Miranda's Dilemma (15 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Their fifth day alone at Applewaite proved warmer than any day previous. Miranda cajoled Adrian into allowing her a respite from the delights of his bed so that they might enjoy a day exerting themselves at shuttlecock in the brilliant sunlight of the courtyard.

The aim of the game was to keep the shuttlecock aloft at all times. Miranda had only ever played with older men or more sedentary men. It proved harder than she could have imagined to meet and match Adrian’s stamina for the game, and her gown was damp with sweat by the time luncheon approached.

“Papa! Papa!”

The child’s voice cut through the silence. Miranda whirled in the direction of the sound. A small boy of perhaps five or six ran towards them, clad in a blue superfine jacket and nankeen riding breeches. A tall, thin man dressed in an upper servant’s suit, Sanders the butler, followed close on the child’s heels, his face contorted with strain.

Miranda glanced at Adrian, his face suffused with such love, it made her catch her breath.

“Davey!” he called. A grin split the seriousness of his expression. He dropped to his knees and held his arms open.

The boy launched himself into those arms.

Adrian wrapped his arms about the boy’s small frame then stood, lifting him in his embrace into the air and spinning three times in rapid succession.

The child squealed with delight.

“Happy Birthday, Davey.” Adrian lowered him then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. The boy chortled then turned his attention to the path.

Sanders stood there, catching his breath, beads of sweat on his forehead. “My lord, I am sorry. I meant to have them wait inside and to come and announce their arrival but…”

Adrian held up a hand. “Never mind, Sanders.” He glanced at Davey with a grin. “And instruct Mrs. Meyers to bake a cake for we’re to celebrate Lord Davey’s birthday.”

Sanders nodded, his expression softening. "She’s been baking all morning in anticipation of his lordship’s arrival.”

Davey stared at Miranda with open curiosity, but Adrian’s attention was focused now on the path back to the house.

A serious-faced boy of about eight was walking sedately toward them. With his coal black hair and handsome features, he was clearly another of Adrian’s sons. In Miranda’s experience, his dignified bearing marked him as the heir. An elegantly dressed, slightly balding man of middle height trailed behind him. The man’s gaze narrowed in on Miranda, and his mild countenance hardened into a scowl.

From his appearance, she realized that knew this man as Carrville’s brother. But previous to this morning, she had never met him. But she had seen his portrait.

“Percy,” Adrian said with a nod.

“Danvers,” the man replied, now practically glowering at Miranda.

She lifted her chin and offered the man a cold, haughty stare in return.

Adrian held out his hand as the older boy approached. “Good Morning, Brentwood.”

The boy’s gaze lingered on Miranda with mild curiosity. He did not take his hand but merely nodded. “Good morning, Father.”

A look of discomfort flickered over Adrian’s face, but then he slowly lowered Davey to the ground and turned to Miranda. “Davey, Brentwood, I would like to introduce my friend, Miss Miranda Jones.”

Percy made a choking sound, and his face turned red, even as his eyes widened with curiosity as he stared at Miranda.

She was used to reactions like that. From fools. She ignored him and smiled at Adrian’s sons, greeting them and asking them the same banal questions about horses and dogs that she relied on to make conversation with gentlemen of all ages. She had never had to make conversation with noblemen of such a young age, but, to her relief, it turned out the same.

Davey was practically breathless with joy over being gifted with his first pony. Even Brentwood allowed a small smile at his brother’s enthusiasm.

Adrian watched Davey’s animation with amusement yet he could feel Jane’s uncle’s anger almost as though it were a tangible, seething ether on the air. Percy glowered at him. “A word with you, my lord, if you have the time.”

Adrian nodded.

“Miss Miranda Jones!” Percy’s voice broke and his face turned red. “She was Carrville’s night bird. And she is
infamously
wicked!”

Adrian waved dismissively. “She’s just a girl.”

“She is one of London’s most shameless jades.”

“Hardly.”

“I can’t believe you are here with a…a…” Percy turned even redder, the color spreading to his ears. It appeared that he might be struck by apoplexy any moment.

“A young woman?” Adrian offered helpfully.

“A fancy piece!”

“She was at the party.”

“You assured me that all the guests would be gone once I brought the boys.”

“She became ill during the course of the party. She needed time to recover.”

“Your sons are here now.”

“Being noblemen, she will not be the last courtesan they will ever meet. They must learn to conduct themselves around such women.”

“But at such a tender age?”

“They will not know what she is, unless, by some indication in your manner, you alert them.”

“What if I had brought my lady wife here?”

“Caroline would never dare set foot here, we both know that.”

“Yes, because of your salacious parties and the reputation they have developed.” Percy scowled. “I do not like it. I do not like it all, my lord. I watch over the boys’ education and welfare. I made a solemn vow to do so on the day my niece died. I take my duty seriously.”

“Yes, I know that you do. I also appreciate that Caroline gives them mothering that Jane can no longer provide. I know that your home life is so much more stable than the life I lead. But I am still their father.”

“Papa!” Davey’s high-pitched voice carried to him, the sound full of an intensity of impatience that only a six-year old boy who knows he is about to be introduced to his first pony could feel.

“We’re coming, Davey,” he called out loudly, walking away from Percy, who still seemed about ready to explode with indignation and outrage.

And the whole time he walked with his sons to the stables, with Miranda at his side, he asked himself why he had allowed this meeting to occur?

