The Star-Crossed Bride (18 page)

He managed to whisper to her, "Thank you for the distraction. I am clumsy this morning."

She replied, as tartly as she could with her voice barely audible, "The floor is no place for you to get the rest you need to protect your wife. It's no wonder you stumbled. My lady's bed is big enough for the both of you."

It was humiliating to realize that she had come into the room and seen him there, asleep. He had thought he was waking in time to avoid discovery but apparently he was not. Still, it was none of her business.

He would have answered her just as sharply as soon as his ears stopped burning, if only he had not noticed the housekeeper's eye upon them. So instead of a scolding, he dropped a saucy kiss upon Nan's cheek and received a resounding slap — she did not soften it in the least — for his trouble.

The housekeeper's smile of malicious glee was thanks enough, and he quickly hurried off to perform his duties in the hopes that neither the housekeeper, nor anyone else in the kitchens, would carry the tale of the friendship between the footman and Emily's maid any further.

It was late afternoon when disaster struck. Several carriages laden with early wedding guests suddenly appeared. Apparently, there had been no advance warning of the party's arrival, and Soames was nearly apoplectic when he found a footman with a button loose as he lined them up by the door. A straight pin fixed the oversight temporarily, but did not appease Soames at all.

The butler's glower, however, was no match for the housekeeper's. Valentine felt sorry for Nan, who was dragooned into helping to prepare for the guests, even though her duties normally would not have encompassed any needs but Emily's .

He was uncomfortable at leaving Emily so vulnerable, until he realized that the marquess had retreated from the chaos into the library — alone. The staff set a frenzied pace making rooms ready, preparing to unpack the luggage from the coaches as quickly as possible, and seeing to last-minute details of preparing a house for guests.

Valentine chanced to be in the front hall when the party made their way into the castle. Craning his neck to see past the cluster of people in the hallway he looked to see if he recognized the crests upon the coach. He could not see, but as he tried, a woman's laughter rang in the normally sedate halls of the castle. He froze at the sound of his sister's distinctive laugh. They were here. Why had the servants not been told the guests were the duke and duchess of Kerstone? He had been sure that an arriving guest of the duke's stature would be information imparted to those servants who were to uphold the countess's reputation as an impeccable hostess.

A quick glance around told him that he could not escape. Soames's eagle eye would spot him and he would be called back, bringing more attention to him rather than less. Why he was surprised at the turn of events was the true question. Nothing had gone as he planned since the day he received proof of Granbury's true nature. He had meant to make sure he was nowhere within sight when his sister and her husband arrived. A toothache, a headache, anything that would keep him belowstairs until he had alerted them to his presence — and his disguise.

If Miranda saw him here like this — could he trust that she would not expose him in shock or dismay? She was not the best at hiding her feelings, after all.

There was no place for him to hide. Pleading a headache at this point would arouse Soames's suspicions without doubt. What other option was there? He supposed he could hope that the duke and duchess of Kerstone were as blind to the faces of servants as the countess and Granbury, but he dared not count on it. Miranda was an observant woman, and didn't always keep the strict bounds between employer-servant that most of Society did.

Should he forestall her by going directly up to them and giving her some sign to behave as if she didn't see him? It seemed a strategy with a huge potential to misfire. Even as he thought it through, struggling to find the right action to ward off disaster, Soames snapped his fingers. The butler frowned at his delayed reaction to the snap and pointed with a stern finger, indicating that Valentine was to take the bags which were stacked directly next to where his sister and her husband stood being warmly, if insincerely, welcomed by the countess.

