After The Storm (3 page)

“Come, Benjamin.” Bridgeton’s voice was firm as he gestured toward the long corridor on their right. He peered over his left shoulder, where Arabella and the maids stood and stared. “Her Grace awaits you in the drawing room, Lady Marchand.”

She made another strange clucking noise, wagged her finger again, and muttered, “Scamp,” as she hurried to catch up with them.

Miranda glanced up at Bridgeton. “Are you his son? In training, perhaps?” She nodded toward Benjamin, leading the group silently.

Bridgeton’s laugh was low and sensual, quite velvety in its smoothness. “Not exactly, Miss MacDonough. Not exactly.”

She frowned as they strolled along the shadowy corridor, past imposing-looking portraits staring down at them. “But—”

Her protest died on her lips as they rounded a corner and stepped over a threshold into an elegant, warmly-lit, drawing room.

A woman sat in a dark red leather chair pulled near to the fire, her head bent over the book in her hand. She looked up at them, and leather creaked as she closed the book while Benjamin cleared his throat and announced, “Lady Marchand and Miss MacDonough, Your Grace.”

Sarah, the Dowager Duchess of Thorpeton, did not smile as she looked from Arabella, to Miranda, and then toward Bridgeton. Miranda stiffened under the perusal, and then started at the most definite resemblance between Bridgeton and the duchess. They both shared the same dark hair and their noses were also quite similar.

“Good evening, Arabella.” The duchess turned her chilled smile to Miranda. “Miss MacDonough. I see you have met my son, Gerard.”

Embarrassment swelled in Miranda’s belly. Oh, dear. How gravely had she insulted the duchess’ son by asking if he was the butler’s son instead?

She glanced over at him. “I beg your pardon, my lord.” Was she supposed to curtsey? Wait until he spoke to her first? Bloody hell.

“No need to beg anyone’s pardon.” He caught her hand in his and lifted it for a quick kiss. “The pleasure is all mine. But I must insist you address me as Gerard. Unless you prefer Gerry, that is. I answer to both.” His smile widened as the duchess gasped. “I prefer it over something as stuffy as ‘my lord.’”

His eyes glinted dark in the firelight, sparked with a hint of the devil. His hand was warm, as was his smile, and it put her at ease as she said, “Very well, but then I insist you address me as Randi. I far prefer it over Miranda.”

His eyes twinkled. “Randi it is.”

Arabella shook her head. “I might have guessed. Montgomery men never change.”

“Gerard, if you’d not mind.” The duchess’ voice was hard and cold. “That’s enough silliness for one evening.”

But if his mother’s scolding chagrined him, Gerard kept it to himself. Instead, he grinned down at Miranda. “Benjamin, please see Lady Marchand and Miss MacDonough to their chambers.” Gerard winked at her as he added, “And see they have everything they need.”

“Yes, my lord.” Benjamin turned to Arabella. “If you will come with me, my lady.”

Arabella shook her head and muttered, “Scamp,” loud enough for everyone to hear.

Miranda hated to take her leave of Gerard. In the short time since their arrival, he made her more comfortable than she’d felt in ages, and she was in no hurry to lose that. Still, the choice was not entirely hers. “I should go with them. I’d probably only get lost if left on my own.”

“Worry not. Someone will come in search of you, if that happens. I’m sure we will have time to become better acquainted.” His grin took on a devilish nature. “In fact, you may count on it.”

“Gerard,” Sarah broke in sharply, “you will not interfere. Miss MacDonough has much work ahead of her and little time for distraction.”

As the duchess glowered at him, he turned back to Miranda. “Very well. I will keep my distance. I’d hate to interfere. Though, I daresay my name will somehow find its way onto your dance card and I care not if you make mincemeat of both of my feet. I understand Elyse awaits you in the ballroom.”

Her gloominess crept back. Was everyone aware of why she had been invited? True, it was nothing to feel shame over, but still, it was quite embarrassing just the same. However, it didn’t seem as if Gerard mocked her. A smile tugged at her lips as she nodded. “You just may wind up regretting those words, my lord. I am afraid it appears I was born with two left feet.”

Glancing down, he shook his head. “No. It looks to me you have one of each. I only hope you do not suffer at the hands—or rather, feet—of my wreck of a brother. I also understand he will be assisting Elyse. A pity I wasn’t here when Elyse was assigning her tasks. I’d have most definitely volunteered.”

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, Sarah broke in. “You would be better suited, Gerard, but you weren’t here, and Hugh was, though I think his time would be better spent on his duties.”

