The Fairy Tale Bride (17 page)

He felt remorse for the course he had set by
marrying her. But he ruthlessly crushed it. He had made a mistake
and they would both pay for it. He could not make love with her and
he could not trust himself not to take her to his bed. She would
need to exert the control that would keep them apart and prevent a
child of his bastard blood from inheriting.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Had you no luck?" The dowager duchess stood
in the hallway, as if she were still the house's mistress and going
about the unappetizing chore of questioning the help. Her spine was
straight; there was not a wrinkle in her glossy black silk skirts.
Her dark gray eyes bored deep, as if to delve the depths of
Miranda's soul.

Despite the older woman's air of composure
and command, Miranda had the odd impression the dowager had been
standing there, unmoving, ever since Miranda had left the
house.

"What did you say to him? He was not in the
least unhappy until he spoke to you." The harsh words came
unbidden. Though she was horror-struck at her own audacity, she was
still reeling from Simon's painful rejection, unable to temper her
words with the respect due the dowager's position.

Most frustrating of all, from her
perspective, was the ambiguity of her mother-in-law's expression.
The older woman's face was serene, as if she had asked after her
son's choice of apparel for the day — as if Miranda's reply had
been coolly civil and not flagrantly rude and angry.

Nothing in the woman's expression seemed
concerned, yet there was an air of expectancy emanating from her as
she said, "The question seems more to be — what did he say to
you?"

Even though the dowager waited silently for
her answer, Miranda could feel the other woman's eager impatience
as if it were a force of its own. And yet her features were so
composed that she gave the impression of a pond that had frozen
over. Had this woman no heart? To distress her dying son in this
manner and then act as if she were blameless?

Reining in her temper, she answered as
politely as she could manage, "He will be in shortly."

"What a pity." Again, the dowager's face held
no clue to her thoughts.

Miranda, her temper at the boiling point, had
no notion of how to respond to such blatant incivility. She finally
decided to do her best to match the dowager's
sangfroid
. "I
feel certain you will excuse my wish to retire now."

The dowager smiled, a simple lift of her
mouth. "I had held some hope that the young woman who persuaded
Simon to marry her at this juncture of his life could persuade him
to be civil to his mother."

Miranda stood rooted to the spot. For a
moment she thought she had not heard correctly. Stiffly, she
responded to the dowager's attack. "My concern at this point, as
I'm sure you understand, is his health."

Though she had sworn to herself not to lose
her temper again, she could not resist adding, "I don't pretend to
understand what is behind his behavior toward you, Your Grace, but
I cannot worry about that when he is dying."

"It is all that I can worry about." The
deprecating smile was so fleeting that Miranda almost believed she
had imagined the slight quirk of the dowager's mouth.

Her temper flared, and she was too exhausted
to fight it anymore. "Do you not care about him?"

The anger that she was poised to vent
disappeared in an instant, though, at the sadness that shadowed the
dowager's features as she spoke. "I regret that our relationship
must be unmended should I never see him again."

It seemed a cold way to discuss her son's
death, as if he might simply be leaving for an extended trip. "That
is between the two of you. For my part, I can only do what Simon
will not."

"Indeed?" The dowager's brow rose. "And what
is that?"

"He will not consider doctors, apparently
they have failed him in the past. So I have found someone to
minister to him."

The instant the words were out of her mouth,
Miranda regretted them. She had not confided her actions to Simon,
yet she had just told his mother, knowing the two of them could not
bear to be in the same room with each other.

Though the dowager seemed not to move, her
skirts rippled slightly, as if she had suppressed a start of
surprise. "Simon has agreed to this?"

"He has been disappointed by doctors, he
says. But a healer is a different cup of tea," Miranda sidestepped,
not wanting to divulge any more to the woman Simon so obviously
didn't trust.

As if sensing that Miranda did not want to
lie, the dowager would not be put off. She leaned toward Miranda
and fixed her with a stare. "Does he know?" her voice had the stern
tone of Miranda's old nanny.

