After The Storm (5 page)

Elyse smiled warmly from her seat on the sofa opposite the one her mother offered. “I don’t mind at all, Mother.” She set her cup and saucer on the table between them and said, “You haven’t forgotten my brother, Hugh, I’ll wager.”

Miranda nodded, her cheeks hot again as she smiled at Hugh. “I haven’t.”

Hugh’s return smile was polite, if restrained. “I daresay, the feeling has finally returned to my toes, so you do not have to be concerned about permanent damage, Miss MacDonough.”

Elyse covered her mouth with one hand for a moment, then gestured to the gentleman sitting beside her. “This is my husband, Derek Ashton.”

She turned to smile at Derek. He was a handsome bloke, with golden-brown hair and aqua eyes. His smile was friendly as he returned her greeting. He was the first American she’d ever met, and his speech was fascinating, if a bit flat. Only Gerard was missing, and she wondered where he’d gotten to, as she was more than a bit disappointed.

The fat woman on her right was not quite as warm, her smile stiff, and her blue eyes cold as she peered at Miranda. She reached up a pudgy-fingered hand to tuck a curl of snow-white hair behind one ear, but still said nothing. Instead, she glared as if Miranda was no more than an insect crawling on the floor. Finally, she broke her frozen silence. “So,
you
are Arabella Marchand’s niece?”

Miranda stiffened at the tone of the woman’s voice, which suggested she had doubts as to Miranda’s identity. Holding the woman’s gaze, she nodded. “I am.”

“Well, I, for one, am simply
charmed
to meet you.” This warm greeting came from beside her and she turned to gaze down upon the woman who was one of London’s most fashionable misses. Petite and blonde, with bright cornflower blue eyes and a bow-shaped mouth turned up in a smile, Lady Sally Hayworth was as striking as she’d feared. “Pay no mind to my mother. I am Sally Hayworth, and I do hope we can be friends.”

Miranda forced a smile to her lips. “That would be lovely, as I am new to these parts and know very few people.”

“Well, we will simply have to change
that
, won’t we?” Sally’s laughter was light and airy. “I understand you spent a portion of this afternoon learning to dance? Elyse is a wonderful teacher, isn’t she? And Hugh is one of the most accomplished dancers in all of London. When he doesn’t play up that silly limp of his.” Another giggle and she shook a playful finger under Miranda’s nose. “But you’d best not be thinking of trying to snatch him away.”

Miranda fought an overwhelming urge to grab the finger wagging beneath her nose and snap it in two, but she managed a laugh of her own. “You have naught to fear, my lady. I am afraid a duke might be a bit ill-suited for my liking.”

Sally’s gaze flicked to Hugh, and Miranda saw a sigh rise up to the lady’s lips. But then, she could hardly fault Sally, for His Grace was most definitely sigh-inducing. An urge to sigh right along with her rose up, but she kept it contained. He appeared not to notice either one of them staring, as he was now engrossed in conversation with his brother-in-law.

“Oh, you’ve nothing to fear,” Lady Hevingford chuckled as she eyed Miranda up and down, “I’m quite certain Miss Marchand is well aware of her—ah—situation, and which gentlemen are considered appropriate and which aren’t.”

“MacDonough,” Miranda muttered without thinking.

“I beg your pardon?” The countess stared down her nose again.

“I am not a Marchand. I am a MacDonough.”

“Are you, then?” Lady Hevingford’s superior smile rested on her for a long, patronizing moment. There was nothing at all friendly in her smile, but rather very much the smile a spider offers a fly trapped in its web. Lady Hevingford’s voice was equally superior and cold as she continued, “I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

Miranda held the countess’s stare easily and her back prickled as her temper sparked. “I will, but please remember in the future.”

The duchess cleared her throat as the two women glared at one another. “If we are all ready, then, we should go to the dining room.”

Lady Hevingford rose to her feet with a rustling crush of claret-colored taffeta. “Come along, Sally. I am certain your duke wishes you to walk with him.”

“Mother!” Sally shot her a glance and shook her head. “Ignore my mother. She sometimes forgets herself.”

“I heard that, Sally,” Lady Hevingford called over her shoulder as she stomped out of the room behind the duchess. It was comical, as the woman was almost perfectly round, and looked very much like an oversized cherry in her dark red gown.

Hugh stepped up, indeed offering his arm to his intended. “May I?”

There was a definite pang in Miranda’s belly as Lady Sally beamed up in admiration at the man beside her. The glow in her face and the pleasure in her eyes only added to her striking beauty and Miranda flinched at her first taste of bitter envy. How she’d love to switch places with Sally, if only for the day. How delightful to experience that wonderful rush of pleasure, to glow with it.

As Hugh and Sally started down the hallway, Miranda hung back, taking in the duke’s broad shoulders and tapering waist. His limp was more pronounced than it had been earlier. She only hoped her foot-grinding dancing had little to do with it. A dull thud accompanied his footfalls, made by the gleaming black cane in his left hand.

“They are a lovely couple, don’t you think?” Elyse sidled up to her and nudged her. “She’s been in love with him since she was about six years old.”

Another pang, stronger than the last, and she nodded slowly. “They seem perfectly suited.” She glanced up at Derek, walking on his wife’s right side. “Your husband…where in America is he from?”

Elyse smiled. “He’s a Philadelphian by birth, Londoner by marriage, isn’t that right, darling?”

Derek chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ve yet to come to think of myself as a Londoner. I am still very much the Philadelphian, I’m afraid.”