Her words left Miranda feeling as though her presence created quite the imposition, despite the fact the duchess made the initial offer. Still, it wasn’t at all comfortable. Not one bit.

Gerard sighed softly. “It was something that couldn’t be helped and I am not about to stand here and argue about it.” He turned a smile to Miranda. “And with that, I will bid you farewell until supper, Miss MacDonough. Enjoy your rest.”

Sarah still did not smile, but her words were a bit warmer as she nodded and said, “Gerard is correct. Rest now, for much is expected of you. I do not envy you the pressure you must feel.”

The duchess’ offer soothed her mind, but only just so as Benjamin appeared in the doorway. “My lady? I will take you to your chambers now.”

“Thank you, Benjamin,” Sarah said. “Miss MacDonough, I will see you at supper.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Miranda hurried from the room to catch up with him. He remained silent as he led the way to the second floor, and down the narrow corridor.

Benjamin gestured to a room on his left. “My lady, I believe you will find your chambers more than adequate.”

“Thank you, Benjamin.”

Another stiff bow. “You’re quite welcome, Miss. Do not hesitate to send for me, should you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

He bobbed his head and left her alone in the cozy room with the pale blue flocked wallpaper. Setting her satchel on the bed, she was pleasantly surprised to see her valise awaiting her on the floor at the bed’s foot. Upon inspection, she found her formal ball gown already stowed in the wardrobe with her other gowns, and she was happy to note, Mrs. Anderson hadn’t discovered her beloved breeches. She didn’t know if she’d be permitted to join the hunt Aunt Arabella mentioned, but she brought them anyhow. If the moment presented itself, she thought she might take advantage of the surrounding woods to disappear for a long ride, away from Mrs. Anderson’s disapproving stares.

And then there was the ball following the hunt. Despite Aunt Arabella’s reassurances they had plenty of time, apprehension gnawed at Miranda’s insides at the mere thought of any sort of party, never mind something as formal as a ball. The finest ladies of London were sure to be in attendance, and she had no doubt they’d all stare down their elegant noses at her.

Butterflies flickered in her belly. What if she fell on her face? What if every eligible bachelor introduced to her ran screaming in the opposite direction?

She smiled at the image, even as the butterflies worsened. Amusing now, perhaps, but it wouldn’t be at all amusing if it happened in reality.

Her smile faded. Her father always assured her nothing of the sort would happen. No. She’d not fall on her face. Even Arabella was confident she’d not have to settle for a landless baron. Besides, with Elyse’s help, Miranda was quite certain she’d do just fine. It was enough to lift her spirits.

“Buck up, old girl,” she whispered, sinking down onto the edge of her bed. “If you take care with your dancing, I can see no reason why they shouldn’t accept you. None at all. Why, in no time at all, you will be as English as Lady Elyse.”

Still, as she spoke the words aloud, she had the sinking feeling nothing could be farther from the truth.

Chapter Three

Miranda jumped when Mrs. Anderson’s sharp, “It’s time,” came through her closed door. Time, indeed. Her mouth went dry and her heart fluttered as she reluctantly crossed to unlock the door and pull it open. “You are to begin your dance lessons now.”

“Dance lessons?” Coming from her dry, scratchy throat, the words were a mere croak. She winced at the frogginess and cleared it as she crossed her arms. “I assume we are expected in the ballroom?”

Mrs. Anderson was her usual, cool self. “Come along. Mustn’t keep Lady Elyse waiting.”

The chaperone turned and strode off. Scowling, Miranda repeated, “Mustn’t keep Lady Elyse waiting,” and hurried to catch up to her.

They walked along the hallway together, with Miranda towering above the lady, who at only a bit over five feet was almost seven full inches shorter than Miranda. The urge to slouch struck, much like it did whenever she found herself in the company of the village girls, who all seemed tiny and dainty compared to her.

It did nothing to lift her spirits, and when she walked into the music room, they sank further still. Lady Elyse Ashton was very much like the village girls back home—tiny and delicate, with fashionable dark gold hair styled elegantly about her oval face. She was dressed in a sedate gown of midnight blue, and her smile was friendly.

“Ah. You must be Miranda.” She rose from the chaise to walk toward them. “I was beginning to think Lady Marchand invented you to toy with me.”

“I apologize for my tardiness, my lady.” Miranda wondered if she was supposed to curtsey for a lady? Drat it all. Mrs. Anderson might have told her how she was to greet the woman.

“Oh, please…let’s not be formal, shall we? Elyse is fine.” The lady’s bright smile was warm and welcoming and eased some of Miranda’s tension. “Shall we get started then? We’ve much to do and not very much time. Will this be your first social appearance?”