Maneuvering so that his back was to the couple, even while he wondered just how long it would take his twin to recognize him, disguise or not, he reached for the top valise — one he recognized all too well. He hoped the maid had packed it, not Miranda in her usual last-minute frenzy to add all the items which she had suddenly decided she could not do without. He had just had the thought that if Miranda had packed her own bag, she had thankfully managed to securely fasten this bulging case — as was not her habit — when the case latch lost its tenuous hold on its burden and popped open. Clothing and notions packed away at the last minute launched into the air. Naturally, all eyes turned Valentine's way. He saw Miranda's eyes widen just as a fall of silken cloth landed on his head, blinding him to the sudden, furious chaos which took reign as the countess gasped in outrage and Soames barked out a series of orders meant to bring events back to normal as swiftly as possible. Whipping away his silken blindfold, Valentine saw that, as various and sundry other footmen rushed to retrieve scattered belongings, the duke had Miranda in a tight grip and was whispering fiercely in her ear.

The countess appeared puzzled at her guests' agitation, but not suspicious that it was caused by the footman covered in women's clothing rather than the clothing itself. Valentine turned away and joined the other servants in clearing up the mess. He hoped that would give Miranda time to calm herself.

Sure that the duke had seen the situation for what it was, he dared relax. Miranda would not do anything overt now — such as call out his true name, or ask the countess why her brother was in her household in a footman's uniform.

It did not take long for order to be restored. Under the strict eye of both the butler and the housekeeper, the stray clothing was gathered, folded, repacked — more neatly than Miranda and her maid had managed the first time.

At last, all was secured in a trunk, and the lock was checked four times in an excess of care. No one wanted the incident to be repeated on the trip up to the rooms the duke and duchess were to occupy. Valentine, hoping to avoid his sister's inevitable questions, lifted the trunk onto his shoulder and moved toward the stairs. He would have to explain this carefully, and it would be better to do so to the duke first. Miranda was simply too quick to leap to conclusions and come up with plans that made things worse instead of better.

His spirits sank, though, when he heard Miranda's clear voice saying that she simply must freshen up before she could enjoy the countess's generous refreshments. He had some hope when he heard Kerstone's low-voiced reply but the patter of half boots on the stairs behind him were too clearly Miranda's for him to believe that the duke had dissuaded his wife from finding the answers to the questions that were undoubtedly bubbling up in her mind.

He had scarcely set down the trunk and turned to leave when Miranda called out imperiously, "Help me with this window, please, young man."

He loved his sister, but he would much rather have talked to the duke than to Miranda. He knew what her counsel would be and he did not want to tell her that he had already eloped with Emily. He loved his sister dearly. But she had odd ideas about love and fairytales that ended with happily ever after.

There was no telling what she would do with the news. And most certainly she would tell the duke and then he would know that Valentine had broken the promise he had made three years ago.

Reluctantly, unwillingly, he went to stand next to her and examine the window — which was more than capable of opening smoothly as soon as Miranda's favorite pen was removed from the jamb. He refrained from pointing this out, however, as his sister was staring at him with an expression that alternated between delighted and appalled. With an unholy light in her eyes, she said softly, "You make an admirable footman. I did not realize that your fortunes were so poor as to drive you to it, though."

She seemed so lighthearted he wondered if she had ever received the letters he had sent them. She answered that question before he had even posed it aloud. "I take it the countess did not find your evidence compelling enough to halt the wedding preparations?" she asked quietly.

Valentine could not keep the scorn from his voice. "She knows the worst, and seems pleased by it. She has no love for Emily."

Ever the believer in fairytales, Miranda sighed with typical sympathy "Poor Emily."

"It's worse than a bad marriage, Miranda. I think her life might be in danger."

At that, his sister's eyes widened and she lost the half smile that indicated she was thinking of matters of the heart rather than the practical necessity of rescuing Emily. "Where is she?"

"She's been locked in her room."

"How inconvenient." She gazed at him curiously "How ever did you manage to speak to her? Or have you seen her at all?"

"Yes. Her lady's maid is our ally." Seen and married her as well, but now was not the time to disclose that fact — not with the stream of servants still coming and going with final preparations for the room.

