After The Storm (18 page)

He snatched up his cane and banged it against the floor. “Now, if you will excuse me, I will shuffle off to the billiards room, so I’ll not embarrass you further.”

He didn’t wait for her response, but stomped out of the room, not bothering to close the doors behind him. The weight of her stare bore into his back until he rounded the corner and out of sight.

In the billiards room, a heated game of whist had just started, so Hugh threw himself into an empty chair, and his cane banged against the mahogany table leg. Derek was at the billiards table, but Hugh had no desire to confront him now. Whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into with Elyse, he was on his own. It was none of Hugh’s concern and he hadn’t the energy to become involved in another’s romantic troubles anyhow.

“Trouble with your lady?” Gerard asked mildly as he dealt the cards and automatically dealt him in.

“It is none of your concern,” Hugh growled, rearranging his cards without meeting his brother’s smirk. He was in no mood for Gerard’s nettling, or anyone else’s for that matter.

Harry shook his head and chuckled. “The lady did not seem pleased with you, old man.”

The trump card was the seven of spades and Hugh frowned as Edward played a six of diamonds. Playing the eight of diamonds, he replied, “As I said, it is none of your concern.”

“Perhaps it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.” Gerard thumbed through his hand and his gaze met Hugh’s over the fan of cards, “but I do believe I detected a hint of green in the fair Sally’s normally much paler complexion. Do you think it might have something to do with the attention you’ve paid Miss MacDonough these past few hours?”

“Ah, the fair Scottish lass,” Harry sighed in a flat burr that did not even come close to sounding authentic. A dreamy wistfulness took over his meaty face, strangely out of place with his heavy brows and somewhat crooked nose. “She is a lovely piece, indeed. Why, if it weren’t for the fact my mother would shatter to pieces, I might pursue her myself.”

Hugh snorted. “Compared to the women you normally seek out, I’d say your mother would rejoice over Miss MacDonough. Far more suitable for the future Marquis of Thadford.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed as Gerard cleared his throat. “Enough with the chit-chat, gents. Let’s leave the gossip to the ladies, shall we? Are we playing or not?”

Hugh didn’t miss the dark look Gerard shot him, and he grinned. Time for a spot of nettling of his own. “It seems Sally is not the only one suffering a bout of the green-eyed dragon,” he remarked and played the four of clubs as the suit changed. “Have you gone sweet on our visitor from the North, Gerry?”

Gerard didn’t answer, but the dull, brick-colored flush staining his cheeks spoke volumes. Hugh chuckled. “I do believe this is the first time I’ve ever seen you blush, little brother.”

“Bugger off,” Gerard muttered, his brow furrowed. Tight lines appeared at the corners of his no-longer smiling mouth as he tossed down a nine of clubs and reached for his half-empty glass of amber liquor.

“Why don’t
you
pursue her, then, Gerry?” Edward played a ten of clubs.

“What makes you think I haven’t?” he fired back, his face ruddier still.

Hugh suddenly understood the reason for his brother’s obvious discomfort. “She rebuffed you, didn’t she?”

Harry chortled, with Edward snickering right alongside him. Irritation flared in Hugh’s gut. “Enough, gents. Let’s play, shall we?”

“Oh, ho, this is far too rich!” Harry burst out, setting his hand face down on the tabletop and reaching for his own drink. “A lady able to resist a Montgomery? Why, I’ll wager it is the first in the history of male-female relations.”

“Enough, Dorchester,” Gerard growled, setting down his cards and leaning toward Harry. His countenance darkened, his usual cheerfulness a thing of the past. “Either you play or you leave, it is your decision.”

Harry stared in disbelief at the menace in Gerard’s voice. Hugh wondered if his own expression mirrored that disbelief. Gerard was the most even-tempered of the Montgomery’s. To see his temper flare up now was a surprise, and proof he’d been right on the mark where Miranda was concerned. His brother
had
made overtures and the lady
had
turned him down. Amazing.

His jaw tightened. Gerard was free to pursue the lady as much as he wished, whereas Hugh knew he walked a fine line. Sally was relentless in the pursuit of her elusive proposal, and her displeasure with him would only grow, but he couldn’t sever all ties with Miss MacDonough. When they kissed, she awakened something primal and powerful in him. Something the lovely Sally could never touch. Something he’d never felt, something impossible to describe. It simply was.

Gerard was allowed to flirt and banter, to seduce and woo, until he melted through her defenses. The thought of that happening was enough to light a fire in Hugh’s blood. The thought of Gerard holding her in his arms, reveling in one of her deliciously sweet kisses only stoked the flames higher.