Responding to both the tone, and the need to
explain what she intended for Simon, Miranda looked steadily at the
silver locket that hung starkly against the dowager's black silk.
"I hadn't intended to tell him the exact purpose this person will
serve."

The dowager leaned back and sighed, almost as
if she were a tutor who had been disappointed by an errant pupil.
"Dishonesty so soon, my dear? Whatever will Simon say?"

Miranda felt as if she were five again, and
being scolded for not confessing her part in a midnight raid on the
biscuits in the kitchen. "My concern is Simon. I believe that he
will resist the healing if he knows about it."

"Indeed?"

Miranda blushed lightly. It was embarrassing
to speak to his mother, who had known him all his life, as if she
knew Simon well.

But her feeling about this was strong, and
soon, when Katherine arrived, there would be someone to agree with
or dispute her deeply-held belief that Simon was preventing his own
recovery. "I think he is not pursuing all the avenues available to
him for a cure, for some reason. I cannot help but hope, like Briar
Rose, a curse of death has been laid upon him and can be
lifted."

Again, Miranda looked up to meet the
dowager's intense gray eyes. The woman's words were softly spoken,
yet there was a tension within her that Miranda could not fathom.
"You are a very perceptive young woman. I wonder if Simon knows
just how perceptive a young woman he so rashly married?"

Uncertain of the meaning of the dowager's
words, Miranda answered lamely, "I have never considered Simon
rash."

"And yet he chose one day, without warning,
to cast his own mother out of his life."

Miranda had been taught to respect her
elders, but caught between Simon and his mother, she knew she must
defend her husband. "I cannot think the problem all rests with
Simon," she addressed the dowager duchess warily. "In the short
time I have known him, I have given him several reasons to hold me
in contempt and he has always listened to my explanation and
understood – as best he could – my reasoning, faulty thought he
might think it."

"Indeed?" The dowager's right eyebrow lifted
elegantly. "Certainly he has refused to listen to me. But then, I
talk plainly, and not all people care to hear the truth."

Miranda bit back a harsh defense of Simon and
said mildly, "Perhaps, but I have always found Simon to be above
all interested in the truth."

As she stood in the doorway, with the cold
night air encroaching from the hallway, she found herself no longer
in such pain over Simon's rejection. This was a house of coldness
that sprang from more than the night air. There was much more here
than was fathomable in one night.

Whatever drove Simon to refuse a doctor's
help with his illness had its root here in this house, and with his
relationship with his mother. Miranda hoped she would be equal to
the challenge of divining what ailed Simon's body – as well as his
soul.

There was a flash of some emotion in the
dowager's eyes that was quickly masked by her enigmatic expression.
"Be cautious child, thinking you know any man. They are all capable
of bending truth to the breaking point if it suits their
needs."

"Not Simon," Miranda countered flatly.

The dowager smiled. "You are very young, my
dear."

"Good night, Your Grace." With a weak smile
and a nod of her head, she turned and fled up the stairs to her new
room and her new bed. Somehow, the thought was not quite so
appealing now that she knew Simon had been diverted from his
initial intentions.

Hours later, as she sat listening, unable to
relax, she heard muffled sounds from the room adjoining hers.
Murmured voices — Simon and his valet. A thump as something hit the
floor — a boot? Two? And then, presently, silence. She waited, but
there was no indication that he even glanced at the door between
them, never mind thought to come through it.

She woke from her fitful sleep, forgetting
for a moment where she was. She lay half awake, half asleep, unable
to pinpoint what had disturbed her. The bed was strange, not her
own familiar little one with its cheery yellow curtains.

Behind the massive oak-paneled door that
joined her chamber with Simon's, she heard the faint sounds of
groaning. Instantly she came fully awake. She heard nothing more.
Could it have been her imagination? What if Simon needed her? She
stared at the door. Unable to deny her worries, she slipped quietly
to the door, careful not to use a candle lest the light disturb
Simon. As the door silently opened into the other room, she heard
no more groans.