Her belly lurched at the reminder. Miranda cleared her painfully dry throat and nodded. “Yes.”

Elyse put a finger to her pursed lips and gave her a long up-and-down perusal. “Now, you do understand the importance of knowing what is expected of you, in order to find an acceptable gentleman, don’t you?”

“I do. It is something my father attempted to prepare me for, though he took ill before we were able to journey down.” Miranda struggled to remain still under Elyse’s steady, green-eyed stare. “It was something he hoped to live to see, but unfortunately, it did not work out that way.”

“That won’t matter when we’re finished here. Time isn’t exactly on our side, but I think you will be fine.” Elyse’s smile eased Miranda’s nervousness a tad, but then her expression turned serious. “And since time is working against us, we should begin with dancing, since it will be infinitely more complicated than sipping tea and learning how to make idle chitchat.” She didn’t wait for a reply, but grabbed Miranda by the wrist, and pulled her out into the middle of the gleaming oak dance floor.

“Very well then,” Elyse released her and clasped her hands together. “What dances do you know, and how much exposure have you had to balls and the like?”

Miranda expected the question, but still dreaded having to answer. “I know one or two reels, and that is about it. We don’t have many balls back home.”

Elyse’s smile wavered, but she managed to hold on to it. “Very well, then. Do you know the waltz? Or the Quadrille?”

“I am afraid I do not.”

“No matter. I can teach you both.” Elyse paused, finger again pressed to pursed lips as she looked Miranda up and down. “But I think it’d be best if we found a partner closer to your…height.”

Perhaps Gerard? Although he had mentioned something about another brother, it didn’t mean she couldn’t hope, did it? She forced a smile to her lips. “And you will simply create one from thin air?”

“Miss MacDonough!”

Wincing at Mrs. Anderson’s scandalized gasp, Miranda cleared her throat again. “What I meant was, how will you do that?”

Elyse’s laugh was light and airy. “That won’t be a problem. Mrs. Anderson, please fetch the duke. He did say he’d assist me this afternoon. Remind him if you must. He’s been such a puss of late. I wouldn’t be surprised if he feigned ignorance.”

Mrs. Anderson didn’t look at all happy about it, but nodded and rose. “Yes, my lady.”

A duke? No. Surely she was
not
going to receive dance lessons from a
duke
? That simply could not be. A duke was far too important to take part in something so silly, wasn’t he?

She stared hard at Elyse, waiting for the lady to burst out laughing again, and confess to her prank. When she did no such thing, Miranda swallowed hard.
Please. Please don’t let me fall on my face.

The silent prayer echoed in her head as she turned to Elyse. “You are not joking? A
duke
is going to teach me how to dance?”

Elyse nodded and crossed over to the piano to rifle through the stack of sheet music lying atop it. “Don’t look so frightened, Miranda, he’ll not bite, though he might growl a bit. He is a wise choice. Quite the accomplished dancer, you know, though it was some time ago.” She slid a sheet from the middle of the stack, laid it on top, and neatened the pile. “And think, not every lady is so fortunate as to have a duke teach her to dance.”

“That is exactly what I am afraid of.” Miranda joined her at the piano and her fingers grazed the keys. “I will embarrass you and myself. My dancing is quite limited.”

“You worry for nothing.” Elyse nudged her playfully. “Though, I think it only fair to warn you—he can be a bit of a grouch at times.”

Her words added to Miranda’s distress. She was nervous enough as it was, without the addition of a less-than-enthusiastic partner. Especially when the less-than-enthusiastic partner was a blasted
duke
. “Perhaps we should wait, then,” she hedged. “I’d hate to put anyone out.”

An airy wave and Elyse shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. His bark is far worse than his bite. And if he did not wish to assist us, he wouldn’t be at all shy about saying no.”

Despite Elyse’s reassurance, Miranda’s insides tumbled all about as she stood there, hands clasped before her, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A duke.
Oh, please…please…do not let me make a fool of myself.
Why couldn’t it be Gerard she awaited? He was hardly a grouch, and she wouldn’t have to worry about his bark
or
his bite.

She glanced over at Elyse, now seated at the Broadwood piano. “I do appreciate your offering to take me under your wing, so to speak. I’m afraid I’d fail miserably on my own. My father was a good man, but knew very little of turning me into a lady.”

Elyse clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You sell yourself quite short, Miranda. You are not nearly as unrefined as I feared, to be honest.”

