Marissa Day

by The Seduction of Miranda Prosper

  Miranda was willing to swear her mother did not even blink as Corwin explained to her the bare facts of the case: that Miranda was a Catalyst, that her aid was required in the war against an unearthly foe, that Lady Thayer was quite probably an enemy of humanity itself, and that she, Daphne Quicke, was being asked to aid the fight.

  When Corwin at last fell silent, Mother’s hard gaze went from him to Miranda. Miranda met her mother’s eyes proud and unafraid. She’d been right. It was a relief for her to know the truth at last.

  Slowly, Mother got to her feet. She staggered, and Corwin reflexively held out his hand. But she cut him off with a sharp gesture and walked to the window. She stood with her back to them, staring out at the garden for a long time. So long that Miranda shifted in her chair and glanced up at Corwin, who stood on her left. Darius, from his position to her right, shrugged, and she felt the mild confusion running between them.

  At last, Mother turned back around, her face and stance utterly composed. “I recognize that the proper form at this moment is to ask if you have all gone quite mad,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t follow the formalities.”

  “You believe us?” The words burst out of Miranda in something close to a squeak.

  “It is not the first time I have heard of such things.” She returned to her chair, sitting smoothly, folding her hands on her lap, just so, as if perfection of deportment could shield her from her own words.

  Corwin frowned. “May I ask, madame ...”

  “My second husband,” she replied coolly. “Miranda’s father.”

  “Father?” breathed Miranda. “Father knew of the Fae?”

  “He knew of magic. He knew he was ... different from other men. It was the root of all his scientific inquiries. He did not believe in the supernatural, as you well remember, Miranda. He believed all observable phenomena could eventually be explained. He wanted to understand himself, so that he could explain your own nature to you.”

  Miranda sat stunned. Her father ... Her father had known what she was?

  “Do you know, madame, if he was Sorcerer or Catalyst?”

  “If I have understood your explanations correctly, I believe he was what you call a Catalyst.”

  How did the captain miss this? Miranda sensed the thought flash through Corwin’s mind.

  I don’t think he did, returned Darius. Perhaps it was no coincidence we were sent to the party where Miranda was.

  But this was not what concerned her, not now. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “I didn’t believe him!” cried Mother. “How could I? He was such a dreamer, so deep into his philosophies. I thought this was just one more of his mad notions. I didn’t know. I had no idea until now.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. And Miranda knew the apology was not to her, but to the place her father still occupied inside her mother’s heart. “I’m so sorry.”

  “If you believed him so mad, why did you marry him?” Miranda felt herself trembling. Her mind was reshaping years of understanding, and it was almost too much. Her mother and her understanding of her mother had been a fixed point in her universe. To discover that Daphne Quicke had been keeping secrets from her all these years and that it was not Miranda who had been hiding. It was too much. It was as bad as the revelation of the household accounts. Miranda’s anger blazed, more at herself than at her mother even. If only I had asked. If only I had not been so closed off ...

  “You’ve been in society, Miranda,” said her mother. “You should be able to imagine how wonderful it was among all that glitter and greed to find a man who cared what one thought, what one believed, whose demands were of the mildest kind ...” The sentence broke off abruptly. “He worshipped me as his perfect goddess, and that’s what I wanted to be for him. I wanted to shelter him, to free him to pursue whatever path his intellect took. In turn he would free me from the loneliness and dependency society forces on a woman.” Her mouth trembled for a moment. “Then he died. He died and there you were, and my investments failed. I had to go back into that mill.” Mother drew a deep breath, bringing her body back under her ruthless control.

  “I didn’t know,” whispered Miranda. “I never realized ...”

  “No,” said Mother heavily. “And you never asked either.”

  “And you never offered.”

  They stared at each other, neither blinking, neither breaking.

  At last, Mother looked away. “Very well. We are both at fault.”

  Miranda opened her mouth to make a cutting remark, but Corwin’s hand fell heavily on her shoulder, restraining her and reminding her there were other issues at stake here than these very personal wounds.

