Miracle (54 page)

He wished the goddamn sharks had eaten him twenty years ago.
And
his brother.
Especially
his brother.

Standing in his town house doorway, located in the center of the city near Gray's Inn on
Holborn
Street, Clayton stared out at the chaise and
postillions
on the street while, somewhere in the bowels of his meager residence, his grandmother was busily settling in. Not that he had seen her, of course, and wouldn't until
she
was ready, which could be in five minutes or five hours. The only word he'd heard from her personally was the cryptic note a nervous and agitated Benjamin had been forced to deliver to him at Brookes': "Come home this instant. Or else. The D."

The D.
Enough to strike fear in the heart of any grandson who had not lived up to Her Grace's noble expectations, and she knew it, which was why he had continued playing hazard, not to mention whist, for another two and half hours after receiving the message. Best not to let her get the upper hand.

A hackney pulled up. His brother, Trey, the duke of Salterdon, exited and stalked up the path toward him, his face burning with color, his jaw working. Upon seeing Clay leaning against the doorjamb, a smirk on his mouth, arms crossed so casually across his chest, Trey's stride hesitated momentarily; then his anger intensified, as Clay knew it would. Nothing rattled and frustrated his brother more than knowing Clayton wasn't at all bothered by the wielding of their grandmother's all-powerful fist . . . and purse.

"You son of a bitch," Trey growled and moved up the steps.

"And a good afternoon to you too, Your Grace. How did you find York these last days?"

Topping the steps, coming face to face with Clay, standing nose to nose, Trey clenched his fists. "Just what the blazes have you done to me now?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I've heard from a number of my creditors that I owe them some unimaginable monies for garments I supposedly purchased—"

"For your bride-to-be. You
do
remember her, don't you? The strange one? The lass who is slightly short of intelligence? Can't have the future duchess garbed like a ragamuffin, can we? What would your peers say?"

"And jewels," Trey choked, starting to shake. "Rubies and sapphires?
Big
ones. Costing a sizable fortune."

"They'll look beautiful on her. She'll be the envy of all of London."

"All of London. Oh my God."

"She's made quite an impression, Your Grace. You'll be hard-pressed to tuck her quietly away, now that she's got a taste of the finer things in life."

"She knows, doesn't she?" Trey looked beyond Clay, into the house.

Clayton smiled. "I assume you're referring to grandmother."

"You know to whom the devil I'm referring."

"I suppose that wouldn't be beyond the realm of reason, considering the news of your upcoming nuptials has been brandished across every newspaper in the city. Ah, but speculation does run rampant, Your Grace. There are even wagers put down at
Crockford's
and Brookes' on whether or not you'll go through with it. My guineas are on the positive, of course, now that grandmother is aware of Miracle's existence—and so is all of London."

"Where is she?" Trey asked.

"Meaning—"

"The girl,
dammit
. Is she here?"

"No." Clayton watched an old blind
Tobit
meander down the pavement, his dog walking obediently at his side. "I haven't seen her in two days. Not since she deposited me along the road to Islington. I thought it best to give her a few days to calm down. You know how unreasonable women can be when they think their affections are being toyed with."

"Your Grace. Your lordship," Benjamin said behind them. "Her Grace, the duchess of Salterdon, will see you now."

Clayton stepped back, swung his arm toward the distant closed doors, and grinned. "After you, brother."

Trey glared at him, adjusted his coat more comfortably on his shoulders, then tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves.

"She's waiting," Clayton said.

They moved together toward the door, their steps synchronized. They cleared their throats at the same time and smoothed back their dark hair from their brow at the exact instant. And they thought,
All of this because of a woman. I hope to hell it's worth it.

Before them, Benjamin shoved open the double doors that led into a small, sparsely decorated chamber which, in most town houses, would have sufficed as a comfortable library. Here, however, the walls of shelves were mostly empty. The fireplace had not been used since Clayton had purchased the residence some years ago.

Four chairs occupied the otherwise empty room. One sat before the distant French doors, which led to a tiny garden surrounded by a tall brick wall. Two others were placed side by side, facing the one now occupied by their grandmother, who applied her infamous withering study of her grandsons with as much expression of distaste as her regal deportment would allow.

"Your Grace," Trey exclaimed in a voice tight with anxiety and forced delectation. "How wonderful to see you again."

One gray eyebrow drew up, but the duchess's sharp eyes watched Clay as he rounded his chair and dropped into it.

You're late,
her look said.

I know,
his shrug replied.

