Jane Feather - The Emerald Swan

"Where are they going?" Luke demanded. Suspicion flared in his eyes and he took a step forward. "Has the earl debauched Miranda?"

"I don't know what's happened between them," Maude replied cheerfully, laying a restraining hand on his sleeve. "But it doesn't seem to matter in the least. Miranda knows what she's doing. Chip, do you really think you should go… Oh, well, I suppose you should." She gave up the struggle to hold the agitated monkey and let him race after his mistress. Turning back to the taproom, she said, "I would like some more of that mead, I believe, Luke. Do you have coin? If not, I believe I still have a few pennies left."

"My love, can you forgive me?" Gareth took Miranda's hands in a grip so tight she could feel the bones crunching. "Do you think you'll ever be able to trust me again? I have been such a fool."

"I love you," Miranda said simply. "I have always loved you.”

Chip gibbered and swung from the bed canopy. "Aye, and I have loved you since the first moment 1 met you. I just didn't know it." Gareth stroked her face, tracing the line of her jaw, running a thumb over her eyelids, over the soft pliancy of her lips. "Will you be my wife, madam?"

"I must bring Robbie," Miranda said. "I can't leave Robbie behind. There's so much we can do for him. Boots are just the beginning."

"If you wish, we will provide habitation and employment for all your family." Gareth's fingers unlaced her bodice, his hands reaching inside to cup her breasts, run the pads of his thumbs over the nipples, feeling them rise hard and small to his caress.

"No, I don't think they'd wish that," Miranda said earnestly. "They're independent. They wouldn't take charity."

"No, of course they wouldn't." His mouth closed over hers, as he drew her down to the bed. One day he'd get this right. "But will you be my wife?"

Miranda moved beneath him, loosening the bunched-up folds of her gown as his hands slid over her thighs, searching for her. "Are you certain you don't still want me to marry Henry of France, milord?"

Gareth didn't reply but his hand moved over her, his fingers opening, nipping at the tight little bud of pleasure. Miranda murmured, her hips lifting as the joy began to bloom deep in her core. And then, just as the flower was about to burst open in glory, he took away his hand.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Gareth."

He smiled and brought his mouth to hers." Try not to ask silly questions, firefly."

She laughed softly and the last shards of pain and unhappiness drifted from her in the soft glow of renewal.

Chip took up his usual place on the rail at the foot of the bed and tucked his head under his arm, whispering to himself as the soft sounds of a deep and affirming pleasure filled the chamber.

Miles entered the taproom and his eye fell immediately on Maude. She appeared to be keeping company with a ragged youth at the bar counter, but her own attire was so disheveled that she seemed perfectly suited to her companion. Her hand was circling a pewter tankard with all the familiarity of one who'd begun drinking what it contained with her wet nurse's milk.

Gareth's message, received some hours after the earl had left the Harcourt mansion, had been brief and un-informative. Lord Dufort was to repair to the Red Cockerel in Folkestone and await developments. This, Miles conceded, was an interesting development.

"Maude?"

"Oh, Lord Dufort. Lord Harcourt said you would be arriving soon." Maude smiled merrily. "May I introduce Luke, he's a friend of Miranda's. Would you care for some mead? Or perhaps ale? We seem to be running out of coin, but I expect you have some."

"Ale," Miles said, gesturing to the potboy. He nodded to Luke and took the stool beside Maude. "I daresay I can settle your account." He looked around. "But isn't your guardian here to do so?"

"Yes, but he's abovestairs with Miranda."

"Ah," Miles said, taking up his tankard. "Ah," he said again.

"I believe they're to be wed," Maude informed him, signaling to the potboy for a refill.

"Ah," Lord Dufort repeated. "Precisely."

Maude smiled. "Are you not surprised, sir?"

"Not precisely," Miles said, taking up his tankard. "But I'd give my immortal soul to know how he's going to explain to the world the sudden appearance of your double."

"My twin,' Maude said.

Miles looked at her sharply. Then he let out his breath with a little popping sound. "Ah," he said. "Precisely."

"You know what you have to do?" "Brazen it out," Miranda said. "Lie," Maude said.

Gareth accepted the sisters' responses with a wry smile. "Words to that effect," he agreed.

"But will it work?" Imogen demanded from the doorway, plying her fan with vigor.

"If it's brazened out, as Miranda said, I don't see how it can fail to work, madam." Her husband bobbed up from behind her. "Let me look at you, my dears." He came into the chamber and Gareth stepped aside, giving way to the expert.

"Oh, what a stir you will cause," Miles declared, rubbing his hands with glee as he walked around the sisters. "It was a brilliant conception to dress you so alike and yet so different."

The idea had been his, but his delight was so unaffected that no one could accuse him of self-congratulation.

"Cor, you don't 'alf look like a princess, M'randa," Robbie observed in awe from the window seat where he was perched with Chip. A very different Robbie: a rounder, shinier, merrier Robbie altogether. "Can I come wi you?

"No, you have to stay and look after Chip," Miranda said. "But I'll tell you all about it when I get home." Robbie appeared satisfied with this and returned his attention to the dish of raisins he was sharing with Chip.

"Let us take a look at ourselves, Maude." Miranda reached for her twin's hand and stepped up to the mirror. The two stood side by side examining their wavery reflections. Despite the imperfections of the reflection, the effect was stunning. The gowns were of identical design, but Miranda's was of emerald green velvet stitched with gold thread and encrusted with diamonds, while Maude wore turquoise velvet, silver thread, and sapphires. The neckline of the gowns plunged to the bosom, and rose behind the head in a small jeweled ruff. The only other significant difference lay in their hair. Each wore her hair loose, bound with a fillet, silver in Maude's case, gold in Miranda's. No attempt had been made to hide Miranda's short, glowing bob that curved behind her ears and clung to her neck. Maude's rippling auburn-tinted locks curled on her shoulders.

"They won't suspect," Miranda stated. Then she turned to Gareth, her eyes filled with doubt. "Are you sure they won't, milord?"

"Why should they?" he said, smiling. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips." The missing d'Albard twin has been miraculously restored to her birthright."

"But if they do suspect," she persisted. "If the queen should… or Henry should… then you'll be ruined."

"And as I've already told you more times than I can count, love, it wouldn't matter."

Imogen mewed softly, but no words emerged from her tightly compressed lips.

"We should go," Miles said. "The barge awaits and Henry will be impatient."

"Aye, I daresay he's pacing the halls of Greenwich already," Gareth agreed with a chuckle. "Come, my wards, let us enter the lion's den."

Maude cast Miranda a look that was both nervous and excited before they left the bedchamber. Miranda squeezed her hand.

Chip chittered from Robbie's lap as they went out, then before the boy could react, he leaped onto the sill and dropped through the window.

"Oh, Chip! Come back!" Robbie leaned out after him but the monkey was already clambering down the ivy and merely raised a scrawny arm in farewell. Robbie, who knew his limitations where Chip was concerned, withdrew his head and began to contemplate what new delights he could explore in this palace. The kitchen was as good a place as any to start, and had proved fruitful already. The cook and one of the housekeepers had taken a fancy to him and they were baking apple tarts this afternoon…