Terri Brisbin - The Duchess's Next Husband

Attractive.

Miranda’s stomach roiled as the uncontrolled thoughts forced themselves forward. This kind of introspection did no good and now she felt truly sick as images of her husband and his paramour flashed fleetingly through her mind. She knew what the woman looked like—someone who disdained Miranda for her humble origins and had wanted to embarrass her had pointed out Mrs. Robinson in the park one day. She’d passed the woman by without any acknowledgment, of course, but she’d seen her clearly.

“Call for her maid, if you please.” Her husband’s voice broke into her reverie. Blinking to clear the now-gathering tears from her eyes, she saw that their game had stopped and they were both watching her.

“You see, Parker. It is as I suspected. The duchess is not well.” Adrian approached and crouched down before her. “Her complexion is now turning green.”

Parker rang for the footman, who was sent off for Fisk. Then he walked closer, squinting as he leaned down to her. “Was it the soup, do you think? Something spoiled at dinner?”

Miranda took a deep breath and shook her head. “I think that I am simply overtired from traveling. If you will excuse me,” she said as she stood, or tried to, for her legs would not hold her up. Pausing for a moment and allowing Adrian to offer her his arm in support, she took in another deep breath and felt her head clear a bit. “I will seek my chambers and recover more thoroughly from the journey.”

Parker backed away and allowed Adrian to escort her to the door. Fisk arrived and Miranda was released into the maid’s efficient and meticulous care. She turned to take her leave and noticed Adrian’s quiet scrutiny. He did not ask anything else of her, but wished her a good night’s rest and nodded as she turned away.

It was as she drifted off to sleep that she realized it was Thursday evening.

Day was full upon them when Miranda next opened her eyes. Even the drawn curtains at each window could not disguise how high the sun was in the sky. Guessing it to be early afternoon, she pushed the covers aside and slid from the bed. As her feet touched the carpet, the door to the hallway opened and Fisk entered.

“What time is it?”

“Half past one, Your Grace. The duke gave orders that no one should disturb your rest,” she said as she held out a dressing gown for Miranda to slip into. “The house does not have its full complement of staff, so it was easier than most times to insure that you would not be disturbed.”

“Is the duke busy?” Miranda tied the gown and sat at her dressing table, allowing Fisk access to her hair for arranging. “Something simple, if you please.”

“His Grace has been closed up in his study with his solicitor since early this morning, Your Grace. Other than a call for some food and wine to be served to them there, no one has seen or heard him.”

Their lives did not intersect much at any time, least of all in the country, so Miranda decided to invite the rector and his wife to dinner. Tempted to include her husband, she hesitated, for his opposition to her presence was quite clear. She would stay out of his way for a day or two and then see if she could approach him with her questions.

“If the weather is as fine as it looks from my window, I plan on taking advantage of it and sitting out in the gazebo. Would you have Cook send some chocolate and a roll out to me there?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Should I join you there?”

Fisk stood and helped her out of her night rail and into a yellow day dress that had short sleeves and was trimmed in white ruffles. After taking the proffered matching bonnet, Miranda shook her head. “There is no need. You may remain inside.”

Miranda picked out a book she’d been intending to read and walked through the house, out a side door, and found the gazebo surrounded by pleasant sunshine. Once her chocolate and roll arrived, she sat quietly and read the book she’d chosen.

Actually, she tried to read, but irritating and bothersome thoughts kept creeping into her mind. Finally, she put the book down on the table and considered her options.

She’d learned over the last four days of travel that there were many things about her husband that she did not know. Lord Parker had regaled her during their time in the carriage with tales of his and Adrian’s visits to the various Windmere estates and other places in England. Even a hunting lodge in Scotland that Miranda did not know the Warfield family owned. When he’d looked embarrassed about having mentioned it, she knew it was used for the type of event a wife was not invited to attend.

She’d learned last night that her husband could be stubborn and secretive. Something was indeed going on, and he did not want her interference. His words clearly told her she was an inconvenient interruption to his plans.

The wind blew a loose curl free and it fell into her face. Miranda tugged off the bonnet and laid it on her lap, rearranging the curl.

She’d also learned, by her own weakness and reaction to the thought of his more personal relationship, that she would not be able to broach such a subject with him. They’d adjusted over the past few years to a certain level of marital involvement, and, although it was not the warm and personable one she’d dreamed of having with her husband, it was clearly his choice.

She smiled at her own folly. A momentary lapse in the duke’s behavior did not mean he wanted things to change. It meant that he was simply a man. She should have waited for something more significant than one night’s overindulgence to signal a change in him…or a crack in his ducal veneer.

“You do make such a lovely sight, Your Grace.”

The words and Lord Parker’s approach startled her out of her thoughts. “My lord, you surprised me.” Shading her eyes to see him in the bright sunlight, she realized she had no bonnet on.

“Pardon for barging in on you here, Your Grace. I’ve been bumping around the house and grounds and not having much success finding anyone else. Well, at least anyone who is not engaged in some earth-shatteringly important endeavor that cannot be interrupted.”

He looked confused and then laughed. “Not that your activity here is not as important—that is, not as…”

Miranda held up her hand to stop him. “I took no offense at your words,” she said, pointing to an empty chair. “Join me if you care to.”

As they slipped into a pleasant conversation about the estate, Miranda realized that she’d spoken more to Parker in these last few days than she’d spoken to Adrian in years.

He tugged the curtain aside once more to watch her. From his study he had a clear view of the gazebo on the western veranda and its occupants. His wife had been alone for some time before Parker had joined her. They seemed to rub along quite companionably. Parker had told him of the journey north from town. Although she still looked pale, Miranda did appear recovered from whatever had ailed her last evening.

“So, that is the extent of the settlement for the duchess? No property, no title?” Adrian turned to face his solicitor.

The terms of the will and the entailment were not a complete surprise to him—without a male heir to inherit directly, everything moved to his grandfather’s other line. His mother had also inherited an income from her eldest brother, so her future was quite settled.

Miranda was a different sort of problem. With her widow’s jointure, she would live closer to the edge of genteel poverty than to the standards to which she’d become accustomed. When they had married, her dowry had replenished his family’s depleted coffers and allowed him, on his accession, to make much needed improvements on the grounds here, as well as on the other family estates. Her father, overwhelmed by the prestige of joining his with the exalted Warfield family and Windmere name, was not overly concerned with carving out a protected settlement for Miranda. And he’d been willing to pay for the privilege of his daughter marrying even the second son of the esteemed Duke of Windmere.