The Fairy Tale Bride (18 page)

His own "Good night" in answer to hers was
terse.

She could not doubt that he wished her out of
his room. For the first time, she began to wonder if he regretted
their impulsive marriage and wished her out of his life, as
well.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Simon opened the door to Miranda's adjoining
room quietly and glanced inside. If she was not yet fully clothed,
he wanted to be able to perform a rapid tactical retreat. He told
himself he was relieved when he saw that she was almost ready to go
down to breakfast.

Something made him pause in the doorway,
though, just watching as a maidservant fluttered around, offering
scents and powders. He smiled at Miranda's courteous rejection of
all offerings. He liked the vanilla scent of her and the near
perfection of her powder-free skin.

He stepped into the room. "Are you ready to
meet Arthur this morning?" He kept his tone light and bantering,
hoping that a maid's presence would encourage Miranda to do so
also.

She whirled from her toilette, surprised that
he would just walk in on her as she dressed. The maid, too, seemed
more startled than she ought. For a moment he considered turning
around and leaving them in peace to get on with the business of
dressing. The impulse passed quickly as he savored the view of
Miranda with her hair still down, as she had come to him last
night.

Though she was already dressed for the
morning in a peach gown with cream trim, the fall of her hair made
her seem barely decent. It was a luxury he had decided to allow
himself. There was little danger of anything untoward happening
between them once she was safely dressed and the day had begun. It
was evening — and the middle of the night that were dangerous.

Miranda smiled uncertainly at him and once
again settled herself so that the maid could pin up her hair. Her
eyes met his in the looking glass. "You seem to be well rested and
cheerful again."

The little maidservant seemed unnerved by his
presence, and Miranda winced as a lock of her hair was clumsily
tangled in the brush. As she let out a soft cry of pain, the girl
stopped her ministrations and looked as if she might burst into
tears.

He stepped forward and took the brush from
the maid's trembling fingers. "You may go."

The girl stared uncomprehendingly at him for
a moment. "But Your Grace, I must see to Her Grace's hair."

"I shall take over for this morning." Simon
gave the girl a slight push toward the door, afraid if he didn't
she might remain rooted to the floor forever. With a muted cry, she
ran from the room, her cheeks blooming scarlet, her eyes filled
with tears.

Simon brushed Miranda's hair gently. "I'm
sorry, my dear. I know she is inexperienced, but I thought you
might prefer to hire your own personal maid, so I had Mrs. Hoskins
promote her into the position of temporary maid."

"She has done her best, Simon. She is simply
very young." There was a reproachful look in Miranda's eyes that
suggested she was displeased with him, almost as if he had beaten
the girl instead of dismissing her from the room.

"Of course. I would never have promoted her
not even temporarily — to this position if she had not shown
promise."

"She just needs someone to show her how to
behave as a lady's maid." Her eyes met his in the mirror and she
smiled warily. "Someone to show her how to brush hair as well as
you do it. I must wonder where you learned such skills. Did you
ever serve as a lady's maid?"

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. It
was sweet torment to go no farther, and he began to regret having
sent the maid from the room. "It is not proper for a wife to be
jealous of her husband's acquired skills, merely to appreciate
them. Some things a wife is not meant to know."

In the mirror, he could see the confusion in
her expression. He did not want to explain himself, or last night,
however. Explanations would close the distance between them, and
for his sanity he needed to keep Miranda a few steps away from him,
emotionally as well as physically.

So instead of answering , he concentrated on
brushing out the tangles he found, reveling in the smooth silky
feel of her hair in his hands.· He had decided during his sleepless
night that he would enjoy every aspect of being a husband, except
one. And he meant to record each day in his memory to warm him in
the long, lonely years ahead. He absorbed the feel of her hair into
his fingertips as he brushed.

Very soon it lay shining and tangle free as
it fell down her back. His very own Rapunzel. Simon enjoyed the
sight for a moment before he lifted his gaze to hers in the mirror.
"I'm afraid my expertise ends here." He sighed, laying the brush on
the table beneath the looking glass. "I could no more put your hair
up than I could stitch you a gown of moonbeams and sunlight."

