After The Storm (4 page)

He glowered at her but remained silent, neither accepting nor rejecting her apology.

Mrs. Anderson broke the thick silence as she bustled into the room and hurried straightaway to the pianoforte.

Elyse cleared her throat. “Very well, shall we get started? Mrs. Anderson, if you’d not mind, would you play for us?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Anderson smiled demurely as she smoothed her skirts before sinking onto the bench and positioning her fingers above the keys.

Turning away from the glaring duke, Miranda watched in surprise as Mrs. Anderson stretched out her elegant fingers and played the same melody as Elyse.

“Hugh, if you’d not mind, Miss MacDonough is a beginner, so do take care to watch your toes.” Elyse grinned at Miranda, who couldn’t decide if she was irritated or amused at the sudden glint in Hugh’s eyes. Clapping her hands again, Elyse added, “We’ll begin with a simple waltz.”

Before Miranda could utter a sound, Hugh caught her hand in his, and lowered his free hand to sit on her hip. Heat flared through her and she fought down the urge to slap him for his impudence. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

“No, all is well, Randi,” Elyse broke in, her voice airy with amusement. “He is supposed to touch you. It’s quite the scandalous dance, you know.”

She didn’t, and it seemed terribly forward for this strange man to put his hands on her. “Take care not to slip, then,” she growled, glaring up at him.

“Randi, is it?” He still didn’t smile, but his eyes were no longer quite as hard. “Withdraw your claws, my lady.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve no need to hiss and spit. I assure you, I am quite the accomplished dancer, if a bit slow and ungainly. Do not let the limp fool you.” He glided her back, away from Elyse, who counted aloud and added a ‘turn and step’ every fourth beat. His fingers pressed against her hip, and she promptly tripped over his left foot.

Heat erupted in her cheeks at her clumsiness. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

He remained unperturbed. “Remember, you’ve no need to apologize, you are a beginner and it is to be expected.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she forced her attention back to the waltz. The last thing she wished was to stumble again.

“So, how do you like England?”

The sudden, rather friendly question jarred her, and she stumbled again, this time with a sharp, “Bloody hell…”

Hugh caught her as the toe of her slipper snagged in her hem. “Easy, Miss MacDonough. It wouldn’t do for us
both
to be limping.”

Her cheeks burned as she swallowed an annoyed sigh, irritated at her unusual clumsiness. “Again, I beg your—”

“Step and turn…one…two…”

Blocking out Elyse’s incessant counting, Miranda shook her head. “As for your question, I find I prefer Scotland far more.”

Hugh surprised her by chuckling. “A woman after my own heart.”

His velvety laugh rippled along her spine, as it was quite unexpected, and she smiled up at him. “Do you spend much time in Scotland then?”

“As much as possible,” he murmured as his gaze held hers.

“Back and glide…”

Hugh moved gracefully for a man of his size, quite smooth, indeed, in spite of his curious limp. “Did you take a tumble recently?”

“Not exactly.”

“And glide and step…”

As he spun her, Miranda asked, “Then why do you limp?”

“That, my lady, is none of your concern.”

The defensive tone of his voice made her sniff. The glimpse of humor faded, much to her chagrin. “Och, now, there isna need to be snippy. I was but asking.”

“And I was but answering,” he replied mildly. “And I will not answer again, so do not ask.”

“Verra well…be that way…I care not anyhow.” Miranda tossed her head and turned her attention back to Elyse and tried like mad not to notice how warm Hugh’s hand was on her hip, or how his hand folded so protectively over hers.

She caught on rather quickly, and was quite proud of herself, indeed. Then she lost count, and stomped upon Hugh’s left foot a third time. “Oh, forgive me!”

He sucked in his breath, and smiled tightly as he muttered, “You are forgiven again.”

His limp became even more pronounced when the same thing happened twice more. Miranda’s face grew hot, and then hotter still, until she was afraid her entire head would burst into flames. Her blush burned even worse when Hugh said, “If you’d be so kind, aim for my right foot on the next pass.”

“I shall do my best,” she grumbled and scowled at the floor as she fought to remain focused on which step came next. Then, she did just as Hugh suggested, and stomped down upon his right foot, twisting her ankle in the process.

Fortunately, he caught her before she sprawled across the floor, but it did blessed little to ease her embarrassment. He said not a word, but cocked a thick black brow at her and her face heated up once more at his amusement. Oh well. At least he no longer scowled.

Her sigh was one of relief when Mrs. Anderson’s hands went still and the tinkling notes died away. Hugh released her, and she turned to find Elyse beaming at them. “You did quite well, Randi. Shall we try another? Or perhaps a quadrille?”

She glanced up at Hugh. She’d love to dance close to him again, despite her clumsiness, but she certainly wouldn’t admit it aloud. Besides, he didn’t look at all eager to attempt another one with her. “Perhaps a quadrille, although it sounds quite complicated.”

