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Chapter 10
An odd air of expectation blanketed the breakfast room this morning, and Simon assessed his guests with a decidedly critical eye. The Vicar had spent two minutes discussing the sins of the flesh and how wickedly immoral it is to cave in to temptation before marriage. For a wild moment, he had wondered if the man had peered into his heart and soused the passion he had brewing for Miranda. Then he noted the tension in her shoulders and the pain in her eyes. That pain affected him, and as soon as everyone had dispersed, he would take her on their walk and find out what had happened. He sat there hoping she would smile or glance in his direction, but she stared straight ahead, an air of melancholy surrounding her.
“We have an announcement to make,” the countess said with a bright smile.
“Oh?” Henry said, glancing from Miranda to the duke. Yet Simon sensed he very knew well what his mother was about.
Simon frowned, lowering his fork even as his brother sighed with resignation and an emotion he could not place.
"Are you leaving, my lady?" Th
ough he dearly hoped not. He wanted more time with Miranda, for Simon was sure he wanted to marry her, and he needed a bit of time with the countess before he visited her father. He wasn't confident he could wait for next season to start a courtship. Nor did he want to risk some other gentleman with all the right consequences stealing away her affections. Though on that score he did not indeed worry, she did not have an inconstant heart, and he felt in every touch, kiss, and smile she gave him that she too was falling in love.
The awareness clutched fiercely at his heart, and he smiled at her. Her lower lip trembled before she firmed her mouth. Yet she did not return his smile.
“His Grace, your brother, offered for Miranda, and I have accepted on her behalf,” the countess said with a wide smile. “Of course, given the delicate circumstances, a quick wedding would be most prudent.”
The words were like a solid blow to the center of Simon’s chest. For a terrible, timeless minute, he could do nothing but stare at the countess. An unexpectedly strange weakness assailed him. It took such strength at that moment to lift his head and examine Miranda’s features. Her expression was coolly composed, her eyes blank, but her lips formed no denial. Simon’s heart twisted into painful knots, then it cracked, and his chest damn well ached.
Simon shifted his regard to his brother. “Is this true?” he demanded hoarsely.
His brother frowned and lowered his eyes to the knife gripped in Simon's hand. Knowledge seeped into William's eyes, and a pained regret glowed there. "I…yes. I was honor bound to."
Simon flinched, understanding so much from that simple statement. There had been a compromising situation, and nothing was more important to his brother than honor and duty. Whatever the situation had been, William's honor would have prompted him to marry her, and it was merely his luck that she was a charming beauty, with a quick intelligence, and from a prominent, well connected, and respectable family.
"I am quite pleased with the alliance, and I've written to the earl this morning of the happy news. He'll ensure notices are posted to the papers."
The pain that pierced his heart was numbing. Her mother was not inclined to tarry at all, and he could see the jubilation in her eyes.
“I see.”
"Excellent news all around," the vicar said. "We understand you've just returned from abroad, and to find a bride so soon. Excellent news indeed, and you have mine and Mrs. Powell's heartiest congratulations. And you may rest assured of our discretion, Your Grace. We shall not mention that the lady spent the entire night in your room to anyone at all. I am sure it was all above board as you've assured us."
Their gazes collided and tears burned in her eyes. And now he understood why she had not been in her room last night. The heaviness in his heart was an unbearable weight. And he sensed with every breath in his body it had not been done by her design.
Miranda’s chair pushed back abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to oversee the packing of my valise, and I am without appetite.”
Then she hurried from the room as if devils chased her.
Mrs. Clayton rushed inside and said, “Beg pardon, Dr. Astor, a boy from the Chudleighs’ is here. The boy is a crying mess.”
He wanted nothing more than to chase Miranda and figure a way out of her mother's calculating mess. But from the grave look in Mrs. Clayton's eyes, he knew it was severe. He glanced at his brother and the rest of his guests. "If you'll excuse me, my patient is in dire need of me. I must leave immediately." He sketched a short bow and spun around.
“Dr. Astor, are you not to offer your brother congratulation on a most fortuitous match?”
The countess’s words arrested his movement briefly, but he did not dignify the smugness of her question with a response. He walked away, ignoring her gasp of affront.
He had a patient to save, and he could not abide the dark pain scraping at his insides. His housekeeper had his medical bag waiting for him in the hallway.
“Your horse has been saddled, Doctor.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Clayton,” he said, hurrying through the front door and to the stable hand who waited with his horse.
The ride to the Chudleighs was more than half an hour, and he felt keen regret he had not been able to convince her husband that her last days of confinement should be done at Riversend Manor. When he arrived, he was quickly ushered inside their bedroom, to find a delirious Mrs. Chudleigh.
“Cool water from the well, immediately,” he ordered, taking off his jacket and rolling his sleeves. He had a few herbs in his bag which had been noted by several medical journals to reduce fever when boiled and consumed.
“Has she eaten or drunk anything?”