  “Will you aid us?” asked Darius flatly.

  Mother drew another deep breath. “No,” she said. “Whatever she may be, I cannot afford to make an enemy of Lady Thayer. Miranda may not have told you this, but we are a fair way to being destitute.” She spoke the words with her frosty practicality. “If Miranda chooses to go with you ... I suppose I cannot stop her but I hope you ... gentlemen”—her gaze shifted from Corwin to Darius and back again—“are prepared to take over her maintenance, because I have nothing left for her.”

  The words were coldly spoken, and Miranda felt her cheeks flush with anger, but only for a moment, for she became aware of something else, a crushing tide of sorrow. But it came not from Corwin or Darius. This sorrow was Mother’s, and it was so deep as to be all-consuming. Mother had failed, failed supremely, failed the man she had loved above all others, failed his child. She had permitted herself to become as hard and petty as the worst of the society wolves her husband had so pitied, and now she had nothing, nothing at all.

  Corwin squeezed Miranda’s shoulder. He felt it too, whether on his own or through her, and he understood.

  “You would not be expected to give your aid for nothing,” said Darius.

  Mother tilted her head ever so slightly.

  “Miranda is one of our number now, and she will be amply provided for,” said Corwin. “This extends to her family as well.”

  “Why would you make me such an offer?”

  “Because it is necessary to our efforts that Miranda maintain her position in society,” replied Corwin. “This means that nothing can be seen to change in your life or hers, or there will be talk that is best avoided. Rest assured, Mrs. Quicke, if you play your part in this, you will be doing the work of your country and you will be paid accordingly.”

  Mother rose once more from her chair. She walked three paces across the room to the mantel. A square box of lacquered wood waited there. She opened it and drew out a golden locket. It was a small thing, and much plainer than any jewels Miranda was accustomed to her mother wearing. Mother opened it and stared at the contents for a long moment before she snapped it shut.

  “Miranda, is this what you want?” She clutched the locket tight in her fist and Miranda was certain it contained her father’s miniature. “You join this ... situation of your own free will?”

  “Yes,” Miranda answered. “For a host of reasons, but let this suffice: this situation, as you term it, permits me to be who and what I wish to be.”

  “Very well.” Mother nodded, but her fingers did not loosen their grasp on the locket at all. “What must I do?”

  Twenty-one

  Under other circumstances Miranda might have permitted herself to enjoy the drive through Hallowgate. The estate was beautiful in the thoroughly grand, thoroughly English style. Nestled under green windswept hills, its rolling grounds had been meticulously maintained by generations of dedicated gardeners. The main avenue lined with stately oaks was truly breathtaking. But the awareness that she was in enemy territory with her mother as a most unlikely ally robbed Miranda of any ability to relax. Nothing was made easier by the fact that neither Corwin nor Darius was with them.

  “One of our men has been out to the estate already to scout the territory,” Corwin had said the day before they left. “The
re are wards in place—magical shields that can prevent a Sorcerer from entering the grounds, or at least give warning that he’s there. There are ways to breach such shields, but they are most easily done from inside.” He’d kissed her hand. “And that, my dear, is where you and your mother come in.”

  Inside Mother’s bag was a small silver amulet. They’d been given strict instructions on how it was to be placed, and when. Supposedly, it would create a breach in the wards to allow Corwin and Darius to slip through.

  For the thousandth time Miranda wished it was she who had charge of the amulet. If she had hoped for an immediate change in her feelings toward her mother, it had not happened. The habits of so many years would not break so soon, and despite a new intellectual understanding of all Mother had been through, Miranda found none of it could erase the old angers. Not yet anyway.

  But as Darius pointed out so bluntly, Miranda was the one who would be watched. Whether any of them liked it or not, this party was a trap for her. Lady Thayer would be taking a keen interest in Miranda’s movements. It was Mother who would be able to move freely.

  Miranda understood, as she understood the necessity of sleeping alone in her own bed for the remaining nights before the party in order to keep up the illusion that she was being confined under her mother’s watchful eye. She did not like that either.