Still, a nagging worry made her creep into
the room, until she was at the foot of the bed. He lay there, his
even breathing a testament to his current well-being. Miranda felt
a knot of fear ease and she turned to go.

Just then, Simon groaned again softly.
Miranda halted. He had said nothing to her of pain, but surely
there must be some?

Through the dim moonlight, she could see that
he was restless as he slept, his bedcovers were twisted and pulled
askew. Her heart went out to him. Even in his sleep he could not be
at peace, his illness still touched him.

The need to soothe him was too strong to
resist. Cautiously, she approached the bed. Simon's face was in the
shadows. The moonlight illuminated only a cheek and a wing of his
golden hair, giving him a magical, illusive air. She reached out to
touch his face and reassure herself that he was real, and without
warning, found herself staring into his alert gaze.

His voice was soft. "Have you come to tell me
a bedtime tale? What one have you chosen? Goldilocks and the three
bears? The child who's so bold as to go wherever she will?"

"There is no need for you to be sarcastic. I
have every right to worry for your health. I am your wife."

"I have not forgotten our marriage." He was
silent for a moment, staring into her eyes as if he could not look
away. And then he sighed and turned his back to her. "I am well
enough, just bedeviled."

"Is the pain so awful?" Miranda bit her lip,
afraid to hear the answer. Simon coughed. If the subject had not
been so serious, she might have thought that he was hiding
amusement. No, it was a trick of the night.

His voice was gruff and rasped out at her.
"Almost unbearable right at this moment. But I am sure it will ease
if only I could know that you slept soundly."

"Perhaps if I remain here tonight?" The idea
came to her unbidden and she was suddenly warm, even in the night
chill. She smiled. "Didn't Goldilocks try out all the beds?" It was
a pleasant thought, lying next to him, being held in his arms.
Perhaps even —

"No. And, if you remember, Goldilocks ran
screaming from the bed in terror."

The cold rejection hurt more than Miranda
expected, although after the events in the stable, she had been
forewarned. Still, she was reluctant to release her pleasant dream.
"But I could — "

He turned back to face her and sat up
slightly, so that his whole face was lit by moonlight. "Believe me,
Miranda, you would cause me greater pain that way."

She found her gaze caught by the smooth bare
shoulder the moon exposed with its silver light. "I should have
realized that." She admired him for keeping the depths of his pain
a secret from her. That having her next to him would hurt had never
crossed her mind.

She laughed, as if to make light of her
suggestion. "I suppose it is just that I feel so alone here. There
are no sisters to slip into my room and ask for a drink of water or
a story. I am not used to being so ... unnecessary."

He was silent for a long moment and she met
his steady eyes. It made her shiver to see the same intensity that
had been in the dowager's eyes only hours before. He said, "I have
told you before, Miranda. I do not need a mother — not even the one
I already have."

"I know, Simon. I don't want to be your
mother. I want to be your wife."

He sighed. "Please, go to sleep now. I
promise I shall introduce you to your new home properly tomorrow.
Such an introduction will require you to be well rested. I can't
have my servants thinking their new mistress is dull and foolish,
can I?"

Miranda sighed in unconscious imitation of
him, seeing the sense in his words and trying hard not to be too
disappointed. "Very well. I shall see that your mother is gone in
the morning."

"If you can dislodge that woman before she is
ready to go, I really will begin to believe in happy endings."

She smiled. "Then you will believe in them
very soon. I'll leave you to rest." Impulsively, she bent to kiss
him. Her hands came down on his shoulders to brace herself for the
light peck on the cheek she intended. But the feel of warm bare
skin under her fingers send a shock of wanting coursing through her
and she sought his lips instead.

He did not respond. Indeed, he remained still
as stone as she pressed her lips to his. The sting of rejection
left her feeling the cold night air and the flimsiness of her thin
nightgown and robe. When she pulled back, she could not look at his
face. "Good night."