That’s what this was all about? “Rodney?” How utterly ridiculous. Unable to help herself, Miriam burst into laughter. “You were jealous of him? Really?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Anselm let go of her hand and took a step backward, fairly bristling with displeasure.
But Miriam couldn’t help but smile. “I admit, I like Rodney well enough, but he’s hardly marriageable, is he?”
“Why not when he’s so tall, broad, and disgustingly handsome?” Anselm ticked off Rodney’s attributes one by one on his fingers. “Not only that, but he’s also noble to his very roots, and his father, The Duke, is one of the richest and most influential—”
“He likes men, Anselm.”
“Excuse me?” Anselm blinked in surprise. “Who does? The Duke of Pemberton?”
“No, you silly ass. Rodney. He likes men… he really likes them, if you get my meaning.”
“He does?” In an instant, all the tension drained from Anselm’s face. “Are you certain?”
“Of course. It’s common knowledge.”
“Not to me, it wasn’t.”
“Then, for all our sakes, might I suggest you spend a little less time glowering at me and flirting with your brother’s wife and pay more attention to the palace gossip, instead.”
“Ah. You have me there, Princess.” At least he had the grace to look ashamed. But Miriam wasn’t finished yet.
“Did you happen to see the fellow sitting to Rodney’s left at dinner?”
Anselm shrugged.
“That’s Derek, Rodney’s long-term lover.”
“Oh, by all the spirits!” Anselm pulled Miriam in his arms and hugged her fiercely. “What agonies I have suffered this eve thanks to your blond giant. I know I have no right to object, but when I saw the two of you together—”
Miriam placed two fingers upon his lips. “Do not speak so,” she said softly. “You have every right to object. You and no other, remember that.”
Anselm kissed her fingers then he held her hand to his chest. Beneath her fingertips, Miriam felt his thundering heartbeats, galloping at a pace to rival her own.
“To be with you again is like an exquisite torture, my Mirry. If I had any brains at all I would pack up my things and leave this place at once.” She shivered as he nuzzled her exposed neck, inhaling her scent. “’Tis folly to linger here. No good can come of it, and yet I remain.”
“No. Don’t go,” she begged. “Not yet.” She clutched at his tunic so tightly the fabric protested beneath her fingers. “Please?” After all this time, the thought of being without him was intolerable. To watch him ride away from here without any hope of ever seeing him again was a fate worse than any hell.
“Not yet, my love.” Raising his head, Anselm looked deeply at her, his silvery eyes glittering with a light of their own; a preternatural light that penetrated her very soul until every secret she had ever kept now lay exposed before him. “But for the sake of my sanity, I fear I must soon depart.” His breath caressed her lips like a gentle desert breeze. “How can I stay and watch while you are courted by the man you will one day call husband—?”
“I won’t marry anyone—”
“Yes, you will, my darling.” Anselm’s smile was sad and wistful. “You were made for love; to be loved.”
Scalding tears slipped unchecked down Miriam’s cheeks. Fool. Did she want him to remember her as a sniveling, feeble woman? But as much as she despised herself, she could not check her sorrow.
He had not even left yet but already she grieved for him.
“Hush, sweeting.” Using the pad of his thumb, Anselm wiped away her tears. “I am not worthy of your sorrow, Mirry dear.”
“Yes you are!” she cried, her voice fracturing with emotion.
Ignoring her outburst, Anselm only kissed her hands and said, “In the morning I will set out for home, so let us say our goodbyes here, eh? It’s for the best, I think.”
The best! For whom? Certainly not for her. Miriam regarded his beloved face through bleary eyes and shook her head, silently denying his words.
“Yes, dearest. I must. Now, come. Let us embrace and part as friends.”
Was it her imagination, or were Anselm’s eyes overflowing too?
“I don’t want you to go,” she wailed, for all the world sounding like a spoiled child denied one last bedtime story. But she couldn’t help it. The tenderness in his eyes was shredding her heart into painful ribbons.
“You know I must.” He kissed her hands then held them to his lips, his breath warming her trembling fingers.