Why?

Because for some reason, he had wanted Miranda to meet his sons. It had been an urge he couldn’t resist. His sons were the most important part of his life. His love for them was his daily motivation for everything he did. He had wanted her to see that and to understand it.

But why should she need to understand any of that? She was not and never could be a part of his family life.

Long term, she could never be anything than a highly paid mistress to him.

And he had no interest, no business, to keep a long-term, expensive mistress.

So, he and Miranda had no future. Only a present. And those days were dwindling fast.

****

Since the arrival of Adrian’s sons, the weather continued to be pleasant, and everyone but Percy passed the time pleasantly engaged in a flurry of activity, from horse riding to bowls and nine pins to more shuttlecock. Now on the afternoon of the third day, Miranda held a glass of cool lemonade to her forehead as she struggled to catch her breath.

Percy cocked a brow. “I would think a woman with…” He dropped his gaze meaningfully. “Lungs as large as yours would have problems with her breath.”

Miranda had turned away from him, ignoring him completely for the remainder of the day.

But that night, in bed, she listened to the clock chime the two o’clock hour, still fuming.

What a hypocritical lecher!

She could hardly credit that he was even related to a true gentleman like Carrville, much less that he was a brother.

The bed curtains had been removed that day for deep cleaning before the winter season. Now the cold leached in through the bed covers. Shivering, she arose, naked, and rushed to the wardrobe where she wrenched her valise open and drew out her heavy flannel night dress. She threw it on and then rushed back to the warmth of the bed, huddling under the covers as shivers continued to wrack her.

Adrian groaned in his sleep and rolled to lie on his back.

She held herself still, so as not to wake him and willed herself to drift off.

It didn’t happen. She kept thinking about how lovely a tray of steaming hot tea and scones would be.

She hated when she couldn’t sleep, for it was this time of night that the difficulties that awaited her in London preyed on her mind. She had told herself that she could have a week alone with Adrian. But then she must return to her rooms in Soho. She must try again with Lord Holston.

If he wouldn’t have her now, then she’d have to swallow her pride and lower her standards.

How successful would she be at playing humble?

Adrian murmured in his sleep, drawing her attention. How boyish he looked in sleep. She touched his cheek, tracing her fingertips over the dark, prickly stubble.

Suppose he could change his stance about keeping a regular mistress?

But could he really afford the amount that Winterton was asking in order for Mama to stay in her house by the sea?

Rumors and innuendo, that was all she knew of Adrian’s true financial situation. It wasn’t the sort of thing that lovers spoke of in bed and she had refrained.

But her sense of desperation was creeping in on her.

It was a matter they would need to discuss, sooner or later.

She earned her living sleeping with and pleasing noblemen. She would vastly prefer this gentleman.

But that choice was not hers to make.

She sighed. Oh, the powerlessness of her position was something she had always resented. As Winterton’s unacknowledged child, living under his largess. As an adolescent girl, living under Cassandra’s charity. Then as a fledgling courtesan herself, forced to allow Cassandra to auction off her virginity to the highest bidder.

Only Carrville’s utter kindness had saved her from the sting of that sort of humiliation for all those years.

The door to the bedchamber creaked softly.

Holding her breath, she watched the door come open. Moonlight from the window shone on a small tow head. Stockinged feet padded on the floorboards. Davey passed into the shadows between the door and the bed, where the carpeted floor muted his footfalls.

The bed rocked, and cool air rushed in as the coverlet was lifted.

Davey came crawling into the bed.

Icy hands touched her arm.

She cried out softly at the shock.

He made a small gasp.

The whites of his eyes glittered back at her, his chocolate brown irises, Carrville’s kind eyes, looked black in the dim light.

“Papa?” he whispered.

“Hush,” she whispered, in reply, taking his cold little hands into hers. “Goodness, have you been out of doors?”

“My stomach hurts,” he said, in a soft wail.

She put her hand to his forehead and found it damp but cool. “Lie down,” she said, shifting in the bed to a half-sitting position, staring down at him.

“I am going to be ill…I know I will.”

The boy had been allowed to eat too much pudding with his supper. It was plain that Adrian overindulged him.

Everyone did.

Everyone loved him.

Of course they did for he had Carrville’s sweetness.

She stroked his forehead softly. “Hush, take slow breaths.”

“I dreamed of the lady in the white gown.”

“What is that?” she whispered.

“The one in my dreams.” His pale brows drew together. “She is taller than you but she moves just as gracefully as you do. Like a lady should.”

She couldn’t help a smile. “Like a lady should, eh?”

She kept stroking his forehead, slowly. His eyes closed.

“You have soft hands,” he said, his voice becoming lispy with sleepiness. “A lady is graceful, and she has soft hands, like my mama.”

“What do you remember about your mama?”

“I remember that we went to the fair with her.”

“Tell me about that,” Miranda urged.

Adrian listened to his son recount their last trip to the fair, at his seat in Norfolk. Davey described all the events almost perfectly, describing his memory of all the sights and his mother so well.

Except that Jane had been in her grave for years now, and the woman that Davey remembered was Dorothy. He took shallow, short breaths, trying to ease the increasing tightness in his chest, in his throat.

Christ.

His heart was breaking for his son.

He would do anything he could to bring Jane back so that she could be the mother that Davey so desperately needed. He would gladly throw himself into the very fire of hell if it would bring her back.