“Thorpeton!”

Hugh didn’t jump at Edward’s exclamation, but instead snapped, “What?”

“Your play, old man.”

Sighing in disgust, Hugh threw down his cards. “I’ve had enough for one night, gents. I’m off to sleep.”

“But you can’t simply walk away,” Harry protested, setting down his glass.

“Is that so?” Hugh rose from his chair and grabbed his cane. “Watch as I do just that.”

Despite the angry glares and protests of unsportsmanlike behavior, he left the game room to make his way up to his chambers. Perhaps he
ought
return to London, or to Kent. Perhaps putting distance between himself and Miranda, he shook his head,
Miss MacDonough
, was the wisest thing to do.

He frowned as he thudded dully up the stairs and grumbled, “I’ll be damned if I let Sally make such demands upon me.”

Halfway down the corridor, he paused and reached down to rub his aching right knee. He missed having two perfectly healthy legs, missed being able to take a step without pain, missed dancing with a lovely lady into the wee hours of the dawn. For one night, he wanted to be as he had once been, without the limitations.

The peace and silence of his chambers was a welcome mistress, wrapping tranquil arms about him as he locked the door, lit the candle on his dressing table, and disrobed.

Shrugging into his dressing gown, he paused beside the window, where raindrops pattered against the mullioned panes. “It will be a damp way to begin the hunt,” he muttered as he lifted the candleholder and turned to cross to his massive bed.

The hangings were drawn and tied back with heavy braided cords, his bedcovers turned down. He set the candle in a pewter dish before settling into the tick with a heavy sigh. Hot spikes drove up into his hip as he tried to make himself comfortable. Finally, with a disgusted hiss of breath, he grabbed the pillows beside him to stuff beneath his leg.

The pain subsided, and he hoped it remained dormant long enough to allow him the pleasure of joining the hunt. He’d deal with the aftermath with a hot soak and a long rest, though it only ever took the edge off.

“It matters not,” he muttered to the darkness enveloping him. “I ought be thankful to even still
have
the bloody leg. Although, if I’d allowed the surgeon to take it, I might not have this bloody wedding looming in my future. I’d be greatly surprised if the fair Sally saw fit to wed a true cripple.”

For the first time since his nightmare overseas, Hugh wondered if he’d done the right thing fighting the surgeon who wished to remove his leg. It had taken every ounce of will and determination to convince the man to leave it, and Hugh never second guessed his decision. Just as he’d never second guessed his decision to ask for Sally’s hand.

Until now.

Chapter Fourteen

A chorus of voices, all female, drifted from the breakfast room to greet Miranda as she approached. The general discussion was the upcoming hunt. Sally’s voice rang out, halting her mid-stride. Perhaps she ought to skip breakfast and, in doing so, avoid drawing Sally’s attention and any possible confrontation. Then her stomach rumbled making the decision for her. Hunger wouldn’t allow her to hide, not that she truly wished to.

With a deep breath she stepped into the room. The voices hushed and she felt Sally’s eyes on her before she actually saw the glare the lady offered. All traces of friendship were gone as Sally’s eyes glowed with pure hatred. Eloisa and several others gathered around the gleaming black walnut table, and not a one spoke to her as she moved to the sideboard and reached for a fine china plate.

Determined to ignore the vibrating vitriol wafting from the gathering, Miranda eyed the delicious-looking fare set out on the Wedgewood blue-and-white china. Pheasant and ham, fluffy eggs, kippers, muffins, pastries, and a variety of jams and marmalades made her mouth water. She chose carefully, well aware Sally would no doubt love to spread the tidbit that she ate like a starving guttersnipe.

“I must say, Miss MacDonough,” Sally’s voice was laced with laughter, “it is a wonder you stay alive. Tell me, does Arabella feed you but once a day?”

Miranda settled in an empty chair to the left of the pale, quiet Eloisa, and picked up her knife. “How kind of you to be so concerned,” she replied calmly, slicing off a small bite of ham. “But I am afraid that is simply how I am. You are fortunate to be wedding a duke. He will be able to keep a seamstress on so you’ll never need worry about your bodices becoming too tight.”

The other ladies, Eloisa included, twittered while Sally’s scowl deepened. “Yes, but at least
I
will marry a duke. The best
you
might hope for is a knight. Perhaps a baron. Someone who will not mind marrying a nobody such as yourself.”

Heat crept into her cheeks and her appetite faded. Her gaze fell to her plate even as a slender, elegant blonde spoke up. “That was uncalled for, Sally. You might wish to stop and think before speaking.”