She chuckled. “Unrefined. Yes, I’d say that describes me perfectly.”

“Nonsense! It will be no time before you’ll look and feel as though you were reared by royals.” Elyse tapped the keys to fill the room with tinkling notes. Her long fingers were limber and skilled.

Miranda smiled at the melody. “Royals? You do believe in looking at the bright side of things, don’t you?”

The music died away and she had a horrible feeling she’d said something wrong. Then Elyse burst out laughing. “You are far too hard on yourself. It will all work out. You simply need trust me.”

Her horror faded as Elyse resumed playing. The melody was light and bouncy and brightened her mood considerably. “Very well. I will try.” She tapped her fingertips against the pianoforte’s top. “Would it be too bold if I asked that you call me Randi? I prefer it over Miranda.”

The melody died and Elyse shifted on the bench to face her, then reached out to catch her hand. “Not bold at all. I like you, Randi. I find your candor most refreshing. Normally it is only my husband who thinks to be so blunt. He’s American, you know, so I tend to think of it as an American trait.” She squeezed Miranda’s hand, then quickly released it. “I am quite loath to admit this, but I dreaded this something terrible. Now I think I will rather enjoy it. I
adore
matchmaking. Why, I’ve found two of my dearest friends husbands in the last year alone.”

Elyse’s warm ebullience did much to put Miranda at ease and she breathed freely. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so terrible, after all. “I am afraid I dreaded this as well. It’s been years since I’ve been in London and though my aunt’s trying so hard to make it an easy adjustment, I still feel like—”

“You’ve forgotten to dress before coming down?” Elyse supplied.

A giggle burst forth and Miranda clapped her hand over her mouth. Through her fingers, she said, “Exactly. It’s as though I’m standing here in only my chemise. I’m a bundle of nerves, and when I grow nervous, I’ve the terrible habit of saying things I oughtn’t.”

“Oh, pish. Worry not, Randi. As I said, I like you. And as for saying—” she broke off the last part of her sentence, her gaze flicked up over Miranda’s head. Rising from the bench, she called, “Hugh, I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten us!”

“I am a man of my word, Elyse. Whether or not I liked giving it.” The voice floating over Miranda’s left shoulder was equal parts sin, leather, and velvet—dark and rich enough to send a shiver down her spine. “I said I’d be here, and I am. Now, I haven’t all day, so shall we get started?”

“Right, then.” Elyse smiled at Miranda. “Hugh, this is Miranda MacDonough. Miranda, this is my brother, Hugh Montgomery.”

Miranda turned to face him. “A pleas—” Her mouth went still as she looked up into very familiar green eyes. Set in a very familiar face. A very
handsome
familiar face, topped off with thick black hair. Was it possible—?

Hugh didn’t smile, but his voice was friendly as he said, “A pleasure to meet you, Miss MacDonough.”

His voice took away all doubt and brought her back to the day of her father’s funeral, when she’d ordered him off MacDonough land. Amazing. What were the odds of meeting up with him again?

The look of sorrow from that previous encounter was gone, and in its place was a calm reserve, elegant and somewhat cool. Dressed as though for a special occasion, it was easy to believe he was a duke. His boots gleamed as if freshly polished, his buff breeches were wrinkle free, and his cravat expertly tied. The fall of snowy lace melded with the white of his shirt, and starkly contrasted with both the midnight blue of his waistcoat, and the somber black of his frock coat.

However, he didn’t seem to recall her or their meeting. Apparently it hadn’t stayed with him the way it had with her. A bit disheartening, actually.

But she wouldn’t let it trouble her. She had much more important matters to clutter her mind, and his inability to recall a five minute encounter was
not
one of them.

He gazed steadily at her, and her spine stiffened of its own accord as she found her voice again and managed to force out, “Yes. A pleasure, indeed.”

As he walked by, a muffled
thump
accompanied every other step. Miranda glanced down and tried not to stare as her gaze fell upon a gleaming black cane. As he crossed to the sofa, she didn’t miss how his left leg bent only slightly, and his left heel scuffed with each step. A riding accident, perhaps?

When Hugh made his way back toward them, it was without his cane. His left boot made an odd sort of sound, scuffed against the wood as the heel dragged, leaving a broken trail of black marks in his wake.

“Has no one ever taught you it’s impolite to stare?”

Miranda jumped. She hadn’t realized she
was
staring until Hugh’s voice cleaved through her reverie. Heat climbed up into her cheeks as she snapped her head back to look up at him. “I-I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” she muttered, wishing the floor would simply open up and swallow her. “I meant no harm.”