Over Anselm’s shoulder in the world beyond the door, the celebration continued. Laughter and conversation interspersed the merry music. For everyone else, the dance went on, but not for Miriam. Without Anselm, she suspected she would never want to dance again.
“Meeting you has been the greatest blessing of my life, m’lady. No matter how much it wounds me to be parted from you, I will always be grateful for the days we were given… ” Anselm swallowed, his throat bobbing with the effort of continuing. “So, live a wonderful life, Mirry dear. Love to the heights and breadths of your beautiful heart. With all of mine I truly wish you happy—”
“Is everything well here, brother?” Through her tearful eyes, Miriam saw Lord Edgeway and his wife hovering in the doorway.
Had she not felt so wretched Miriam might have laughed. Was everything well? No, everything was broken. Shattered. Ruined beyond repair.
Displaying self-control Miriam could only envy, Anselm turned and calmly answered, “Yes, m’lord. Quite well, thank you.” With a last smile, so full of regret it would haunt Miriam’s dreams for many nights to come, Anselm gently released her hands. “The princess and I were just bidding one another a private farewell, that is all.”
Vadim nodded. “I see. In that case, if you’ve finished, perhaps it might be best to rejoin the party before your absence garners any more notice.”
Anger burned in Miriam’s breast, hot and wild. “I am royalty, Lord Edgeway,” she declared with all the regal disdain she could summon. “No one has the right to question my actions. No one!”
“With respect, m’lady, I fear they already are.” Vadim gave a sad smile. “Whether a prince or pauper, we are all subject to the same damaging whispers.”
Vadim was only trying to help—Miriam knew that. Even so, she still resented his untimely intrusion.
“So this is it?” Miriam demanded, looking from Anselm to Vadim, to Martha and back again. “This is to be my life from now on, is it? To be forever under such scrutiny? To be gossiped about? To be owned?” She seethed at the injustice of it all. “I cannot accept such an existence. I will not, do you hear me—?”
Anselm snapped. His battle for control was suddenly over. Roughly pulling Miriam into his arms, he crushed her to his body, his mouth seeking hers in a brief, fierce kiss. Miriam returned the favor in kind, her heart singing for joy. This was what she wanted. What she needed. To feel him. Taste him.
Pressing herself to his body, she clung to him like a wanton; moaning in his mouth; burning with a need she could not name, while her heart thrummed wildly in her chest.
“Someone’s coming!” Martha hissed.
The lovers heeded her not.
“Vadim, lean in the doorway, love. Block it while I… ” She began tugging at Anselm’s arm, “try to… pull these two… apart. Anselm! Let go of her, you fecking idiot!”
When Anselm finally obeyed, it wasn’t a moment too soon for suddenly Hortensia, Catherine, and their ever-present entourage of ladies appeared at the other side of the doorway, all craning their necks as they tried to peer over Vadim’s shoulder.
“Lord Edgeway. Tell me, is Princess Miriam in there?”
Vadim respectfully inclined his head. “Indeed she is, my queen.” To Miriam’s relief, he made no effort to move from the doorway,
thank goodness. For, without Anselm’s touch, Miriam was momentarily lost. Too confused for any type of pretense. Now standing away at a more respectable distance, with his back pressed up against the cold stone wall, Anselm’s eyes shone with a strange feral light as he battled to slow his breathing.
Miriam reached her hand out to him but this time it was Martha who took it. “There now, lovey,” she said, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “Let’s get you tidied up before anyone sees you.”
Pulling a ’kerchief from her bodice, Martha quickly and efficiently dabbed away Miriam’s tears, smoothed her hair, and restored her rumpled clothing back into order while her husband distracted the queen and her ladies by spouting polite nonsense—it seemed not even the queen had the power to countermand a request from Lord Vadim’s wife. So, in the end, Hortensia was forced to call over Vadim’s shoulder like a common fishwife.
“Miriam! Come out here at once.”
Opening the door which had partially concealed them, Martha dropped into a low curtsy and smiled prettily at the queen. “Your Majesty.”
