Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) (7 page)

Waiting for her least misstep?

Her hands began to shake and she dropped
the heavy silver brush that Lord and Lady Ruel had given her. The loud clatter
as it hit the floor made her startle. She glanced down and the jewels on the
backing glittered in a rainbow of hues. Heat flooded her cheeks and she bent to
retrieve the obviously expensive gift.

Still feeling both Brentwood and Ruel’s
stares, knowing that she was here only out of courtesy, for Adrian’s sake, she
gripped the cool metal, lifting it, feeling the substantialness of it.
 
Clearly Lord and Lady Ruel had not stinted
when selecting her gift.

This was her future?

A well-gilded future but no true
acceptance?

Adrian had only been gone a matter of
weeks.

It seemed like ages. The days passed
quickly enough. But the nights, oh the nights…

A tug on the long sleeve of her wine
colored wool gown jerked her from her musings. She looked up into Davey’s
flushed face right next to her now.

“Mama! Please open my present next!”
Davey’s over-excited voice sounded.

Increased tension flooded the air.

Long moments passed as though no one knew
what to say.

Certainly Miranda did not.

She felt as though everyone in the
chamber were silently accusing her.

Accusing her of what?

Accusing her of daring to step into Jane
Sutherland’s slippers…

A former harlot pretending to be the
equal of that refined lady.

“
Please…”
Davey tugged on her
sleeve again.

“Give her a moment, Davey.” Lady Ruel’s
gentle voice clashed oddly with the hard edge of the moment.

Brentwood issued a loud, explosive hiss,
as though he had just found his breath. “She’s not our mother!”

Davey gave a gasping sob, falling back
against Miranda.

Another silence fell over the chamber.
This time the collective tension of everyone present seemed to settle into
Miranda’s stomach. The heavily creamed and sugared tea and all those ginger
biscuits she had so happily breakfasted on, churned uneasily.

“Charlie!” Davey gasped.

He appeared to be the only one who ever
used his brother’s given name.

Brentwood leapt to his feet and stormed
towards him.

Miranda put her hands on Davey,
instinctively pulling him closer as the older boy came at them, his face
mottled red and white. He stopped and leaned down, glaring into Davey’s face.
“She’s not our mother!”

“You forget yourself, my lord,” Ruel
said, his voice cold as lead.

Brentwood whirled to face Ruel. “I don’t
give a flying f-
f-fig
about the consequences! I shall speak my mind!”

A girlish gasp, more a high-pitched
squeak followed this outburst.

Miranda’s glance took in the two little
daughters of the house, Lady Charlotte and Lady Georgina, sitting each on their
own velvet footstool by Lord Ruel’s chair, their eyes wide, faces a little
paler than earlier.

“You’re in the presence of more than one
lady.” Ruel’s voice sounded calm but with a hard edge.

“Do you know what they are saying about
her in Mayfair? At Cambridge? Do you know the word that is—”

“Silence!” Ruel’s voice boomed as he
stood. His daughters gaped at him, round-eyed gazes darting towards their
mother now, as though they wondered if they ought to seek her softer refuge.
“She is your father’s choice. Make peace with it.”

“I shall never make peace with this-
this
night bird
foisted upon me and my brother to take our mother’s place.”
His lip curled. “Never!”

“Leave the hall and do not return until
you can act in a civil manner towards your father’s wife. For shame, your
father has worked so hard for you and this is how you repay him.”

“I shall leave— with pleasure, my lord.
But I won’t simply leave this hall. I shall go and spend the remainder
Christmastide with my uncle.”

“Yes, a fine solution. I shall see that a
carriage is readied for you, you ungrateful boy.”

Brentwood flushed at Ruel’s sneering use
of the word boy.

He turned to Miranda, his lip still
curled upwards. He effected a stiff, exaggerated bow. “
Lady
Danvers.”

His eyes burned into hers, the hate there
searing into her soul, shocking her into speechlessness.

Then he spun on his heel and stormed from
the chamber.

Miranda shook all over the exchange.

“I-I knew she was not
our
Mama!”
Davey defended hotly, pulling everyone’s attention back to him. His cheeks red
with the embarrassment of one who has been previously known to hallucinate, his
eyes shone with welling tears.

Miranda ached to comfort him but when she
tried he stiffened and pulled away. He wouldn’t look at her now.

She felt a hesitance to do anything to
make situation worse.

Mercy, had she ever felt so much at a
loss?

Had she ever felt so
accused
?

She had failed Davey.

She had failed Adrian.

Failed.

But she had tried so hard.

So damned hard.

“Of course you didn’t really think she
was your Mama.” Lady Ruel’s soft voice broke into Miranda’s rising angst.

“It’s just that-that…” Davey’s lip
trembled and he had gone pale. He hiccupped, a sound suspiciously close to a
sob. “It’s just…”

“It’s just that you would like her to be
your Mama now?”

Davey gaped at her then he nodded,
slowly, his expression pinched, painful.

He gulped back another sob. Miranda felt
as though her heart were being torn out.

What should she say?

What should she do?

She wasn’t a mother. She’d just been
pretending all this time. Pretending because that was all she knew to do in her
life.

As a child, pretending not to care that
Winterton didn’t love her.

Pretending not to need Mama’s guidance
and motherly strength.

Pretending to be a courtesan.

Pretending to be cold, haughty,
sophisticated, and sensually skilled.