His words surprised him, coming from nowhere.
But he could see her thusly dressed and suddenly wished he could
order it done. Impossible dreams, like the ones he sometimes had of
a wife, a family, a life that was truly his own.

"Perhaps you can. Hero once called you our
fairy godfather." She smiled, her eyes alight with imagination at
his fanciful analogy and he felt a breath of relief that she had
put aside her questions about the previous evening. "I can put it
up, Simon. I haven't had a maid since — "

She paused. Her eyes darkened briefly before
she smiled again. "Hero and Juliet used to help me, but I've often·
done it myself. I suppose I shall have to get used to doing without
their help in the future."

He heard the lonely note in her voice and
stilled the hands she had raised to pin her hair. "Leave it like
this for today, and come and meet Arthur."

She lifted one hand to her hair. "He shall be
forever shocked. I cannot meet him like this." She looked at him
uncertainly, and he cursed himself for bringing her to this. She
was bright and beautiful, not meant to be buried in a mausoleum, as
this house was. And it would be dangerous for him to offer her too
much companionship to ease her natural loneliness.

"Of course you will not shock him. He will be
charmed by you, my dear. And jealous of my having rescued my own
Rapunzel." At her continued doubt, he added, "I'll take all the
blame upon my head for not finding you an experienced lady's
maid."

An idea came to him, one that might cheer her
up slightly, and possibly keep her too busy to feel neglected.
"We'll find you an experienced maid immediately — in London."

Her eyes widened. "London? Oh no, Simon, that
will be too tiring for you. I'd rather we stayed here where it is
peacefully quiet and — "

Damn these lies. "Nonsense. A young woman
needs laughter and dancing." He saw that she intended to argue, so
he continued. "And I need to show off my beautiful bride. How can I
do that if I don't find an experienced lady's maid to make sure
that all the young bucks are green with jealousy?"

She smiled at him, suddenly nervous. Her eyes
did not meet his as she confessed, "You needn't bother about the
lady's maid. I hired one before the wedding. She should be arriving
soon."

He was surprised. Though, of course, since he
was dealing with Miranda, he should not have been. "When?"

"I should have told you. I'm sorry. But it's
done now. She's very experienced." Miranda smiled and stood, coming
up on tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek. "Now let's go meet
that heir of yours — and see if your mother has taken herself off
as promised."

The reminder of his mother stopped him from
giving in to his impulse to pull her into his arms. He followed
her, drinking in the scent of vanilla that seemed always to
surround her.

Briefly, he wondered what kind of a woman she
might have found in the vicinity of Anderlin who would have
experience at being a lady's maid. No doubt one who was supremely
incompetent but in dire need of a job.

He sighed. Perhaps it would not be wise to
bring her to London just yet. A few weeks spent to acquaint her
with the reticence of a proper duchess might prevent another
scandal. He knew he should be applying himself diligently to
molding her into a proper wife, but he did not want to spoil the
magical spell she had woven over his life and his home with the
discord that was sure to result.

She stopped at the top of the stairs and
turned to him. "Have you done with the idea of taking me to London,
Simon?"

He nodded. "If you do not wish to go, I will
not press the issue." Yet, he added silently.

She smiled at him, her eyes glowing, despite
his behavior toward her last night. Was that his fate then? To take
her trust in him and twist it until her eyes no longer reflected a
belief in the goodness of life? "Thank you for considering my
wishes, Simon. You cannot imagine what that means to me."

It chilled him to think of her at the mercy
of the wolves and rakes in London. No doubt the lot of them would
scent her innocence and devour her whole, as Grimthorpe had tried
five years ago. But how to bring her some worldly ways and keep
that beautiful core of sweetness?

It would take weeks, perhaps months, to give
her a polished shield to safeguard her. Would there be time to
introduce her to London and make certain that she would be safe
after he was gone? He took her arm to lead her down the stairs and
the feel of her hand in the crook of his elbow was pleasure and
pain in every pulse of blood through his veins.

