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His harsh features softened unexpectedly. “And will he feel the same once it is known you spend the night in my room, dressed in such a revealing manner?”
At his provocatively infuriating words, she clutched the robe tighter to her throat. I loved her, but she thought the wealth and stature of my brother would suit her better.
Her throat went tight with emotions and doubt.
She took small retreating steps away from the duke, desperate to maintain a distance between them. “I’ll sleep on the chaise longue, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense, you’ll take the bed.”
“I’ll not have, when that door conveniently opens in the morning, being found in your bed,” she whispered furiously.
He sighed. “Lady Miranda, the damage has already been done. You are thoroughly compromised, and we must prepare to deal with the situation.”
She was alarmed at the possibility that he was right. Too overwrought to cross words with him, she made her way to the chaise, settled atop the cushions, and closed her eyes. She tossed a few times, before she turned on her side, away from the duke. Silence lingered within the confines of the room, and she was appalled to feel tears coursing down her temple. Exhaustion pulled her into sleep, and as she drifted off, she felt the duke tucking a blanket about her waist.
Hours after he had been in Mrs. Chudleigh’s home, Simon trudged up the winding staircase of his home, his exhaustion heavy. The labor had been burdensome to Mrs. Chudleigh, and he feared childbed fever setting in. She had been in a weakened state when he left, but fresh air circulated in her tiny room which he had ordered to be cleaned.
The squalling baby girl would need a wet nurse, for he believed Mrs. Chudleigh was too weak to attend the task herself. A humorless smile curved his mouth when he recalled his mother's distaste that he would study under a surgeon. She had thought it unrefined to a man of his standing, but without all those pieces of knowledge gleaned over the years from studying surgeons and midwives, Mrs. Chudleigh might have very well died tonight. Simon had tasked her husband to watch her for the night, for he had been concerned about the heat in her flesh. Laudanum would ease her sleep for the night, but she had to be carefully observed for signs of a fever or prolonged bleeding. He would snatch a few hours of rest and then ride out to see Mrs. Chudleigh and the baby again in the morning.
How he wished Miranda had been with him. Somehow, he sensed her steady strength and unflinching bravery would have been a great assistance to him tonight. Upon reaching the landing, he shifted left, staring along the darkened hallway leading to her chamber.
A tug of need, to quietly sit with her, to see her face after such hours of grueling work dragged his feet to her chamber. No light shone from beneath her door, and he was quite aware it was about two in the morning. Lifting a hand, he knocked on her door, but no answer came. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Simon went into his chamber, thankful to see Mrs. Clayton had arranged for the bath to be filled before his arrival. The water was tepid, but he stirred and sank into the large copper tub, scrubbing the sweat and grime of the day away.
A few minutes later, he lay atop his pristine sheets, and closed his eyes, allowing the thoughts of Miranda to be the last thing to crowd his mind before he fell into a restful and much-needed slumber.
A few hours later, an overly dramatic gasp roused Miranda from sleep. Exhaustion still weighed on her lips, for she had only fallen into deep rest with the dawn but suffered uneasy dreams. She shifted on the chaise and sat up, glaring at the people framed in the doorway. Her mamma, Henry, the housekeeper Mrs. Clayton, Vicar Powell, and his wife, and shockingly, Mrs. Denniston. Miranda almost wept with relief that Simon was not amongst the witnesses her mother had gathered. Her mother affected the right tones of motherly shock and offended propriety when she demanded, “Upon my word! What is happening here?”
That screech roused the duke who had still been sleeping in his bed. To his credit, as he stood, he revealed he remained fully clothed, down to his polished boots.
Mrs. Powell’s gasp of alarm echoed in the space and she paled alarmingly. “You…Your Grace,” she stammered, appearing faint.
“This is an outrageous breach of conduct!” the Vicar blustered.
"Good God, man, what is the meaning of this?" Henry's demand rang with the shade of truth. His usually amiable countenance was stern with disapproval. Miranda supposed Mamma had not kept him abreast of her devious plans.
“My daughter has spent the night with his Grace! Oh my, Miranda is ruined," her mother wailed. "Only immediate marriage may render her respectable."
The Vicar nodded with pompous authority. “Indeed, it is.”
The duke stepped forward and bowed. “I am uncertain as to how we were locked in the room but let me assure you no impropriety happened behind these doors. Lady Miranda slept on the chaise, and I on the bed.”
Her mother began to protest, “An explanation of what happened is not sufficient to render my daughter respectable. Your Grace—”
He smoothly interrupted. “My fiancée and I met briefly for a private discussion, and we got stuck together.”
Her mother’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Your fiancée?” she murmured, her eyes glittering with pleasure.
“We’d planned an announcement today,” he said smoothly, playing the game deftly. “Of course, this awkward situation has caused us to reveal our attachment in this manner.”
A collective sigh of relief went through the small gathering, for scandal had been averted and honor satisfied. Miranda observed the farce playing before her, and felt as if she were in a sea, drowning in uncertainty, trepidation, and pain. She ambled forward, straight at the cluster of people who parted at the very last minute. Without speaking to anyone, and too ashamed and infuriated to look at her mother, she walked away with her head held high to her room.
Her heart was breaking, for Miranda understood very well the power of gossips and how terribly damaging it would be to her reputation. The Vicar and his wife would be the first to inform their parishioners in discreet whispers of the scandalous tryst they had witnessed. Then it would spread like wildfire through the country and then onto London and the ballrooms and newssheets.
She was ruined, and only marriage to the duke would be deemed a satisfactory outcome.
You’ve won, Mamma.
Miranda closed the door to her room, and slowly slid against it until her bottom touched the floor. She tugged her knees up and pressed her forehead against them. “Oh Simon,” she whispered, her voice breaking, and tears coursing down her cheeks. And for a long time, she stayed there, crying, ignoring all the knocks and concerned murmurs at her door, for she feared she had lost the only chance of happiness she might have had with the man she loved.
