After The Storm (9 page)

“Enough!” Mrs. Anderson seethed her cheeks crimson with fury. “I will
not
stand for this behavior and a slap is hardly punishment enough for your insolence. Now, you
will
go and ready yourself. We are expected in the ballroom in less than thirty minutes.”

Dumbstruck, Miranda stared after her as she spun about in a flurry of iron-gray linen and stormed off down the corridor. Her cheek stung, and there was most likely a hand-shaped mark left behind. With any luck, a bruise wouldn’t develop.

She ducked her head as she scurried into her chambers. She didn’t want any witnesses to her most recent humiliation. It was enough she had to share space with Mrs. Anderson, when she was the
last
person Miranda wanted to see at the moment. However, it was unavoidable, as the woman was already in the room, bustling about as though nothing happened. She hummed as she laid out fresh linen gown of pale blue, chemise, and stockings for Miranda to don.

Miranda did her best to ignore her, and the chaperone seemed determined to do the same. But even as she stood motionless awaiting the older woman’s assistance, Miranda’s thoughts tore through her mind, each one darker than the last. How was she to ever make herself into a proper lady? No matter how she tried, she always stood out. She was like a giant amongst these women, and hated it as she never hated it before. How lovely it must be, to be tiny and delicate, like Lady Sally, to have fashionable blonde hair and china-blue eyes. How heavenly it must be, to be gawked at because she was such a fashionable miss, not because she towered above every other lady in the room. She looked down at her own attire and stifled a groan.

Despite her gloomy thoughts, Miranda remained still as Mrs. Anderson stripped her down and re-dressed her as if all was right in the world. She wanted to scream at Mrs. Anderson, to order her out of the house. That she could do neither was maddening. She could only imagine the results, if she created such a scene.

Though fury churned her belly, Miranda stuffed it down and ignored it. She’d shove the incident into the back of her mind and think no more of it. Aunt Arabella would be furious if she knew Mrs. Anderson slapped her, but since she felt a bit under the weather, Miranda refused to burden her. However, once her aunt was feeling more her old self, Miranda planned to tell her
exactly
what happened. Then Mrs. Anderson would be shown the door. Of that, she had no doubt.

When she was dressed again, and Mrs. Anderson left to go below, Miranda moved to stand before the mirror. Very soon, she’d be dancing with Hugh again. The thought brought a smile to her lips and lifted her gloom a bit. Hopefully, Elyse would choose more than one waltz. Yes, that would make the day a bit brighter, indeed.

“Are you ready?”

She jumped at the unexpected sound of Arabella’s voice. “Why are you up, Aunt? I thought you weren’t feeling well?”

“I am well enough to sit and watch you dance.” Arabella’s smile faded as she brought a hand up to Miranda’s cheek. “What the devil happened?”

Arabella’s fingertips prodded gently, but pain still shot through Miranda’s cheek and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh…that…”

“Yes. That.”

It was on the tip of Miranda’s tongue to blurt out the truth, but Arabella still looked pale and tired, as if she felt worse, not better. The last thing she wished to do was add to Arabella’s burden if she still felt ill. “I…I bumped it.”

Arabella’s brows knit to form a furrow between her eyes. “Bumped your
cheek
?”

Miranda gave a hasty nod. “I was trying to adjust my slipper and lost my balance. I stumbled and bumped the corner of the bureau.”

Arabella’s stare suggested she didn’t believe a word of it, and Miranda held her breath as she waited for her aunt to call her bluff. However, all Arabella said was, “I see.”

“It looks worse than it feels, Aunt. I am fine.” She slipped her arm through Arabella’s and tugged. “Shall we?”

Though she still looked unconvinced, Arabella nonetheless nodded and allowed Miranda to lead her toward the stairs. A silent sigh of thanks bubbled to her lips as they made their way below. There would be time enough to tell Aunt Arabella. Now, Miranda only wanted to make it through her dance lessons without smashing Hugh’s feet flat.

Chapter Seven

“And what has you looking so chipper?”

Hugh smiled at his sister’s clipped tone as he stepped into the music room. “Am I not allowed a bit of chipper?”

“Of course. But it
is
a bit odd. Usually you glare at that stick of yours instead.”

He tapped the stick in question against the floor. He
was
in a fine mood and wasn’t at all surprised Elyse noticed. “It was an interesting morning and the stiffness I know will plague me hasn’t set in as yet. Come this evening, it might be a different story, so I’d rather not think about it.”

It wasn’t entirely true. His leg
did
hurt. It hurt almost every moment of the day. Except when he was in the woods. Somehow, he’d managed to forget about the pains that wrapped about his leg like a serpent, and drove into his hip like a hot spear. They crept back not long after he and Miranda parted ways, but still...it didn’t seem to ache as much as usual.