  “You can stop looking at me like that,” Mother said. “This is no easier for me than it is for you.”

  Miranda shook herself. She truly had not realized she was communicating so much in her glance. “I’m sorry. I just ...”

  “You don’t trust me.” The carriage jounced as it rolled over a loose stone and Mother smoothed her skirts. “I suppose I have only myself to blame for that. Perhaps after all these years I have thought too much on survival and too little on ...” She broke off, staring out the carriage window. “But no matter. You may be assured I will play my part, Miranda.”

  And what then? Miranda bit her lip. If we all come through these next few days, what then?

  It was a terrible thing to feel her old doubts returning. Miranda found her new-won intimacy and confidence was not so strong as she would have liked to believe. When Corwin and Darius were with her, it was easy to trust them utterly. The brief time they had spent together in Corwin’s house ... It had been as if they existed on another plane. They could all be free and open with one another, as one was supposed to be in one’s home. Being forced to exist again in the real world ... It was difficult.

  Their carriage halted on the wide gravel courtyard, joining a line of others waiting in front of the low Tudor-era sprawl of Hallowgate House. Servants scurried to and fro with bags and bundles, and members of society in their bright summer clothes stood about giving orders and exchanging greetings.

  “Smile, my dear,” said Mother. “The show’s about to begin.”

  A liveried groom opened the carriage door, and helped Mother out. She cast a radiant smile around her, rising into her element as easily and naturally as ever.

  “Phoebe, my dear! That pelisse is simply charming! I must have the name of your dressmaker ... Why, good afternoon, Lord Tapscott. I declare, it has been an age! How marvelous to see you looking so well ... Mr. Beale, how delightful. I was hoping to run into you ... Caroline! I’ve just heard the most delicious story ... Oh, not here; later. Do you know my daughter, Miranda?”

  Miranda smiled politely, made her curtsies and gradually faded away from conscious regard as the other arrivals circulated around her mother. It was a familiar role and she welcomed it with a sense of relief that sparked more than a little worry deep in her mind. How, after all that had happened, could she still be most comfortable when no one noticed her at all?

  No one except Lady Thayer.

  Perfectly turned out in a deep green morning dress trimmed with antique lace, the mistress of Hallowgate sailed out of the carved doors straight toward Miranda.

  “My dear Miranda!” she exclaimed, taking both of Miranda’s hands. “I do so want to welcome you personally to my home.”

  “Thank you, Lady Thayer.” The by-now-familiar tingle ran up Miranda’s arms. She met Lady Thayer’s eyes, and a sensation of déjà vu swept over her. You’re like me. You’re a Catalyst. “It was very kind of you to invite us.”

  “Not at all, not at all!” Lady Thayer waved Miranda’s words away. “I’m sure your delightful mother told you I had a most particular reason for asking you to come down.” Lady Thayer smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Curious, Miranda tried to sense some emotion from her, but the woman in front of her was like glass, hard and slick and impossible to grasp.

  “Now, we shall get you installed in your rooms so you can rest and refresh yourself. We’ve the welcoming ball tonight, and I’m sure your mother will want you to look your best. Isn’t that so, Daphne?” Lady Thayer turned to her mother, who had come up behind Miranda.

  “To be sure,” Mother purred. “In fact, my dear, I think it would be advisable for you to remain in your room until dinner. You’ve been so tired lately.”

  Miranda met her mother’s gaze and held it for a count of three, and then dropped her eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

  “There’s my good girl.” Mother patted her hand in her usual patronizing manner. “Now, for myself, Lady Thayer, I think a stroll in your lovely grounds before dinner would be just the thing.”

  “Did someone say a stroll in the gardens?” Lord Tapscott stepped up. He was a big, bluff man with gray hair, a gray mustache, a large inheritance and an inconvenient wife. “Just the thing after all that dashed road dust.” He smiled broadly at Mother. “Daphne, have you seen the folly? Splendid view of the lake, don’t you know.”

