"Perhaps we'll return for the ball." Amanda hated to dissemble to the child, but what else could she do?
"You won't," Daisy said flatly. "'Perhaps' is what grown-ups say when they don't want to tell the truth."
"I'm sorry, Daisy. Sometimes an adult can't speak freely in order to protect the privacy of other people."
Daisy marched right up to her and lifted her face to meet Miranda's gaze. "Devon needs you," she said. "Don't you see that yet?"
Miranda almost dropped the shirt she was folding. What a thing for the child to say. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed the shirt into a compact square. Of course, Daisy was wrong. She couldn't be expected to understand the complexities of adult relationships. In her worldview, Cinderella put on the glass slipper and everyone lived happily ever after.
Miranda didn't want to destroy those illusions. But she didn't have the energy to keep defending Devon for his indefensible actions. He was the one who had the fiancé. He was the one who'd told her to leave.
The only thing she could do was try to protect Daisy from the knowledge of how cold and hard-hearted her oldest brother could be.
"I'm sorry, Daisy." Miranda had to swallow hard around the lump in her throat. Her natural instinct was to promise to see Daisy again, to invite her to meet the twins when they came to England – to somehow let Daisy know that she was someone Miranda would miss. But she had to keep in mind the fact that Daisy was part of Devonwood's family, and he clearly wanted to cut the connection. Miranda had to respect that.
"You're making a mistake," Daisy said stubbornly. "I thought you were different."
Miranda looked up helplessly as another knock sounded on the doorframe. The nanny was standing there, her hands clasped together.
"You must not run off and disappear," she scolded. "If you'll excuse her, miss, Daisy's riding instructor is here."
Miranda leaned over and gave Daisy a big hug. "Be a good girl. Take care of Devon for me."
She listened in shock as her own words echoed in her head. Where had they come from? But Daisy didn't make any promises. Her last pleading look over her shoulder contained a strong element of accusation. Miranda tried to shake it off. Daisy was a child, still believing in fairy tales. She didn't know what she was talking about in the real world. Miranda sighed. In the meantime, she and Sharmie had best leave as soon as possible.
It was only five minutes later that her door flew open again.
"What is this tale I've been hearing from Daisy that you're leaving?" Sarah swept dramatically into the room, a cloud of scarlet silk draped over one arm. "I've been working on your ball gown since dawn. You can't leave. I'm sure Daisy is mistaken, but I needed to hear it from you."
Miranda looked up from her suitcase. "We are leaving, Sarah. I'm sorry, but you know it was bound to happen."
"Nooooooo!" Sarah flung the silk on the bed and bounded across the room to throw her arms around Miranda. "I won't let you leave. I need you! What happened? Did you have a quarrel with Devon."
Miranda stiffened in surprise. "A quarrel?"
"Oh, Miranda," Sarah wailed. "Do tell me what happened. Which one of my brothers has ruined everything?"
"There's nothing so dramatic going on. You know Sharmie and I came here to straighten out some financial issues we were having with respect to my father's estate. Devonwood has—" She faltered, looking for the right words. "He's managed to work things out, and we're able to move forward with Sharmie's wedding. I'm so sorry to be leaving, but the wedding is also exciting and—" She stopped, forgetting what other words might be able to fill in this hollow feeling that was sucking the life out of her.
She was looking forward to planning Sharmie's wedding.
She did need to get back to her job in less than a week, now that her fantasies about building a business in England had been destroyed.
Her heart was broken. Whoops. That thought wasn't supposed to sneak in.
Sarah stared at her, her blue eyes stricken. "How am I going to handle the auction without your help? I need you, Miranda."
"Try to understand, Sarah. I can't defy Devon. This is his home. He never wanted us here to begin with. I've had a lovely time with all of you, but it's time to move on."
"So it is Devonwood," Sarah said sharply. "Being his usual autocratic self. He doesn't know how to be happy so he can't bear for anyone to be happy."
