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He opened the letter and read.
Dear Simon,
Please attend to us at dinner at Hawthorne Park this Sunday. My dear William has been engaged to one of the loveliest girls of the season, from a perfect and respectable family. I'd not thought my heart could be more overjoyed to have him return home with us. But a wedding, and perhaps a grandchild to dote on very soon has filled me with such hope and happiness.
I miss you dreadfully, my dear boy, and I hope to see you soon. Lady Miranda and her family will also dine with us as we gather to celebrate William and Lady Miranda’s fortuitous attachment.
Your loving mother, Amelia, the Duchess of Wycliffe.
Another chance to see her again. He had always been so decisive choosing his path in life, so certain of his purpose in all he did, yet now he felt adrift, uncertain of his next steps forward. He believed in never wasting one of the most precious things about humanity—time. It waited on no man, and as a physician, he had seen many regret not having fought for what they had wanted from life. Even in William, he saw the keen regret he had not eloped with Sophia and ignored their parents’ objection to their marriage.
Miranda aroused Simon’s mind, body, and soul, and he did not want a future without her in it. Simon was certain as the rising sun that he could not allow Miranda to slip from his life. Perhaps if he had thought her happy with being William’s wife he could have stepped back. For she deserved love, to be cosseted, and treasured. William had no heart or tender sentiments to offer her, for he had buried those along with Sophia.
And even in that, Simon lied to himself. No more, he silently snapped. He rubbed a hand against his chest at the pain that pierced him at the thought of Miranda in his brother's arms, her eyes deadened by his eventual indifference.
He had the sudden, inexplicable feeling that he did not truly know the full heart and character of the woman he loved, and he had a lifetime with her ahead of him to learn her layers, if only he would but reach and fight for her.
Turning around, he faltered to see Mrs. Clayton hovering in the doorway. “It is a request for me to attend a dinner with William…and Lady Miranda and her family.”
“Will you go?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated then said, “Pardon the impertinence, Dr. Astor, will you let her slip away from you?”
“No.”
His housekeeper smiled. “Good, for I’ve never seen you so completed before, Sir.” Then she turned away. “I’ll arrange for your departure, Doctor.”
And though he did not know what he would say, Simon said, “I want to leave at first light.”
Chapter 11
The Cheswick family had been summoned to Hawthorne Park, the ancestral seat of the Duke of Wycliffe, and that of her fiancé. Over the last few days Miranda had felt numbed with a sense of betrayal and such hurt she had been unable to sleep, nor had she been able to speak to her mother despite the countess’s overtures. How she had missed him and feared she had disgusted him. Simon had been so silently furious in his condemnation, yet he had not spoken out against the engagement. Why not? Why have you given up so easily…did you not love me?
She had eventually closed her heart against the recriminations, understanding there was nothing he could have done. Her mother had contrived for the duke and her to be in a locked room overnight, and her reputation was soiled. It mattered little that only the occupants of Riversend Manor, the duke, and the vicar and his wife, were aware of the scandalous situation, her mother would demand her pound of flesh, and the duke seemed to breathe honor.
They had only been at Seaview Park, their country home for a few hours before they received a letter from the duchess inviting them to dinner. And the following morning, another arduous journey had begun as they made their way to Hampshire via carriage.
Mira remained silent for the several days' journey, with her nose buried inside a book. They stayed overnight at some respectable inns along the way, and at night when alone, she cried into her pillows until sleep claimed her. When each day she rose to continue the journey her mother would stare at her puffed up eyes, but no comment was asked for, and she did not render an explanation.
The ache in her chest became a physical thing, and there was no ease in its tightening grip. It had been a little over a week, and whenever she envisioned a life beside the duke, being his wife, hosting his dinners and political parties, sharing his kisses and bed, she became numb. That was a life she could not bear to tolerate for herself, and Miranda knew she could not do it.
They arrived at Hawthorne Park, and her mother gasped, “Look at what you will be mistress of!”
And though it was one of the most beautiful estates she had ever seen, with a large stately home which boasted more than one hundred rooms, she remained unmoved. The Duchess and William greeted Miranda, her parents, and her brother, and they went into a lavishly furnished drawing room for tea.
The Duchess was still quite beautiful, and Miranda supposed she had not yet reached fifty. She was dressed in lavender silk trimmed with black ribbon bows, which denoted half mourning although her husband had been dead for more than six years. On one of their long walks, Simon had explained she had slipped into deep melancholia for she had loved him very much.
To Miranda’s mind, the entire scene had been filled with tension, for despite trying, she could manage no more than a one-word reply to each of the duchess’s probing questions. Propriety and gratitude for her acceptance as her son’s future wife, dictated that Miranda should be utterly polite and eager to gain the duchess’s approval, but she could not find the energy to care.
“I am terribly sorry. The journey has been tiring, and I would like to rest before dinner.”
“Of course, my dear,” the duchess said, her blue eyes sharp and questioning.
Her papa, whose only interest in the visit was that he might do a spot of fishing during his weeklong visit to Hawthorne Park sent her a probing look of concern which she returned with a wan smile. Miranda had not told him of Mamma’s conduct, already knowing he would do whatever his wife wanted. He had always weakly obeyed her strictures throughout the years and the meekness of his character Miranda believed her mamma shamelessly took advantage of.
Miranda was excused, and she got some rest before Agnes roused her to be dressed.