But Hortensia’s cold-eyed attention was fixed on Anselm who stood so pale and unusually silent, leaning on the wall as though he would topple over without its support.
“Sir Anselm. I might have known. Perhaps you’d care to tell me what you were doing in here with my husband’s sister, hmm?”
Anselm tried, he really did. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Instead, he simply shrugged and lowered his eyes.
“He was just… just… ” Martha looked at her husband for aid, but before Vadim could speak, Miriam rallied herself enough to defend the man she loved.
“He was comforting me, Hortensia.”
“Comforting you?” The queen arched her eyebrows in obvious disbelief, and someone behind her giggled. “Is that so?”
“Yes. It is.”
No one believed her, of course, but she had to convince them. She wouldn’t lose Anselm to the noose now, not when she loved him so well.
“It’s true, sister. I have not spoken of this yet, but ever since we were kidnapped, I’ve been afflicted with strange waking terrors on occasion—you know, bad memories of our time with those vile pirates. Unfortunately, one such recollection resurfaced during my dance with Lord Rodney, and I’m afraid I-I rather went to p-pieces.” Miriam allowed some of her residual tears to escape, adding credibility to her words. “Had Sir Anselm not noticed my distress in time, I fear I would have embarrassed myself before the entire assembly.”
With great deliberation, Queen Hortensia silently regarded each of them in turn; Anselm standing as still as a marble sculpture; Martha’s overly pink cheeks, to say nothing of Miriam’s unusually flustered air. Of them all, only Lord Edgeway appeared as he ought to, seeming as cool and composed as always.
“It is fortunate, then,” Hortensia said at last “that Sir Anselm was present tonight.”
Anselm bowed his head respectfully but he did not speak.
“Your journey, I think,” the queen continued, “seems to have bonded your little party rather closely together. Indeed, some might say rather too closely.”
At this, Catherine snorted in a most unladylike manner but she quickly turned it into a cough.
Hortensia glanced at her. “Did you want to say something, Catherine?”
“No. Not at all, dear sister. All the dancing has left my throat rather dry, that is all.”
Fortunately for Catherine, the queen was content to let it go at that. “Come, then,” she said extending her hand to Miriam. “If you are now composed, let us rejoin our table. I know the Duke of Alderbridge is keen to make your acquaintance.”
And so it began. The quest to find her a husband.
“Yes, sister.” What else could she say? Darting a last wistful look at Anselm, Miriam allowed herself to be drawn away.
Chapter Forty
It was almost sunrise before Miriam was finally allowed to escape to the sanctuary of her bedchamber.
In the dim light of pre-dawn, she quietly closed the door then leaned back against it, exhaling a long slow breath.
Peace at last.
Oh, what an interminable evening it had been. Her face still ached with the effort of keeping a smile on her face. So many people—most of them men—had been clamoring for an introduction. How many of them were now considering Miriam in the role of their future wife?
Handsome or ill-favored, fat and thin, tall or short, not one of those men had the power to touch her heart.
They looked wrong. Smelled wrong. In short, they just weren’t him.
There came a quiet tap-tapping at the door, just loud enough to make Miriam leap away from it. A moment later, her maid poked her head about the door.
“It’s only me, m’lady. Shall I help you undress for bed?”
“Yes, thank you, Betsy.”
The maid stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. Poor thing. She looked terribly weary, and with good reason. How long since she’d last seen her own bed? No matter how tired Miriam was, these vast celebrations were always hardest on the servants. How awful it must be, to have been born into a life of servitude, always having to remain polite and respectful, especially when they must be longing to collapse into bed themselves. “If you would kindly loosen my stays I will manage the rest by myself.”
“Very good, m’lady.”
Moving closer to the window, Miriam turned her back and stood motionless as Betsy set to work. As the fabric of her bodice slowly loosened, Miriam kept her eyes fixed on the brightening sky beyond the casement.
Anselm would soon be on his way home. Perhaps he was already preparing to depart. Knowing him, he would slip away without anyone noticing.
“Will there be anything else, m’lady?” Betsy asked, at last, her task complete.