Miranda pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to retort. Part of her wanted to defend Devonwood. But the hurt he'd dealt her was taking up too much room inside her. She didn't have the strength to continue explaining. Too late, she regretted her decision to pack for herself. She should have had a maid in here at dawn so she and Sharmie could have been on the road before the household was awake.
Chapter 27
At least Pookie was delighted to see them when they arrived at his estate just in time for the cocktail hour. He gave Miranda a bear hug, swept Sharmie off her feet, swung her around in a big circle, and announced that his day was complete.
Miranda had only met Pookie once, in New York, but his big presence was impossible to forget. He had a white shock of hair that stood straight up from his head, like a thick cap of dandelion fluff, a robust body that was a great contrast to Sharmie's delicacy, and an inclination to laugh easily.
"Excellent. Excellent." Putting Sharmie down, Pookie rubbed his hands together in an almost childish glee. "I'll give you half an hour to do whatever you ladies need to do, and then we'll all regroup in the small drawing room."
As the housekeeper led them away to their rooms, he was hollering for his butler, who was standing right beside him, to lay two more places for dinner.
It was impossible for Miranda to feel anything but welcome.
However, when they rejoined Pookie, she was distressed to find him embark immediately on the subject of Devonwood.
"I can't think how he let you two beauties slip from his fingers," Pookie stated. "But his loss is my gain."
"We'd stayed long enough," Miranda murmured. "He can be a difficult man."
"Devonwood?" Pookie bellowed. "Nonsense. He's a fine man. A veritable phoenix arising from the ashes."
Miranda glanced at the glass of whiskey in his hand. Still mostly full, and it was the first one she'd seen him take. So why was he waxing so poetic about the duke?
"I didn't know he was such a friend of yours," she said.
"Not a friend of mine." Pookie waved the glass of whiskey. "Well-known story, that’s all."
Sharmie placed her hand on Pookie's arm. "What story are you talking about, my love?"
"The Duke of Devonwood." He dropped a kiss on her golden curls. "Isn't that the young man Miranda's pining over?"
"I'm not—"
Sharmie held up a hand. "I simply must hear this tale about the phoenix. Pookie," she said dramatically, "speak!"
"You can hear it from anyone," Pookie said. "Well-known story." He picked up a lit cigar from a crystal ashtray. "Sorry, love, I'm cutting back. Tomorrow." With a wink, he puffed on the cigar and the red tip glowed warmly.
"I don't want to hear the story from anyone," Sharmie said. "I want to hear it from you. The Duke of Devonwood is a fascinating man."
This was a side of Sharmie seldom seen. In fact, the only time Miranda had ever seen it was on a couple of occasions when Sharmie thought Miranda's father had not been getting the high level of care she intended for him to have. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't make threats. But she got a look in her eye, and a determination in her behavior that achieved results.
Miranda couldn't help but wonder if Sharmie suddenly wanted to get some results for her step-daughter. The thought was alarming.
"Well, then, I'll do the best I can." Pookie placed the cigar back in the ashtray, as if removing it from temptation. "Devonwood's father, the eighth duke, laid waste to a patrimony that was thin already when he inherited. He hung onto the castle and the land, but they were both a shell of what they are today.
"I visited the castle once with my m
other, who was godmother to Charlotte, the present duchess." Pookie shuddered. "Pile of rocks. Coldest night of my life, and that includes a childhood spent in boarding schools." He nodded at the two women, as if to emphasize his misery.
"Wait a second." Miranda raised a hand. "Are you talking about Devonwood castle? It's the most luxurious home I've ever been in."
"Wasn't then," Pookie said with conviction. "The place was a wreck. A shame, because even I could see the grandeur of the structure. But everything was in disrepair, water stains on the ceilings, the furniture shredded, the food deplorable."
He raised his glass. "The duke had an excellent cellar, however. Must have been extensive. We had a grand bottle of wine, the old duke and I. Of course, there was no other company. Charlotte, I think, was humiliated even to have us there."
Miranda could only gape at him. She felt like she was hearing a fairy tale in reverse. She'd seen the richness of the Devonwood lifestyle, and now they were rewinding to apparent poverty.