“Oh, it is,” Elyse replied with a cheerful nod. “And by tomorrow, you will ache in places you hadn’t known possible. But worry not, it will only be a few days or so and then you will dance as though you were born knowing how.” She looked from Miranda to Hugh and back. “Shall we?”

“Actually, I am afraid I need excuse myself, Elyse.” Hugh stepped away from Miranda. “The Countess and Sally will be arriving soon to join us for dinner. And I have work awaiting me.”

“Oh, yes…I forgot. Drat it all.” Elyse frowned, tapping her pursed lips with a forefinger. “Then we will call it a day. I am sure you’d like a hot bath before dinner, wouldn’t you, Randi?”

It meant the end of dancing with Hugh, but she was relieved just the same. “That sounds quite nice, actually.”

“Very well. We are finished for today, but we will pick it up at half-past one tomorrow. Will you be joining us, Hugh?”

Miranda fought the urge to fidget as Hugh’s gaze rested on her and he replied, “I am afraid that won’t be possible. You will have to pull in Ashton or Gerry.”

“Gerry’s gone to Kent for a few days and Derek is not nearly as accomplished a dancer as you are, Hugh. And you did promise.”

“And I will be here the day after. Unfortunately, I have things to attend tomorrow.” Hugh smiled at his sister. “Good afternoon, Elyse, Miss MacDonough.”

Miranda felt a small pang as Hugh bobbed his head in his sister’s direction and limped over to retrieve his cane, pivoted on the silver cap, and ambled from the room. It was quite curious, as she didn’t think she’d hurt him
too
badly, although she had caught him good more than once. “Did your brother take a fall recently?”

“I beg your pardon?” Elyse asked, looking up from where she’d been standing, peering down over Mrs. Anderson’s shoulder.

“Hugh. I noticed he was limping a bit.”

“Oh. Pay no mind to it. A war injury.”

“War injury?”

Mrs. Anderson nodded. “It is something he’s not likely to discuss, so you’d best be certain
not
to mention it.”

“I don’t think Hugh would mind.” Elyse flipped through the pages of sheet music propped on the pianoforte. “A question never harmed a body, after all.”

“It’s impudent for Miss MacDonough to pepper His Grace with silly questions.”

“Oh, come now, there is nothing amiss about asking a question or two.” Elyse lifted the stack of music and neatened it. “It’s simply of late he has so much on his mind. It tends to leave him a bit testy at times.”

Miranda joined them. “I hadn’t realized a duke had so much to do.”

A shadow flickered through Elyse’s green eyes. “The list is quite endless and he is still adjusting. It’s been not quite a year since our father passed, you know.”

“No. I didn’t know. I am sorry to hear that,” Miranda murmured. It didn’t seem enough, but to say anything else was pointless.

“Thank you.” Elyse sighed, and rubbed the back of her neck. “That is all for this afternoon.” She gave Miranda a sympathetic smile. “Mrs. Anderson, see that Miss MacDonough has a bath drawn and let her soak for a bit before the countess and her daughter arrive?”

Mrs. Anderson rose from her bench and nodded. “Yes, my lady.” She crossed to the door, and turned to leave the music room.

Miranda sighed. A bath sounded heavenly, and she already looked forward to seeing Hugh at dinner. Smiling at Elyse, she said, “A countess and her daughter are coming to call? How fascinating!”

“Yes, though I hope when the talk turns to weddings, which it inevitably will, you are not bored to tears.”

“I love weddings.” Miranda fell into step with Elyse as they took their leave. “Whose will we be discussing this eve?”

“Sally’s. It is only a matter of time before Hugh asks her for her hand.”

Chapter Four

Miranda soaked in the jasmine-scented bath for as long as possible. Sadness sank in with Elyse’s words, though she didn’t know
why
Hugh’s proposing to another made her sad. Why did it bother her at all? She had no answer, but it troubled her.

She sank further into the hot water, her hair fanning out over the surface as she eyed the bright yellow silk gown laid out over the foot of her bed. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she looked forward to slipping into a gown. Perhaps it was all she needed to boost her spirits, despite how she was never one to seek solace in fashion. For her, fashion meant only keeping herself from prying eyes and protecting her modesty. She cared more about comfort than style, and comfort was
not
what came to mind when she thought of donning a gown.

“Time to get out. We haven’t all eve.” Mrs. Anderson bustled into the room in her brisk stride and snatched up the towel from the low, three-legged stool beside the tub. “Up you get, then.”

Miranda looked up. “Do you mind giving me a whit of privacy, then?”

“Don’t be silly. And have you risk slipping and falling?”

“I can assure you, I am in danger of neither.”

Mrs. Anderson snapped the towel impatiently. “Up you get.”