  “Why, Lord Tapscott, that sounds delightful.” The smile she flashed was calculated to dazzle, and even Miranda could see she succeeded. “Will Lady Tapscott join us?”

  “Alas, no.” Miranda noticed the man’s regret was completely feigned. “Headache, you see. Poor thing has had to lie down.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mother laid her fingertips delicately against her perfectly rouged lips “A headache is such a nuisance. Still. I’d hate to waste this lovely weather. But I’d better see Miranda settled first.”

  “Oh, no need, Daphne, dear,” Lady Thayer said at once. “I’ll see to her.”

  Lord Tapscott held his arm out for Mother to take, and off she went with a light tread, and just the barest hint of a wink at Miranda.

  Miranda stared after her mother, half in disbelief, half in blatant admiration. She’d spent so long disdaining her for being a shameless intriguer, she hadn’t stopped to think of the level of acting skill Mother had cultivated over the years.

  I certainly never would have believed I’d be making use of those skills.

  “Well, come along, Miranda.” Lady Thayer took her arm as if they were intimates. “I want to show you your room.”

  Miranda let herself be led away. She kept in mind the parting advice Darius had given her and concentrated on the way in front of her, on the broad, low steps and the arched doorway. The whole house was low and filled with dark wood, from the heavy beams to the linen-fold paneling to the steep staircases. Miranda forced herself to wonder about the history of the ancient hall, if Queen Elizabeth had ever stayed here, and how much it had cost to increase the number of fireplaces and chimneys to make the place habitable in winter.

  It was difficult. Her thoughts kept drifting to Lady Thayer, who was chattering away about who had arrived so far and who was expected, and everybody’s clothes. It was all so bland, so ordinary. Could this woman truly be involved in abduction, murder and intrigue with the mysterious Fae? Walking up the heavily carved wooden stair and down the narrow halls of a Tudor country house, it seemed quite ridiculous.

  Concentrate, concentrate, Miranda chided herself, noting the oak paneling, the miles of turkey carpet covering the ancient floorboards, and the stained glass of the window at the corridor’s end.

  “I do so hope you’ll be comfortable
here.” Lady Thayer opened a door in the left-hand side of the hall. Miranda glanced through to see a low-ceilinged room furnished in quite the modern style in shades of green. There was a clean bed and a comfortable chaise in front of the diamond-paned windows, as well as a marquetry writing desk and everything else that could make a guest feel at home. “I’ve put your mother next door.” Lady Thayer indicated the connecting door.

  “It’s lovely, thank you.” Mindful of her role, Miranda made herself hesitate. “But I really don’t feel like a rest right now. I’m sure a turn around the grounds would be just what I need.”

  Steel flashed in Lady Thayer’s gray eyes. “Oh, no, my dear. Forgive me, but I must agree with your mother. You look quite tired. And you want to be at your best tonight.” She patted Miranda’s cheek.

  Miranda drew upon the skills she had so recently discovered, and sent a wave of frustration out into the air. “Of course,” she murmured. “Then I shall bid you good afternoon, Lady Thayer.”

  Miranda went into the room and closed the door. But standing where she was, she was certain she detected an air of smug satisfaction before she heard the whisper of Lady Thayer’s skirts as the woman moved away to attend to her other guests.

  The rest of the afternoon was maddening. Miranda had to remind herself over and over again that this was a good thing. If she was being watched by Lady Thayer, having a genuine and growing air of frustration about her was only helping the cause.

  And there was now no doubt at all that she was being watched. Twice, Miranda left her room, once by the front stair and once by the back. Both times, Lady Thayer just happened to be by the door with her hospitable smile and her “Oh, Miranda, dear.”

  Which was just what they wanted to happen. It was all going according to plan. Except the shadows were lengthening outside, and Mother had not returned. Miranda’s suspicions began to deepen into alarm. Yes, Mother had agreed to do this thing; yes, she seemed to believe in it on the strength of Father’s apparent confirmation. In the yard, she had played her part to perfection, but she’d always been so flighty, so scattered and intent only on the next party, the next man, the next meal ticket.