Miranda looked up at the blonde, who smiled warmly at her. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Diana Stanhope.”

Miranda bobbed her head and returned the smile. “A pleasure. Miranda MacDonough. But please, do call me Randi.”

Diana’s cornflower blue eyes danced with friendly merriment. “Oh, I know who you are. Elyse has told me scads about you.” She rose from her place near the head of the table, lifted her plate, and moved to the empty chair across from Miranda. “I must say, I was quite disappointed my husband and I only arrived this morning. I hear you already caused quite the stir.”

Miranda chuckled as she spread strawberry marmalade over a flaky croissant. “Yes, that’s one way to describe it. A stir, indeed.”

“I do know Elyse thinks quite highly of you.” Diana sipped tea from a delicate cup before adding, “And, if you’d not mind, I’d love to offer up my matchmaking skills as well.”

Eloisa and Sally snorted at the same time, earning a glare from Diana, who snapped, “Oh, hush. I don’t believe I was addressing either one of you.”

Eloisa’s cheeks steamed scarlet. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

“Eloisa!” Sally turned her furious stare on her friend.

Eloisa’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed deep crimson. “Well, I do. And I think you ought to do the same.”

Miranda almost smiled as she awaited Sally’s response. Judging by the fire in Sally’s blue eyes she was certain she’d reduce Eloisa to tears. Even Diana seemed to anticipate such an eruption. She reached for the sugar bowl, and absently dropped a lump into her cup.

Diana lazily drew her spoon through her tea, Miranda exhaled slowly so as not to sigh, and Sally sniffed. A bit disappointing, really. Lady Sally did no more than blush and haughtily jerk her head to one side to cast her gaze out the window.

Sally’s sniff eased the tension and Miranda turned back to Diana. “I do appreciate your offer, but are you certain you wish to help?” Her knife clinked merrily against her plate as she set it down, and smiled at Diana. “I do hope you understand what that entails.”

“Yes, it is quite the feat, finding a suitable gentleman,” Sally said and reached for the silver tea urn to pour herself a fresh cup. In a voice as light as a summer breeze, she continued. “
I
brought over several perfectly acceptable gentlemen last eve, only to have them rebuffed.”

Miranda sputtered on the nibble of croissant and almost spit it out. No. Sally had not actually said those words aloud, had she? “Suitable? Surely you jest, my lady. Lord Pemberton was a bloody pig and Lord Mahoney was as dull as dirt.”

Much to her surprise, the duchess threw her head back to let out a throaty roar that seemed at odds with her elegant countenance. Her laughter echoed around the room, and she pressed a pale, slender-fingered hand to her breast as she fought for breath. “Sally, you did not truly think Stephen Pemberton or Mahoney were suitable, did you?” She cleared her throat and her peals of laughter died away. “Have you taken complete leave of your senses, then? Or had you simply imbibed in a bit too much champagne?”

Eloisa twittered again as a dull red flush stained Sally’s pale cheeks. The lady looked about to burst as she bit back, “One is a marquise, and the other a viscount. Both were beyond suitable.”

Diana grimaced as she lifted her teacup. “It’s no wonder your mother is so thankful you set your cap for Hugh Montgomery. I’ll wager she’s lost a great deal of sleep, worrying which
suitable
gentleman you’d bring home.”

Miranda’s light mood drained away at the mention of Hugh, but she managed to keep her smile firmly in place. “Yes, well, I did not find either one suitable.”

“How could you?” Diana shook her head as she sliced off a bite of ham and popped it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then said, “No. They are eligible bachelors, but no sane woman would wish to wed either. But not to worry. Not to worry at all. We will find one far more suitable for you, Randi. I promise.”

Miranda dabbed at her lips with a snowy linen napkin before saying, “I thank you, Your Grace.”

Diana smiled as she set down her fork, her midnight blue eyes warm with friendship. “Please, I insist you call me Diana. None of that silly ‘Your Grace’ nonsense. I find it a bit tiresome, never having a first name. And I rather like my given name, to tell the truth.”

“Oh, come now, Diana,” Sally broke in sharply, “you cannot possibly—”

“I can and I will.” Diana threw Sally a long, seething stare. “
You
however, will be sure to address me as is proper. And the same holds true for you, Eloisa.”

Eloisa bobbed her head in proper reverence. “Of course, Your Grace. I would never presume to take such liberty.”

