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"Milady, please forgive me," Agnes said, tears filling her eyes. "I've never seen you so unhappy, and I feel wretched to have been a party to your pain.”
Miranda sighed. “Pray do not regard it, Agnes. If you had objected or refused my mother, I daresay you would have been dismissed without references. I shall be quite fine.”
She gave her a reassuring smile and allowed Agnes to dress her in one of the most ravishing gowns she owned. Her mother had insisted upon the dark rose low cut gown with its tightly cinched waist and narrow skirt. It flattered her figure most becomingly. Her hair was caught up in a riot of curls with a few artful tendrils kissing her cheeks. When she saw herself in the mirror, Miranda was pleased with her appearance. No one had to know that inside she was ravaged and bleeding.
Promptly at eight, she descended the stairs and was guided by a footman to a large and elegantly appointed drawing room. The duke surged to his feet at her entrance and admiration lit his eyes.
“You are a delight to behold, Lady Miranda,” he murmured.
She offered him a tight smile, unable to speak beyond the emotions in her throat. As propriety dictated, he led his mother inside the dining room, her papa escorted her mother, and Henry accompanied Miranda.
“Simon!” the duchess gasped.
Miranda stiffened as she saw him already seated. Her knees weakened, and she clutched at Henry's arm. He sent her a swift, concerned glance but she could not wrest her gaze from Simon. He looked wonderful, dressed in dark jacket and trousers, with a white shirt and a blue waistcoat. His hair was well groomed, and his cravat was tied expertly. She had never seen him more handsome and coolly aloof.
He stood and bowed. "I took the liberty of waiting in here for you to arrive, Mamma."
“Why wasn’t I informed you had arrived, my boy?” she hurried over to him and clasped him in a fierce embrace.
“I confess I designed it that way,” he said with a small smile at his mother.
Over her head, their gazes collided and the warmth in his stole her breath. She sent him a tremulous smile, while her heart pounded a brea
thless rhythm. Soon they were all seated, and the courses of watercress soup, game pie, lamb cutlets, mushroom fritters, roast beef, baked pike, artichoke hearts followed by rose water-flavored ice, jellies in a flower shape, fruit compote, and Genoese cake were served. Dinner was quite animated, though Miranda had little to say. Almost two hours had passed before the duchess ordered champagne to be served. Once the footmen had their glasses filled, she beamed at everyone.
“I cannot adequately express my happiness that my son is getting married, and to such a lovely girl, despite her being a little timid.”
A few strained chuckles went around the table, and her mother sent her a glance which promised a fierce scolding.
“I would like to make a toast….” She smiled at Simon who had stood and lifted his glass. “Though I gather your younger brother is eager to go first.”
Miranda’s heart thumped as he stared at her, and she nervously glanced around the table.
“I am not a man of many words, and I hope the few that I have will convey my feelings.” He cleared his throat and glanced at his brother. “I know your honor is very important to you, but I must explain that Lady Miranda is my Sophia.”
The duchess gasped and lowered her glass onto the table with an audible thud. “Simon?” she questioned sharply.
William stared at his brother, an expression of shock on his face. Simon shifted to face her. "I love you," he merely said.
“What is this?” her father demanded, pushing back his chair and standing. “I demand an explanation.”
“I love your daughter, Lord Langford, and I believe she loves me as well. A union between her and my brother would be a mistake, for he does not love her, nor does she love him. Your countess conspired for them to be compromised, and then my brother merrily went along with her conniving because he wants a wife without the messy emotion of love.”
Her father breathed deeply. “Nonetheless, an offer has been made, our family has accepted, and the engagement has been posted! There will be no scandal,” he roared.
A painful silence fell over the room, yet Simon did not take his eyes from hers.
“I am not entirely sure what will happen from here,” he said hoarsely. “But I am supposing we should run away.”
The duchess looked ready to faint, and Miranda’s mother squawked her outrage.
“We cannot,” Miranda whispered, “The scandal would be too dreadful…”
He flinched, and she wanted to scream at the pain which darkened his gaze. He lowered his hand, sketched a bow, turned and walked away.
“My very first memory was my mamma telling me how beautiful I am…and that one day I would marry a prince,” her words though softly spoken had arrested everyone’s attention, including Simon who had almost reached the door.
Miranda pushed back her chair and stood. The pain carved in his face almost made her weep. She pressed her hands into the table to prevent their visible trembling.