You look like hell
, her sniff proclaimed.

I dressed for you, darling.
He smiled.

Bending over her offered hand, Trey pressed a kiss on her bejeweled fingers. "As always, grandmother, you look positively enchanting. And well! By gosh, doesn't grandmother look radiant, Clay?"

"Radiant," he parroted, and winked at the duchess. "Positively."

Drawing her hand away, the duchess cut her gaze up to Trey's. "Sit down and quit fawning," she told him.

A thin smile on his lips, Trey eased down into his chair.

"I don't intend to beat about the bush," she declared, drumming her fingers on the chair arm. "It's never been my way to prattle at you boys. I'm too bloody old to start now."

"You're hardly old—" Trey began, leaning forward and rewarding her with a bright smile.

"Be quiet," she snapped, and waited until Trey sat back in his chair. "I've recently been informed that in the process of reforming a certain young woman, Your Grace has expended a fortune, much to your creditors' dismay.
My
dismay comes from the fact that you assured them that I would satisfy the debts."

Clayton looked away, out the French doors, and hid his satisfied grin behind the tips of his fingers.

Trey said nothing, just crossed, then uncrossed his long legs. He shifted on the chair seat.

Clayton thought, but he couldn't be certain, that his brother groaned.

"Well?" the duchess barked.

"Grandmother," Clayton said, bestowing upon the duchess a patient smile, "There's a perfectly logical solution to the problem."

"And that is?" Trey ground through his teeth.

"Trey will simply satisfy the debts he's incurred with the money you intend to settle on him for marrying the girl-

Sitting straighter, Trey gripped the chair and glowered at Clayton. "Considering the size of the debts, my dear brother, there will be nothing
left
of the settlement once my creditors have done with me."

"What does it matter?" Clay laughed lightly and shrugged. "Think about what your generosity has bought you: a beautiful wife, beautiful children, and a duchess all of London can look up to. You'll be the envy of every man, from His Majesty to the lowest pig farmer. Every door will be open to her. You won't make a move in this city without your society watching anxiously for the briefest glimpse of her."

Falling back in the chair, Trey fixed his gaze on his grandmother, each angle of his face turning to chiseled marble.

"You seem to be well enough acquainted with the young woman," the duchess said to Clayton. "You've been introduced?"

"No."

"I understand she's incredibly beautiful."

"Yes . . . so I understand."

"And intelligent. She even reads."

Clayton crossed his legs and shifted in his chair. "Imagine that," he replied in his most matter-of-fact tone.

"And rides like a jockey."

"Shocking."

"She was seen not long ago bartering with a market
fowlman
over chickens. She's determined she can save His Grace a guinea a fortnight by raising her own hens and thereby producing her own eggs. Had it not been for Mistress
Ellesemere's
interference, I fear Park House would now be home to a dozen brooding birds." A smile flickered across her stern lips, then as quickly disappeared. She focused again on Trey.

"There will be wedding plans to make, of course."

"Then you approve of the girl?" Clayton asked.

"Of course. Did you think I wouldn't?"

Silence.

Clayton left his chair.

Her gray eyes followed him. "Is something wrong?"

"I shouldn't think you need me for this," he replied, and moved toward the door.

Just then it opened and Benjamin stepped in. Before he could get the introduction out, Thaddeus stumbled around him, face flushed, brow sweating. He dragged his hat from his head upon seeing the duchess, then his gaze flew frantically to Trey, then to Clay, then back to His Grace. "
Yer
Grace, I was
hopin
' to find
ya
here."

Trey left his chair.

Gulping, Thaddeus did his best to catch his breath. "It's
yer
lady, sir. Miracle—
er
, Lady Cavendish. I thought
ya
should know—
Lud
, she'll kill me
fer
sure
fer
comin
'; I promised not to breathe a word, but—"

Clayton grabbed the boy by his shirt. "What the devil has happened?"

His eyes fixed on Trey, Thaddeus blurted, "The Pretender, Your Grace. The lady is
drivin
' '
im
today at the park."

"Driving?" Clayton demanded.

"The racer," Thad said to the duke. "She's been
practicin
' every night for the last two week. She's
goin
' up against the men from the club, sir."

"Good God," Trey muttered, then turned on Clayton. "What the devil am I supposed to do now?"

"Stop her, of course," the duchess said, leaving her chair.

"Well?" Trey demanded.

She's your responsibility now,
Clayton expressed with the set of his shoulders and the stubborn thinning of his mouth.
I'm finished.