“I am not at all comfort—”

“
Now
, Miss MacDonough.”

Very well. If she insisted. Miranda sent as much water as she could sloshing over the hammered brass sides, onto the floor, along with a shower of droplets in her chaperone’s direction. At Mrs. Anderson’s glare, she shrugged. “It appears I slipped a bit after all.”

Mrs. Anderson said nothing as she wrapped the thick linen about Miranda and briskly patted her dry. Miranda scowled harder when she snapped out another towel to scrub her head dry.

“Mrs. Anderson,” she broke through the incessant rubbing to snatch the towel from the older woman’s grasp, “I am quite capable of taking it from here. Och, ye’d think I was addled, the way ye’re fussin’ so. Leave me be, and if I’m needin’ ye, I’ll bellow loud and clear.”

Mrs. Anderson surrendered the towel, but not before retorting, “I will be speaking to Lady Marchand about your appalling lack of manners.”

“You do that,” Miranda snapped from the towel’s depths. “I dinna care. Go on, then, take yerself out now.”

Mrs. Anderson snorted, marched across the floor, and, judging by the slam of the door, out of the room. Burrowing clear from the towel, Miranda stuck her tongue out at the door. “And good riddance to ye, then, ye busybody. As if I needed help drying my own hair. The very thought!”

The towel draped about her shoulders, she scurried across the chilly room to dress in a fresh chemise and the clingy silk gown. It was unlike anything she’d ever worn, especially during a Highland winter. This dress had the short, puffed sleeves that were the rage, and a low, scooped neckline edged in paler yellow lace. It was quite pretty, much as she hated to admit it. She only hoped she wouldn’t feel terribly out of place in such a feminine garment or that she wouldn’t look like a mule amongst mares.

Along with the gown, Mrs. Anderson set out delicate matching silk slippers and Miranda winced as she slid her feet into them. They were at least half a size too small. She flinched and muttered, “Drat it all anyway. They will have to do, as I’ve nothing else appropriate to wear.”

As she sat down at the vanity, the door opened and Christine, the lady’s maid Arabella assigned to her, stepped into the room. “Miss MacDonough? Lady Marchand requested I come to assist you with your hair for this evening.”

“Oh, thank you.” Miranda assumed, with Aunt Arabella feeling under the weather, she’d be without a maid for the evening. “A pleasant surprise, this.”

Christine smiled. “Lady Marchand thought you might need the assistance, since this is your first formal gathering.”

“She is right. I am afraid I’d be all thumbs this evening.” Nervous laughter bubbled to her lips, but she held it back. It wouldn’t do to have an attack of the giggles before the maid, and she forced them into submission as she sank onto her vanity bench.

Christine was quiet as she went to work on Miranda’s hair, and Miranda fought to remain still. Silence reigned for a few minutes, and then she asked, “Have the others arrived?”

“If you mean Lady Hayworth and Lady Sally, yes. I was speaking with Josie, one of Lady Elyse’s maids, and she mentioned they arrived about an hour ago.” Christine met her gaze in the mirror. “Do you know them?”

“No. I’ve never met them. Lady Elyse mentioned they were going to be at supper.”

“Yes. Lady Hevingford and Her Grace are hoping to speed things between His Grace and Lady Sally. Everyone expects he will propose before much longer. Eyebrows are up because it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Exactly
how
much did Josie tell you?”

Reaching for a hairpin dotted with a beautiful amber topaz, Christine laughed. “Oh, Josie was quite the talkative one, she was. But then, I already knew His Grace was set to ask for Lady Sally’s hand. Practically everyone in London knows
that
. Lady Sally is the most sought-after lady in all of London. And His Grace has long been one of London’s most eligible bachelors, especially since inheriting the dukedom.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Miranda winced as Christine poked the pin into place and stabbed her quite firmly in the scalp.

“Oh, but it is really all quite exciting, isn’t it?” Christine’s words held more than a hint of wistful sigh in them. “They have known each other their entire lives. It was only a matter of time. Quite the romantic story, really. A true love match, His Grace and Lady Sally.” Christine chattered on as she plucked topaz-tipped pins from their velvet-lined box to bury in Miranda’s hair. “Terribly romantic.”

“Childhood sweethearts?”

Christine let out a tinkling laugh. “Not exactly, but something quite similar, I’d say.” Two more pins poked Miranda’s scalp and Christine added, “She is Lady Elyse’s age, but she’s had designs on His Grace since she was a mere lass in braids. No one was surprised, you know. He has quite a gift for catching a lady’s eye, as I’m sure you have seen.”

Miranda sucked in a sharp breath as she jerked her head up and another pin sliced into her scalp.