"Is that wise, considering . . ." She broke off, but he knew where her doubts were coming from. It was almost a relief to talk to her, though he had been dreading it. Since they were small children he and Miranda had shared an uncanny ability to know what the other thought and felt. "Nan is not going to turn on us as Emily's former maid did. Her sister was killed by Granbury and she wants him to hang as badly as we do."

The shadow of doubt remained in her eyes. She was worried about him, he could feel it. Normally, he could expect a lengthy interrogation from her, followed by a dose of her opinion on what he should do.

He waited for her to begin, intending to cut her off. Instead of questioning him, however, she simply nodded and said, as she rattled the window, "Where is the letter? The duke will wish to see it for himself."

He reached into the breast pocket of his well-fitted jacket. "Here." He bent so that no one else in the room could see him hand the duchess of Kerstone a packet of paper. "I 'm glad you have arrived. Emily needs looking after, and you can help with that duty while the duke and I put Granbury where he can hurt no one ever again."

The glint of humor returned to her eyes as she said with a little laugh, "Certainly we will be willing to help in any way we can — as long as you're not expecting us to dress up as servants, too?"

"Heaven forbid. Could you imagine the duke of Kerstone dressed as a stable hand?"

His sister, unaccountably, blushed. "Probably not in a way that would go unremarked." And then she frowned. "How is it that no one has noticed? The countess surely — Perhaps you should give up the disguise and go back to London, for safety's sake?"

He had no intention of leaving the castle. Not with Emily in reach of Granbury. "I have served the countess turbot, peas and wine. I have accompanied her into the garden and carried her packages. She has given me no more notice than she might a mote of dust. This disguise is safe enough." "But now that we are here — "

"I must remain a footman in the household, Miranda," he said firmly. "It is the only way I can continue my blackmail of the marquess."

The commotion downstairs was apparent to Emily even locked in her room, as she was — at least until it was time to dine with her mother and Granbury and be tortured with questions and a pretense of being a willing fiancee.

She pressed her ear to the door, and, when that was not satisfactory, opened her window and leaned out to listen. Evidently, guests had arrived. She could hear the sound of horses, carriage wheels on gravel, and luggage being unloaded. Should she dare hope it would be the duke and Miranda, at last? She was torn between wishing it were so, and fearing that they had indeed arrived. The duke would help them bring down Granbury, but would he approve of their elopement any more than he had done that day at the inn?

As for Miranda . . . Miranda would know that she and Valentine belonged together. Miranda had always known. A spark of hope lodged itself deep within her — if anyone would know what Emily might do to break through the stubborn, prideful refusal Valentine continued to show toward accepting that they were now married forever and ever, Miranda would know. At last there would be someone to ask about what to do when a husband insisted on sleeping on the cold hard floor rather than in the same bed with his wife.

Perhaps, with everything else that was happening, she should not care about such things. But to have him so close and yet so far away was an agony in itself. Like that day in the coach, when they were so near to eloping until her cousin caught them.

All her hopes, all her dreams, on the verge of reality. And then the duke had appeared, a dash of cold water that melted away their chance to be happy. It hurt to know that could happen once more. She sighed. There was only one way to get either of the men to accept the inevitability of the marriage. Otherwise, the duke would talk of scandal and family pride — and promises to be honored.

Valentine's pride would twist him up inside, until he thought it honorable to deny himself the wife he had — for her sake. If she didn't love him so much, his foolishness would make her scream aloud. Oh, why couldn't he see it as clearly as she did? If she had to spend one more night without knowing that he had at last accepted that she had married him for better or worse no matter that he was not wealthy, she did not know what she would do. And she was not a fool.

The only way to convince the man — or the fastest, at the very least — was to convince him to make love to her, to make her his wife in such a way that not even he could question the commitment they had made to each other ever again.

To her surprise, Nancy unlocked her door in the middle of the day and left it ajar behind her. There was a nervous energy emanating from the maid as she put the key back into her pocket without relocking the door. "The duke and duchess of Kerstone 'ave arrived, my lady. And they are asking for you."