It had been a most pleasant morning, to say the least. It was his routine to begin the day with a ride, despite the discomfort it caused. It was his one freedom, his favorite way to think things out, and he was not about to give it up on account of some aches and pains.

Then again, discomfort receded into the farthest corner of his mind when his gaze alit upon an absolutely adorable derriere encased in battered old breeches rising up from what was plainly
not
a sidesaddle. Miranda had the delightful ability to remove all gloom from whatever space she occupied and she made for a most pleasant morning, indeed.

“Yes, well, I’m happy to see you are at least agreeable to this. Unlike
some
men I know.”

“Is something troubling you?” He scowled at her. Her eyes were puffy, with faint purplish smudges beneath them. His hand tightened about his cane. “Elyse?”

“I am fine, Hugh.” She waved off his question as though it was a pesky fly. “I simply cannot recall the last time I saw you in such a fine mood.” A hint of suspicion crept into her voice. “What are you hiding?”

Not entirely convinced she spoke true, he nonetheless let his question go unrepeated. “Nothing at all. Now do stop badgering me. I should hate to see my mood ruined and you all scurrying in fear.”

“I highly doubt that will happen. I know all too well to keep my distance once the smile fades.” Her face brightened considerably as she moved to peer out the door. “I do wonder what is keeping Lady Marchand and Randi, though. I expected them down almost an hour ago. Ah, here they are.”

As she stepped back into the room, Josephine, one of the maids, paused in the doorway. “My lady, Lady Marchand and Miss MacDonough.”

“Ah, wonderful. Do show them in, then.”

Both women swept into the room, with Mrs. Anderson at their heels, and Hugh marveled at the transformation. Miranda looked ill at ease in the pale blue gown, but it was most becoming on her and transformed her into very much the proper young miss. Now if only he might do something about her tendency to tread upon his feet.

“Good afternoon, Duke.” Arabella’s greeting was pleasant, though a bit tired. She settled in one of the chairs brought into the ballroom. “I hadn’t expected to find you here.”

“I’ve asked him to assist me, as he’s a far more suitable partner for Randi,” Elyse glanced over at him before she turned her full attention to Arabella. “I thought it best.”

“Perhaps you might learn where she received that bruise.” Arabella touched her own cheek just below her sharp cheekbone, her brow knit and her expression troubled as Miranda sank into the chair beside her. “She told me she bumped against her bureau, but I don’t believe that for a moment.”

Hugh glanced over at Miranda and the shadow on her cheek caught his eye. A knot formed in the pit of his gut. It wasn’t a shadow, but was the faded imprint of a hand. A large mannish hand he knew belonged to no man.

Mrs. Anderson stretched out her long, tapered fingers and he turned toward her as she cracked her knuckles. One look at those wide, square hands, and he knew the person responsible for the faint bruise on Miranda’s cheek.

“Please do not speak of me as if I were not in the room,” Miranda broke in, her voice laden with a hurt Hugh felt.

“Oh, love, I’m not doing that!” Arabella patted her hand reassuringly. “But I do wish you’d tell me.”

Hugh waited for Miranda to reply, but she didn’t. Instead, she gazed wistfully out the window, as though she’d rather be anywhere but Thorpeton Hall’s ballroom. Arabella waited a few moments longer and then sighed as she patted Miranda’s hand again. “Very well. I do hope you will tell me when you are ready.” She turned her gaze to Hugh, her forehead wrinkled with fresh concern as she mused, “Tell me, Duke, how does Lady Sally feel about this...your dancing with my niece, I mean? We can always ask Gerard for assistance. I’d hate to see Sally upset over this when it is so easily rectified.”

“Unfortunately, there was an urgent matter at his residence in Kent and Gerard needed to leave for a few days.” Hugh was quick to dissuade the notion. Despite the punishment his feet were sure to suffer, he wasn’t about to push aside the opportunity to dance with Miranda again. She felt far too nice in his arms and he looked forward to that scandalous closeness with her. Sally might not approve, but there was blessed little she could do about it. “I assure you, Sally is quite at ease with it. And I don’t mind. It gives me a chance to escape work for a bit.”

Arabella didn’t look convinced as she cast a worried glance at Miranda. With a soft sigh, she said, “If you are certain…” She cleared her throat and lifted her hand from Miranda’s. “I think it might be best if I went and sat with the duchess. Is she receiving?” she turned and asked Elyse.

Elyse nodded. “I believe she is in the drawing room. Shall I summon Josephine?”

“Oh, no. Don’t be silly. I am quite capable of finding my way.” Arabella chuckled as she rose from her chair and glided to the doorway, but paused to call over one shoulder, “Do take care, Miranda, won’t you? Please, try not to crush the duke’s feet.”

Much to Hugh’s relief, Miranda broke into peals of laughter. “You know me far too well, Aunt. I shall do my best, but I make no promises.”

“I’d expect no less,” Arabella’s words were light with amusement as she crossed the threshold and then rounded the corner to disappear from sight.