“It is sweet, really.” Christine frowned. “But Josie did mention that she wondered if Lady Sally is at all suited for him. He has changed much, especially since his father’s death last winter and I don’t know if hers is a warm shoulder. Josie said he hides it well, but His Grace was deeply shaken by the loss. Lady Sally is not known for her compassion.”

“Really?”

Christine set down the comb and nodded. “Yes. She is not the warmest soul. At least not in appearance, that is. But it matters not what I think, and I really oughtn’t be gossiping. Still, I cannot help but wonder how happy they will be, as she dislikes Scotland so. Once His Grace has things running smoothly here, I’ll wager he’ll venture north. I only hope Lady Sally will adjust. She is quite delicate, you know.”

“I can imagine.” No matter how she tried not to, Miranda spent the better part of the day thinking about Hugh’s intended. Of course she’d be beautiful. And not at all husky and tall, as she, herself was. No, she’d be petite and delicate—a lady in every sense of the word.

“There, Miss MacDonough. Does it meet your approval?”

Miranda smiled and the woman in the glass smiled back. Christine had artfully twisted and pulled her hair up away from her face, but allowed a gentle cascade of raven curls to tumble down her back. The topazes twinkled in the candlelight and brought out gold flecks in her dark eyes. “It most certainly does, Christine. I thank you.”

“No need to thank me, miss,” Christine protested even as her cheeks glowed with a pleased pink. “I take pride in my work and I think Lady Marchand would be most pleased, if she felt well enough to join you.”

Miranda nodded. “I think so as well.” She rose from her bench. “Do I go down myself? Or will someone fetch me?”

“I do believe the others have gathered in the drawing room, so you best hurry. Mrs. Anderson was already in a snit about something when I was on my way up.”

It hardly seemed prudent to make Mrs. Anderson’s snit worse. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Then I shall hurry.”

“Very good, miss.” Christine tidied up the vanity as Miranda pulled open the door to step out into the hallway.

“
There
you are.”

Miranda halted at the hot fury in Mrs. Anderson’s taut voice. She turned as Mrs. Anderson strode briskly toward her. Instead of her somber, damp, gray gown, Mrs. Anderson wore a sensible brown woolen creation that made her look almost completely square. It was enough to give Miranda the giggles, though she managed to swallow them as the groove between Mrs. Anderson’s brows deepened.

“Have you been looking for me?” Miranda asked, leaning back against the wainscoted wall.

“You are late and the others are growing most impatient.” Mrs. Anderson reached out to grab her by the wrist.

Miranda yanked her hand free the moment they touched. “Leave off. I assure you, I am quite capable of making my way down to the drawing room without assistance.”

“Then do so. It is terribly rude, the duchess and her guests being forced to wait because of your selfishness.”

Miranda gaped at the chaperone’s back as Mrs. Anderson marched back in the opposite direction. “
My
selfishness! It was
you
who forced me into that bloody tub and now you’re—”

“You will take care to watch your vulgar tongue.” Mrs. Anderson did not even break stride as Miranda caught up with her, but glided down the stairs with a weightlessness belied by her box-like countenance. “Rest assured,
Miss MacDonough
, Lady Marchand
will
hear about this and she will not be pleased.”

That gave Miranda pause. Aunt Arabella had been nothing but generous to her, and she didn’t want to hurt her after all she’d done. “Perhaps I acted a bit childish,” she conceded with a sigh. “And for that, I apologize.”

Mrs. Anderson was clearly surprised by the apology. She stared at Miranda with wide eyes. Then, she gathered her wits again and nodded. “Very well. Let us get you to the drawing room before they are all furious.”

Miranda swallowed her nervousness as she and Mrs. Anderson approached the closed doors of the drawing room and paused. “Just remember to be friendly, don’t monopolize the conversation. Wait until the duchess or the duke speaks to you before you speak to either one of them. And above all else,
please
watch your speech.”

Miranda nodded though the weight of each instruction bore down upon her. She swallowed hard. “I will. I hope.”

“Remember those four things, and you’ll be fine.” Mrs. Anderson slid open the doors and stepped aside to let her pass.

Heat scorched Miranda’s entire body at the half-dozen pairs of curious eyes trained on her. The stares impaled her and left her legs leaden. It took conscious effort to make her feet move, to make them carry her into the drawing room, but she managed, and crossed the threshold so Mrs. Anderson could slide the doors shut behind her.

The Dowager Duchess’s smile was coldly formal as she looked up. “Please do come in, Miranda.”

“I beg your pardon for my tardiness.” Miranda fought to keep from slipping into her more comfortable speech, ever vigilant of the curious gazes burning into her. “I’m afraid I lost track of time whilst in the bath.”

“Well, you’re here now.” Her Grace gestured toward an empty spot on the sofa, upon which two women already sat. “Sit down, Miss MacDonough. Elyse, if you’d not mind making introductions?”