“Well, give it time. You’ve only been here a short while.” Elyse waved him on. “Do go on ahead of us, then. Allow us a chance for a bit of gossip, won’t you?”

“As you wish.”

He hurried on ahead and Elyse leaned in to whisper, “It makes me wish my other brothers were here. Hugh and Derek don’t always see eye-to-eye and it can make for some uncomfortable moments.”

“And why is that?”

“Hugh cannot quite forgive Derek for being American, as if it were something needing forgiveness. He is still a bit bitter about the war and all.”

“You said other brothers. Have you more?”

“Goodness, yes. There’s Gerry, whom I believe you met earlier. He was supposed to be here this evening, but he was called away to Kent, where he has holdings. He is four years younger than Hugh, and Daniel, is not quite two years
his
junior. It is quite rare for us to be all in one place these days, but it does happen. Especially since my father…” Her voice trailed off, then surged back as she added, “It’s been a difficult year for all of us, but I think it hit Hugh the hardest. Not only did he miss the funeral, but he benefited from Father’s death as well.”

“Benefited?”

She nodded. “He was groomed most of his life to inherit the dukedom and his seat in Parliament. But I don’t think he expected it quite so abruptly. And he was in America when it happened, you know, lying abed, recovering after…well, after what happened to him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to return home in time for the burial. By the time he
did
make it back, it was all over and he was the new duke.”

Sympathy welled in Miranda’s heart. “How awful for him. Was he not permitted to return home for such a thing?”

A soft, sad sigh rose to Elyse’s lips. “I’m afraid it was a bit more complicated than that, as it has to do with the War. And, as Hugh is quite loath to discuss it, you can imagine how much he’s told me. But he was quite broken up when he did come home. It was fortunate Sally was here awaiting his return.”

Elyse’s words were bitter and Miranda frowned. “You sound a bit, ah, displeased.”

“I hope I’m wrong, but I think Sally is quite pleased with the thought of skipping Countess Stoneham and moving straight to Duchess of Thorpeton. I’d never say it to Hugh, but she does seem to be quite impatient for them to marry.”

Having clapped eyes upon Hugh Thorpeton, Miranda understood. Since she couldn’t very well
say
so, she concurred, “She does seem to be very much anticipating it.”

As they drew closer to the dining room, Elyse sniffed one last time and paused to face her. “Am I red-eyed?”

She leaned in, her face close to Elyse’s, and shook her head. “No. Not at all.”

“Good. I hate crying. I almost look forward to the day when memories of my father are more sweet than bitter, and my eyes don’t sting because of them. Shall we?”

Miranda paused on the threshold and eyed the dining table for her seat. There it was, beside Sally and directly across from Hugh. Her stomach rumbled as she took her place, but she ignored it. When the first course was served, and she saw how Lady Sally pecked and poked at her plate of venison, she was relieved to see she’d chosen wisely. Though she was hungry it wouldn’t do to have Hugh or anyone else at the table for that matter, watch as she attacked her meal. So she did no more than nibble, even when the rich, heavenly aromas urged her to gobble.

Halfway through the meal, Hugh lifted his crystal goblet. “So, Miss MacDonough, how long will you be staying in England?”

Heat swept through her and her mind went blank. Completely blank. Her face grew hotter by the moment as she stared and scrambled for the correct answer. “I…I am not entirely certain, actually,” she finally stammered, mindful of the watchful eyes trained upon her. “I do believe my aunt has said I shall be here until she makes the most suitable match possible for me.”

A grin tugged at Elyse’s lips. “Oh, I think you should stay here far longer, Miranda. Why, it will take no time at all to find you a husband. One look at you, and they’ll be beating down the door to get to you.”

The duchess took a small sip of her wine, then lowered her goblet. “I trust you will find a suitable husband. When Elyse finishes with your lessons, one will never know you weren’t bred a lady.”

Perhaps the duchess hadn’t meant it as an insult, but embarrassed heat filled Miranda’s cheeks. Elyse coughed softly, while Sally covered her smile with a slender hand.

Lady Hevingford laughed as she drowned her venison in gravy. “Oh, come now, Duch. Plenty of suitable young men would gladly look beyond a lady’s lack of breeding. And Miss MacDonough here
is
a strong-looking girl. She’s obviously of hearty stock.”

Miranda might have laughed if she wasn’t afraid she’d be scolded.
A strong-looking girl.
She tried to imagine Aunt Arabella’s reaction, as she’d most likely round on the pudgy countess and tell her exactly what she thought of Miranda’s being described as
strong-looking
.

Before the silence thickened into discomfort, Elyse cleared her throat. “Oh, don’t be silly, Countess. She is hardly lacking in anything, and besides, it is rude to speak of her as if she weren’t sitting right here with us.” She cast Miranda a warm smile. “And you are going to be just fine. I’ve yet to fail at matchmaking. It’s a gift, you know. When we are finished, you will have suitors six deep hoping to claim your hand.”

The heat in her face receding, she gave Elyse a grateful smile. “I thank you for your kindness, but I am not so certain I agree.”

“And why not?” Derek set his knife alongside his plate.

“Yes,” Hugh added, “why not?”

She glanced across the table to find him gazing at her with those hypnotic green eyes. He held her stare as her mouth went dry and her heart sped into a triple-time beat. Then she became aware of Sally’s stare, which was far less friendly than it had been earlier. “Most men seem a bit…surprised…by my candor. Or my tactlessness, as Mrs. Anderson likes to call it.”

“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Hugh replied, still looking at her and earning her another glower from Sally. “I find it refreshing, to be honest.”