"Are you telling us," she asked, "that Devonwood was poor?"
"The eighth duke was certainly poor." Pookie picked up his cigar and took a puff. "Of course," he continued, "the present duke was a child then, a quiet boy, the kind of kid who always seemed to be alone. I vaguely remember him skulking around, being ignored. I think we were there on Boxing Day, but there were no signs of festivity anywhere in the house. No presents, no decorations, nothing. There was a little girl, very young and she was the center of attention."
He paused, for another drag on the cigar. "The girl must have been Charlotte's because, if I remember correctly, Devonwood was an only child from the first wife. But the heir, of course."
"Exactly, my love," Sharmie said warmly. "Continue."
"We bolted as soon as we could, my mum and I, and I never thought of any of 'em again, until years later when I was invited to participate in a venture capital fund." He tilted his head at Miranda. "Lo and behold, the fund was headed up by the very same young man. Of course, he was in his mid-twenties by then. Polished. Self-possessed. Strong-willed." He gulped a healthy swallow of his drink.
"Did you participate in the fund," Sharmie asked.
"Damn right." He grinned at her. "One of the best investments I ever made. Of course, I investigated him first. I don't throw away my money on unproven upstarts."
"He was never an upstart," Sharmie protested. "That's impossible to imagine."
"He always had a cool head," Pookie corrected. "But he worked hard for whatever he achieved. When he started out, a lot of people turned him down when he asked for money. He lived on the edge of disaster for a few years, taking enormous risks, and sometimes losing."
Miranda's hand crept to her heart. Who had stood by him then? Had he been all alone, a young man trying to restore his inheritance while people rejected him, and a young family depended on him?
It was impossible to reconcile the portrait Pookie was drawing with the man she knew as the Duke of Devonwood—a man totally in control of his world, wealthy and autocratic.
Except for one little thing. Devon still seemed like someone who was always alone. That part of Pookie's description rang true.
She caught Sharmie's gaze on her. "That's not the man we know," she said shortly, to distract Sharmie from whatever she might be seeing. The lord knows Devonwood wouldn't want her pity anyway.
Pookie laughed. "Right. Nowadays, you'd be lucky to get into one of his funds. The man turned out to have a genius for making money. He may have been looking for investors when he started, but now investors chase him down."
Miranda was annoyed to feel a spurt of pride. Really, it was nothing to her what Devonwood did or did not do, nor what people thought of him. He was out of her life.
"He's very dynamic," Sharmie said. "Although not restful." She smiled at Pookie.
"To hear my mother tell it," Pookie said, "he turned that mausoleum he inherited into a showplace, took on the care of a pack of younger kids, and has grown richer with every passing year. I never turn down an invitation to participate in any scheme he proposes." Pookie raised his glass in a silent toast to the absent man.
"He never married?" Sharmie asked.
"He's still a young man, my dear. But I don't know a thing about his personal life. Except for the fact that my mother and my sister have been throwing my nieces at his head for years. Silly young things. Not interesting enough to attract a man like Devonwood."
Chapter 28
On Friday, Miranda was working frantically on her hats in the small room Pookie had given her for that purpose. She'd hoped the work would distract her from her problems, but she was grateful when Sharmie appeared. Maybe two distractions would be enough to push Devonwood out of her head.
Sharmie's gaze roved over the dozen hats lined up on a credenza. "Are these for the TV show?"
Miranda shook her head. "I'm hoping to sell them at the ball."
"The ball?" Sharmie's gentle voice betrayed only curiosity.
"I've been talking with Sarah. She really wants me to return for the ball because of the auction." In fact, Sarah had begged and pleaded, pleaded and begged. She'd promised anything but the moon if Miranda would come back and help her with the silent auction.
"I'm so excited about this opportunity," Sarah had said. "When will we ever get such another fabulous chance to show what we can do to the very people who are our target audience? What if Tessa won't do the TV show without your hats? Please, Miranda. You know your hats will be so popular in England."