A sudden thought struck her. But would there be enough time to catch Anselm before he departed? More importantly, could Betsy be trusted to aid her?
Miriam was desperate enough to hope so.
“Actually, there is one final task you might help me with, Betsy. Just wait here a moment.” Holding the gaping bodice of her gown to her breast, Miriam hurried to the leather trunk at the foot of her bed. Throwing the lid open, she began rummaging inside until she found a drawstring bag made from simple linen.
There was still a way for her to be with him, a way she might accompany Anselm as he traveled along the roads of life’s journey—albeit only a part of her. But since the gift was of a deeply personal nature, she would need to act with discretion.
“Would you see that this is delivered to Sir Anselm’s squire before they depart?” Turning, she handed the bag to her maid. “Percy is his name.”
Betsy took the bundle and tucked it in her apron. “I know the lad, m’lady. Is there any message to go with the package?”
Miriam wracked her brains. What message could she send that Percy would understand?
“Tell him… just tell him to make sure his master receives this small token of friendship. He will know how to act.”
“As you will, m’lady.” Bobbing a curtsy, Betsy hastened from the bedchamber.
Alone again, Miriam allowed her gown to slither down her body. Clad only in her shift, she shivered. Were the Norlands always this cold? Despite the permanent fire burning in the hearth, she had yet to be warm to her bones.
Stepping out of the expensive puddle of fabric pooled about her feet, she went to sit on the window seat and, tucking her legs beneath her, she stared out of the casement, surveying the grounds of her new home.
Her room looked out over a neat, evergreen knot-garden, its narrow borders interspersed with empty flower beds, a sad reminder that the merry days of summer were far behind her. Further on was an extensive, well-manicured lawn as well as various pleasure gardens leading to the edge of a forested park beyond. It might have been a f
ine prospect had it not begun raining again. As it was, the low gray sky seemed to merge with the earth. Even the forest looked bleakly foreboding.
Miriam pressed her nose to the leaded glass, her warm breath instantly fogging the window, obscuring the outside world. Rubbing her finger over the bubbled glass, Miriam made herself a small spy hole from which to survey her new world.
How gladly she would have traded this sumptuous room with all of its comforts for a more modest accommodation overlooking the stable-yard. At least then she would have had the chance to see Anselm one last time. But then, she might have given chase as he departed, as barefoot as any beggar, and clad in naught but her shift—pride and family loyalty be damned.
Better that than suffer the torture of seeing him ride away from her. Perhaps forever.
Consumed by these miserable thoughts, it seemed only a few moments had passed when she heard Betsy return. As the maid entered the bedchamber, to her great relief, Miriam saw that her hands were empty.
Smiling, the maid bobbed a quick curtsy. “I found young Percy in the stable-yard, m’lady, but seeing as his master was there too, I saw fit to deliver the package directly into Sir Anselm’s hands.”
“You did?” Lucky Betsy, able to see Anselm again, to speak with him, when she herself could not.
As the maid approached the window seat, an expression of worry creased her kindly face. She seemed suddenly uncertain. “I hope I did not speak out of turn, m’lady, but I delivered the package to him with your best compliments.” Betsy began wringing her hands. “Did I do right, mistress? My words seemed to please Sir Anselm a good deal.”
Unable to speak, Miriam nodded furiously, a fresh torrent of tears spilling down her cheeks. Thank the gods for Betsy. Truly, the value of a good-hearted servant was far beyond the price of mere gold.
The sight of Miriam’s tears brought Betsy hastening to her side in a rustle of skirts.
“Oh, there now!” she cried in alarm. “There now, my chick. You mustn’t vex yourself so.” The two of them had only been acquainted for a matter of days, but in that moment, the customary mistress-servant barrier was breached. Sitting beside Miriam, Betsy put her plump arms about her mistress and pulled her close until her head rested comfortably upon her well-padded bosom. “Do not fret, my lamb,” Betsy murmured against Miriam’s hair in the same manner she might use to soothe a fractious child. “It’ll all work out in the end, you see if it doesn’t.”
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