Downstairs in the breakfast room, there was
blessedly no sign of his mother. Arthur, however, was enjoying a
plate of eggs and smoked sausage. He rose when Simon and Miranda
entered the room. "Simon, I beg to be introduced to your lovely new
bride." He came around the table and clapped Simon on the shoulder
as he beamed at Miranda.

Simon could not help reflecting that Arthur
would have been just as effusive if Miranda had been four feet tall
and possessed of hairy warts on her nose and chin. Arthur had
always been a bit unsure of his ability to carry out the duties of
an heir. Simon's mother had sarcastically called him the
"heir-reluctant." Simon might have laughed, if it were not so
patently true.

He patted Miranda's hand briefly and then
released her. "Yes. Miranda, I am pleased to present you to my
cousin Arthur. Arthur, this is my bride, Miranda."

Arthur beamed. "Welcome to the family, my
dear. I have been telling Simon that what he needs is a bride and
children-not a distant cousin culled from nowhere to learn to
perform duties he's not very good at to begin with."

Miranda looked at him in puzzlement. "Culled
from nowhere? Surely not."

Arthur colored. "Of course I am a bonafide
Watterly. I am just from a very distant branch of the family. We'd
quite forgotten our ties to the Dukes of Kerstone until Simon
reminded us, I daresay."

And happy to have done so, Simon thought to
himself as he remembered the arguments that had preceded Arthur's
agreement to be trained as Simon's heir. It was only the fact that,
as the closest male relative, he would indeed inherit the title and
lands whether or not he trained for the task that convinced him to
take the offer and come to learn about his future duties.

Arthur seemed also to be thinking along those
lines. "Your husband is trying to mold me into a proper duke." He
smiled gently as he spoke, as if the outcome — failure — were
assured.

"Come, come, Arthur. You have improved
greatly in your abilities since you've arrived. You will make an
excellent duke."

Arthur raised a skeptical brow.

Simon continued, embellishing upon Arthur's
small strides forward in ducal behavior. "Haven't your accidents
been much more infrequent of late?"

"Accidents?" Miranda's eyes widened with
curiosity and Simon was suddenly sorry he had brought up the
subject. The best thing he could do for Arthur was steer them away
from this discussion before his cousin became a fresh target for
her ministrations.

Arthur, aiding Simon unaware, blushed at her
interest and quickly down-played his string of mishaps. "Trivial
incidents, really. I just seem to be a clumsy thing."

"I think you are much less clumsy," Simon
added, to help ease Arthur's obvious discomfort at the
discussion.

"And a duke must not be clumsy?" Arthur
smiled again, refusing to take offense, or, Simon thought with
chagrin, to take seriously that he would be the next Duke of
Kerstone. At least, Miranda was diverted. For that he was
grateful.

As they spoke there was a discreet cough from
the direction of the door. Dome stood patiently.

"Yes?" Simon asked.

"A young lady and her daughter have arrived,
Your Grace. The young lady claims to be a new employee?" His eyes
were frosty and his back rigidly straight as he glanced at Miranda.
"She claims to have been hired by Her Grace."

Simon was outraged. "My mother has hired a
servant? For my home? Send her packing at once."

Miranda touched his arm, checking his
outrage. "No. She's my new lady's maid."

His sudden rage receding, Simon noted
Miranda's unease and wondered what sight would meet his eyes. "Very
well, take her up to the servant's quarters and get her settled
in."

The butler nodded, and asked, "And her
daughter, Your Grace?"

"Put them in a room down the hall from me."
Miranda said.

Everyone stared at her. Dome, his reserve
breached, colored slightly. "Servants, Your Grace?" His eyes
fastened onto Simon in a silent plea for a return to sanity.

Miranda seemed unperturbed. "Yes, but her
daughter is quite frail and needs to be in a room with a nice big
hearth."

Simon's neck began to tickle with suspicion.
"Send the servant and her daughter into my study for an interview,
Dome."