On and on she went, in her own enthusiastic style.
The convincing note was the fact that Miranda knew Sarah was right. She would never get a better opportunity to see what potential customers thought of her hats. The Devonwood ball was a perfect showcase. If she passed it up, she might never forgive herself.
If she could build a successful business in England, she would have a perfect reason to spend a lot of time here and remain in touch with Sharmie and the twins. That alone made a return to Devonwood castle mandatory, whatever it might cost her emotionally.
"Is this what you want to do?" Sharmie asked now.
Miranda shrugged. It would be painful. An event that should have been one of the most memorable and exciting of her life now loomed as an ordeal to suffer through.
She would have to attend alone.
Jack was taken.
Devonwood was taken.
All her flirting and attempts at seduction had achieved exactly nothing. It was hard not to feel like a loser, and that made the prospect of attending the ball even more distressing. But she simply couldn't pass up such a stellar networking opportunity, no matter how difficult it would be. The ball was bound to be enormous and crowded with exactly the kind of customers she would need to make her business successful. She could only hope and pray that she wouldn't run into Devonwood.
She looked up from the hat she was ruining with her tense fingers. "I'll never get a better chance to get a business off the ground. You know I need to go."
Sharmie sat down next to the worktable. "I don't know any such thing. I came in to tell you that Pookie and I thought we'd go into London tomorrow. Catch a show, stay overnight and then you and I can take our flight home."
Goose bumps skittered over Miranda's arms at the reminder. They were flying home in two days. Her adventure was over.
With her goals not accomplished.
Yes, she'd obtained the money for Sharmie's wedding, but that didn't seem to have made her indispensable to her step-mother. In fact, Sharmie seemed to be taking the lead in their relationship now, devising plans and schemes to help Miranda.
She glanced at her step-mother. How much did she suspect? What did she know?
Sharmie sighed. "I don't wish to pry, dearest. But if you want to talk, I'm always glad to listen."
Miranda pressed her lips together. She appreciated the support, and the attempt to divert her with a trip to London. But she couldn't talk about Devonwood. What was there to say, anyway? She'd mad
e a big mistake by falling in love with a man who didn't want her. Worse yet, a man who was engaged. How stupid was that?
Still, she had to let Sharmie know what she was doing.
"I need to go to the ball," she repeated. "If I don't meet Tessa there, she might withdraw her offer to invite us to her show. I can't take that chance. Even if I could give up the dream of my own business, I couldn't do that to Sarah."
Sharmie nodded, but her blue eyes were troubled. "I don't want you to torment yourself."
"With what?" Miranda's lips trembled. "There will be more than five hundred people at the ball. I'll have plenty to do."
"Yes, dear, of course." Sharmie wouldn't pry, no matter what. "Shall I plan to go with you?"
"No. That's not necessary." Miranda wrapped a navy blue ribbon around the crown of a black hat. "I expect to be busy with my hats, and meeting as many people as I can. You have such a short time with Pookie. I want you to make the most of it."
"You are just as important to me as Pookie is." Sharmie's tone was fierce. "I am perfectly ready to speak my mind on the subject of cheaters, duke or no duke."
Tears sprang into Miranda's eyes at the unexpected words. She knew that was as close as Sharmie would come to referring again to the news Miranda had briefly told her about Devon's engagement. "It's too late for a duenna, Sharmie. But thanks."
As soon as Sharmie left, she yanked off the navy blue ribbon. What on earth had she been thinking?
Chapter 29
The Devonwood palace, naturally, held a fabulous ballroom. Miranda looked at it with new eyes, though, now that she knew that all of this splendor hadn't merely been bestowed on the Devonwoods as an accident of birth.
Someone had worked hard to provide the sparkling chandeliers, the parquet floor gleaming with polish, the tall urns of gorgeous flowers, and the band playing at the far end of the room. She'd entered through the garden, sneaking in so she didn't have to face the receiving line. It was a cowardly move, but she didn't want to risk being thrown out before she'd accomplished her objective.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 131