He may not realize it, but you are perfect for him. The problem is whether Felix wants perfection or not.” He gave her an uncle-like brush of his lips over her cheek, and left the room.

  And that, Miranda realized, was the crux of the matter. Whether she had committed an irrevocable faux pas and Felix would never forgive her.

  Ah, well at least he will have a reason to ignore me. She glanced over to where he lay unmoving on the bed. It had taken a lot of persuasion to make Ashley place him there and not on the settee in her lounge. She’d argued that a tall man such as Felix would wake up feeling a lot worse than necessary if he’d been allowed to stretch out on a settee too small for him. It wasn’t even a day bed, and his legs from the knees down would dangle at an awkward angle. At least now, there was a chance only Felix’s head would ache when he woke up.

  When. Surely he should be stirring by now? As if on cue, Felix moved and muttered. The words were jumbled and too low for her to make out. Miranda picked up the glass jug full of water and poured some liquid into a glass. She didn’t think he’d take kindly to smelling salts under his nose, and brandy was perhaps not the best thing with a head that would already be thick.

  Even in his disheveled state, Miranda’s body tightened as she gazed at him. His pantaloons molded the contours of his cock and balls in a loving caress, and his shirt hugged his torso to define his muscles there. Ashley had helped her divest Felix of his coat, and cravat, so she was able to admire his body closely.