Miranda didn’t know which was more amusing—Eloisa’s mousy subservience, or Sally’s puce outrage. Either way, it was a delightful change of pace, having someone else called onto the carpet for their behavior.

Sally glared at Diana, a murderous glint in her eye suggesting she’d like nothing more than to stab her with a butter knife. Her face burned an alarming shade of crimson, and she rose swiftly from her chair. “Come, Eloisa,” she commanded, her voice cold. “We do not wish to miss our morning ride.”

Eloisa sighed as she reluctantly stood. She hesitated, her gaze darting from Diana to Sally before she skirted the table to join her friend near the doorway. “Yes. I mean, no…we wouldn’t.” She bobbed a curtsey at Diana. “Your Grace.”

Sally grabbed Eloisa by the wrist and dragged her from the room. Diana chuckled dryly. “Ah, yes. The fine lady and her ever-faithful lackey. I do wonder if Eloisa ever grows tired of being Sally Hayworth’s lapdog.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Diana lifted the pitcher of cream and poured some into her tea. “Eloisa is a simple girl. Common-born. I’m afraid she will never do much by way of marriage. She’ll never attain the station she so desperately desires. It is the only reason she tolerates Sally and her nonsense. Sally is everything she’s not, but wishes she were.”

Diana’s words held no malice, merely a serene matter of factness that brought about the slightest of guilty twinges. It was pathetic the girl allowed herself to be browbeaten by someone such as Sally, simply to be able to call her friend.

Elyse stepped into the breakfast room, looking a bit peaked. Her dark green linen skirts swished as she bustled to the sideboard, where she fetched a tea cup before moving to sit beside Diana. She filled her cup and nodded. “A good morning to you both.”

“Good morning.” Miranda held out her plate. “Would you care for half of a croissant?”

Elyse smiled as she plucked the pastry from the china. “Thank you. So, do tell, what did you say to make Sally and Eloisa skulk off in such a manner? Sally looked as though she might throttle Eloisa, and Eloisa was babbling something sounding remotely like an apology. Did she cross her mistress again?”

Diana’s smile was angelic. “Oh, she did, but no more than usual. No, Sally is peeved only because I offered her a sip of her own vinegar. She found it quite displeasing, I’m afraid.”

Elyse peeled off a bite of croissant and gestured toward Diana with it. “Do not leave me in suspense. Do tell what I missed.”

Diana shrugged, buttering a chunk of blueberry muffin with an airy stroke. “I merely reminded her she is in the presence of a duchess and she is not an equal, no matter how many airs she might put on.” Her smile was more devil than angel now, and she popped the chunk between her lips. “After all, she is not a duchess yet.”

Elyse grinned girlishly at her, arching a delicate brow. “You have a most powerful ally, Randi. I hope you realize that. You’ve won the favor of a duchess. Sally would sell her own mother to be in your slippers.”

Miranda reached for the creamer for something to do. Elyse most likely exaggerated, but still, it offered some comfort. “I do, and I thank you—” she hesitated “—Diana.”

“Oh, please.” Diana waved away her thanks. “There is no need. Sally needs to be taken down a peg or two and I am just the person to do it. I spent far too many evenings nearly bored to tears listening to her try to impress me.” She cast a knowing smile in Elyse’s direction. “So, tell me, why the sunny disposition this morning?”

Elyse’s smile widened and her eyes sparkled as she said, “Oh, I was up far into the wee hours of the morning.”

Miranda glanced from Elyse to Diana and back. Why was Elyse happy over such a short night’s sleep? “Are you over-tired then?”

A laugh rose to Elyse’s lips. “A bit. Derek and I argued.”

Miranda took a sip of lukewarm tea, then lowered the cup to ask, “I am still confused. Why does arguing with him make you happy?”

“Not that we argued, silly. But what we argued
about
. Once we talked it over, the argument was forgotten, and the real news is cause for joy.” A mischievous smile tugged at Elyse’s lips, her eyes round and wide with innocence. “We’re expecting again.”

Diana’s joyful whoop reverberated off the walls and windows, but Miranda frowned. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. Is he not pleased?”

Reaching across to pat Miranda’s hand, Elyse went on, “At first he was angry because he felt he’d been careless. Simon’s birth was a bit...ah...traumatic for both of us. Derek was beside himself because he didn’t want me to have to go through it again so soon. But now everything is well again.” Elyse hugged herself, her smile girlishly bright and her eyes sparkled with pure joy. “In fact, he made me promise I’d hurry back above.”

“Does this mean you
won’t
be coming on the ride this morning?” Diana asked, her voice laced with amusement.