“Isn’t it terrible, how clumsy I am?” laughter shaded Miranda’s words as she shook her head, “I should be mortified, but she does know me well, doesn’t she?”

Hugh tried not to glower at the bruise on her cheek, but wasn’t at all certain he was successful. Still, she smiled up at him and he said, “I think my feet will survive just fine.”

He shot a hard look at Mrs. Anderson, now settled comfortably behind the pianoforte, as innocent as ever, and it fired his blood with sharp, hot anger. “Excuse me a moment, Miss MacDonough.”

Elyse and Miranda stared, but he ignored them as he stumped over to the pianoforte. He bent over Mrs. Anderson and growled, “We both know what really happened, don’t we?”

Her back stiffened, but she met his glare easily. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about, Your Grace.”

“I beg to differ.” He kept his voice low to avoid being overheard, though he’d have preferred to simply blast the woman out of her seat. But as Miranda seemed embarrassed enough, he’d not risk making it worse for her. “Should you think to put your hands on her again, I promise you, you
will
be sorry. A few choice words from me and you’ll never find a position in London again.”

Spots of color rose high on her cheekbones. “Your Grace, I—”

He straightened and glanced over at Miranda and Elyse, who still stared with puzzled looks. “Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” he said in his normal voice. “Shall we begin?”

Mrs. Anderson offered up a wide-eyed look, but nodded as she settled her fingers on the ivory keys before beginning with a waltz. Hugh swallowed his remaining anger and turned to smile at Miranda as he crossed to her and held out one hand. A faint smile lifted her lips as she allowed him to draw her up from the chair and into his arms.

Despite her height, she was light in his embrace and he caught himself before he sighed at the delicate scent of lilacs wafting from her hair. To his delight, her stature meant they aligned perfectly. She didn’t look at him, but kept her gaze about mid-chest. He smiled as they glided across the floor. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. Quite adorable really, how she silently counted her steps. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they glided across the floor. “Your aunt didn’t seem upset by your disappearance this morning.”

Her head jerked up, her eyes clouded with confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I did not hear you, Your Grace.”

“Have I not made myself clear enough? You will stop with this ‘Your Grace’ nonsense, or I will refuse to respond.” He squeezed her hand again, considered pulling her closer, but thought better of it. “Ah, there is the smile I thought you’d lost. Tell me, was she terribly upset by your absence?”

“No. Actually, she is not even aware I was out and about.” Miranda smiled up at him in a way that sent a swift chill tearing through him. “So, let’s not say anything, shall we?”

“You have naught to fear. My lips are sealed.”

“I only hope no one else saw me. I’d hate to upset her.” The conversation must have distracted her from her counting, and she stumbled over his left foot. He caught her easily, without breaking their rhythm and her cheeks took on a most definite pink hue as she added, “She fully expects I will dazzle someone this way.”

His amusement at her bluntness, died on his lips. He’d forgotten the true purpose for her staying at Thorpeton Hall. One he found he’d rather
not
think about. Miranda marrying. No, not someone as wildly sensual as—

What the devil
?

“Why do you scowl?” she murmured, a tiny furrow appearing between her brows as they drew together. “Have I said something inappropriate again?”

“I beg your...no, not at all,” He leaned closer to add, “As I said earlier, I wish more ladies spoke so freely.”

“I’m afraid there are few in agreement with you.”

“Fools, all of them.”

Her smile widened, and he was struck by how warm she was in his arms, how warm she made him feel. It was a bit disconcerting, as it caused a variety of less-than-innocent thoughts to race madly through his mind.

The waltz ended and he reluctantly stepped back. “You’ve improved greatly since our last meeting. Why, I might even venture to put my name on your dance card at the Rowan’s ball.”

Her cheeks flushed again, but by now, the handprint had faded from sight. “I take that as a compliment.”

“As well you should. Not every lady receives an offer from a duke.”

“And why should they want one?” she scoffed. “A decent common man is just as good as a stuffed peacock.”

Mrs. Anderson gasped and Elyse snorted with laughter she failed to smother. Hugh fought back a smile, though he couldn’t contain it entirely. “Touché, Miss MacDonough. Very well put.”

She held his stare and her hazel eyes danced with a mischievous light. “I thank you.”

Elyse chuckled dryly. “Hugh, I do believe you have met your match in Randi. You’d best watch out, she might win in a duel of banter.”

He laughed as well. “That’s a battle I don’t think I’d mind losing. Now, if we might take a bit of a rest, I need to sit for a moment.”

The glint disappeared from Miranda’s eyes. Her mouth opened and closed as if she was on the brink of asking him about his leg, but thought better of it. It was just as well, for he had no desire to discuss it. He limped over to the sofa and sank down, stretching the leg out before him. As the expected pain blossomed, his jovial mood slid away.