Pretending, pretending, pretending!

Lady Ruel held her arms open and Davey
ran to her, tears flowing down his cheeks.

Miranda sensed it was due more to
confusion than grief. But there was some grief there, too. She could always
feel his emotions welling up, as though there were some invisible cord linking
her to Davey. His pain was always hers.

Lady Ruel caressed the boy’s curling
hair. “It’s all right, Davey. There’s nothing wrong or shameful about how you
feel.”

“I love my own Mama.”

“I know you do, my darling. You always
will.”

He nodded vigorously. “I have missed her
so dreadfully.”

“And you have grieved for her and shown
her all the respect that is humanly possible,” Lady Ruel said, her voice softer
than ever.

“I have been so alone…” He sniffled and
choked back a sob. “Until Miranda came.”

“You love Miranda,” Lady Ruel said.

“Yes, I do love her.” His voice rose on
the last three words. “But I loved Mama and she left. Now Papa is also gone.”
His voice trembled. “I don’t want Miranda to leave, too.”

Lady Ruel looked up and met Miranda’s
eyes, her dark blue eyes glossy. She motioned for Miranda to come closer.

“It’s all right to love Miranda, Davey,”
Lady Ruel said. “You won’t be punished for finding happiness again. Your Mama
would want you to be happy.”

“My brother is angry with me.” Davey
lifted his head and gulped another sob back. “That’s like a punishment.”

“Davey, sometimes the people we are
related to don’t support our full happiness.”

Davey turned towards the sound of Ruel’s
voice.

The earl stood close to them, holding
Lady Georgette in his arms. Her little head rested against his shoulder, her
pale, pale ash-blonde ringlets appeared fine as angel’s hair against his dark
blue coat.

“Sometimes, we have to go our own way,
despite a bond of blood or family name.” Ruel said this with resolution, as
though he knew this with some personal and painful experience. “However, I
think your brother is simply distraught about the changes that life brings and
that he cannot alter them to his own liking. He is young. I think he will come
around in time.”

“You really think so?” Davey asked then
gave a loud sniffle. “Really and truly?”

Lord and Lady Ruel exchanged an amused
yet fond look, the kind that parents often do, but Miranda had previously found
herself so rarely in the company of family people. The moment hit her with a
piquant bittersweet notion. She blinked and swallowed hard.

Lady Ruel smoothed Davey’s hair off his
forehead. “Why don’t you go to Miranda now and tell her that you love her?”

Lady Ruel released Davey and gave him a
nudge towards Miranda. Davey stared at her, uncertainty in his eyes.

Miranda knelt and held her arms open.

He continued staring at her then suddenly
he threw himself at her, the impact of his little body rocking hers.

She clasped him. The scent of clove and
citrus soap wafted from his shinning hair, mingling with ginger biscuits and
the scent of his new wool suit. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Tears of relief.

Joy.

And something much more.

“I love you, Davey,” she said, giving him
a quick squeeze.

“I love you, too, Mama.”

****

Surrounded by the high stone walls of
Blackmore Castle, the howls of wind seemed exaggerated. They trailed off into
almost an echo, a hissing sort of whisper. One could almost imagine it sounded
like distant, feminine cries of pain. Miranda shivered and pulled the blanket,
draped about her shoulders, closer together.

She was almost glad that she’d been
ejected from Lady Ruel’s bedchamber. The old nurse and the younger, yet
practical, Lady Drake had decided that as a woman who had not yet birthed a
child, Miranda ought to be sheltered from the experience. Lady Ruel had
wholeheartedly agreed.

Miranda found their concern for her tender
innocence both amusing and touching.

Not being able to sleep, she had come
here to main hall to read yet she couldn’t concentrate on her book.

The sound of boots on the floor made her
raise her head.

Lord Ruel was approaching her. Yes, she
had noted his naturally fierce expression; it was hard to discern his moods.
But he did look a tad fiercer than normal.

Her heart seemed to jump.

Why would he be here in the main chamber?

Was he coming here to give bad news?

She raised her brows. “Lady Ruel?”

“As tart-tongued as any wayward wench,”
he replied.

While somehow managing not to spill a
single drop from the full glass in his left hand, he dragged wing chair over to
the side table near her. Then he sat.

It suddenly struck her that she was
completely alone with him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

She started. “Like what?”

“Like I’ve grown horns.”

She released her tension in a quavering
laugh. “I didn’t expect to see you here in the hall. Not tonight.”

“My part was done many months ago, so my
lady tells me.” Ruel chuckled softly then he pulled a bottle from inside his
coat and himself another drink.

Miranda registered her shock as the
risqué meaning of what he’d said dawned on her.

And then the shock that she should be
shocked by any man’s frank talk.

However, all this time, Ruel had been a
perfect gentleman with her.

Then again, she’d never before smelled
the strong odor of whisky coming off him.

Unease began to wind through her
mid-section. They had all treated her with the utmost respect. She had become so
used to being treated like a lady. Like a relative by marriage.

She had forgotten the truth of what she
was.

The bastard-born daughter of a duke. A
former courtesan.

And whilst Adrian held this cousin in the
highest regard and trust, she didn’t really know these people.

God, what would she say or do if this
nobleman should make an advance…or worse, a demand?

It would be his word against hers. And
being a nobleman, likely if caught or confronted, he would claim that it was
she
who had
propositioned
him?

She began to feel slightly ill.