Terri Brisbin (13 page)

Adrian allowed Thompson to do the brunt of the work cleaning up his appearance, and then asked that Lord Parker be summoned. Thompson was just helping him back into bed when his friend entered the room.

“A bit of a rough day, eh, Windmere?”

Adrian dismissed Thompson for the night and turned to his friend. “I have much to thank you for, Will. I would probably be dead if not for you.”

“It was the duchess who saved you, Adrian. I was only the messenger.”

“Regardless,” he said, clearing his now tight throat,
“your quick action at the club and then making certain that Miranda was here are the reasons I am still breathing.”

“I have heard you cough, but never heard anything like that,” Parker said. “I do not think I understood the seriousness of your condition until yesterday. Is that how it will happen?”

“Apparently. The physicians say that each attack like this one damages the tissues, and that there will be one attack when I will simply not be able to take any air into my lungs.”

“You have seemed much better lately. Mrs. Gresham’s tonics appeared to be working. Now this.”

Adrian knew the cause of this attack. Emotional or nervous tension made him more vulnerable, and he’d just had the most incredible epiphany about his feelings for Miranda. Then he’d crashed from the highest of emotions to the lowest as he’d realized he would need to find someone to take care of her after he was gone.

“Ah, speaking of Mrs. Gresham…” Parker began, looking somewhat embarrassed.

“What about her?”

“I was so upset by your attack that I may have shared her name with the duchess. Only for your own good, of course.”

“The duchess or the dowager?” He did not want his mother privy to his treatments. One moment in charge and look what she’d allowed.

“The duchess. Your wife.”

But she would be someone else’s wife after his death.

No, he was not ready to contemplate that issue at the moment.

“I will release you from your duty as protector now. Give me a day or two and I shall need to speak with you about another matter.” Adrian held out his hand to his friend. Parker shook it and nodded, promising to return as requested.

Adrian slid down into the comfort of his bed and found himself drifting off to sleep, but an hour or two later he roused. Restless now, he stumbled out of his bed and found his way into Miranda’s room. Using the footboard as a support, he stood and watched her sleeping.

With her hair loose and the tension gone from her face, she looked younger. The smudges were still under her eyes, but, hopefully, rest would take care of those. Never would he think that she’d take on his mother and win, and on his behalf. Never would he think that she’d care enough even to intercede, but she had.

Miranda moaned and tossed a bit as though struggling in her sleep. When she spoke his name, he found himself at her side. He lifted the bedcovers and climbed in next to her. Without hesitation and without waking, she moved into his embrace and wrapped her body around his.

He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. “Shh, Miranda. All is well now,” he whispered as he settled next to her.

He listened to her breathing as he held her close. Every part of him hurt—his chest, his head, his arms—
but for once, his heart did not. No longer empty, he knew without a doubt that he loved her. In these weeks of watching and listening and learning about her, his heart had known the truth that his mind had tried to ignore for too long.

He loved his wife.

He loved the way she laughed at terrible jokes. He loved the way she licked her lips after tasting her wine. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she saw him across a room and the way she moved so gracefully and purposely to reach him. He loved the way that she kissed him back and the way she closed her eyes and let out an exquisite sigh when he pleasured her.

No, when he made love to her.

Now that he thought back on it, they had been making love for weeks and weeks. Although she never said the words to him, he thought she returned his tender feelings. The irony struck him then, for he had fallen in love with his wife when they had so little time left to enjoy one another.

Adrian gathered her closer and she slipped her arm around his waist. The trauma of the last days was pulling him toward sleep again and he made his mind up to stay where he was.

It felt so right to be in her arms.

It felt so right to love her.

And he also decided in that moment that he would not burden her with his feelings. It was not fair to draw her in and engage her emotions when that would sim
ply add to her pain later. He would love her quietly, with actions, not words. And when the time came and he was gone, she would remember him for the good things between them.

She would remember him….

“Y
ou are in love with him, aren’t you?”

Miranda had tried to avoid the subject of her husband and had been successful for the whole of the morning. But now, with Lord Allendale off to his club and the children dispatched to the nursery for their afternoon naps, there was no hope of it.

“It is not a sin, Miranda. It is not as though you are confessing an
affaire de coeur
with another man.” Sophie smiled and leaned closer. “He is your husband.”

“I admit it, then. I love him,” Miranda confessed. “I just feel that saying it aloud is somehow tempting fate.”

“And his health? You were quite frightened after his attack.”

“
Terrified
was more the word,” she said. “Thank goodness that Lord Parker was present and knew of Windmere’s condition.”

Miranda stood and walked to the windows overlook
ing the garden. They were open and the scents of the blooming summer flowers spread through the drawing room. She inhaled deeply, enjoying them. Now that she knew of Adrian’s reaction to such things, she avoided having them in the house.

“And, if I might inquire, how is his condition?”

“He has not had another attack now in four weeks. He says that Mrs. Gresham’s tonics have been very helpful to him,” she answered. Reaching out to touch a cascade of roses in a vase, she turned to Sophie. “And he seems to have regained his strength after being bled.”

“However…” Sophie began, looking at her with an expectant expression.

“However what?”

“I can hear a very large hesitation in your answer. ‘He says…’ ‘He seems…’ As though you do not believe that all is well.”

Miranda walked over and sat next to Sophie on the couch. How could she explain this without sounding like a raving lunatic or, at the least, an alarmist? “Do you remember when I noticed that something had changed in him?”

“And you went off to Windmere Park after him? Yes, I remember,” Sophie replied. “That led you on to the path you walk today.” She nodded, raising her eyebrows for confirmation.

“Yes. He has still not revealed the news he’d received, but he admitted that it had caused him to—to
look at me…in a different light,” she said, feeling the heat of a blush rising in her cheeks.

“And he rid himself of his mistress as well. A good thing to be sure.” Sophie was clear on how she felt about husbands keeping women for their baser needs.

“Yes, well, I get the same kind of feeling at times. More an inkling of something wrong than anything definite. I catch him watching me and there is such sadness in his expression.”

“Does he know you witness this?”

Miranda shook her head. “I think so, for when he realizes that our gazes have met, it is gone in a blink of his eyes.”

Sophie took one of Miranda’s hands in her own. “What do you think is the cause? Do you think it is about…there is no easy way to mention this…about your not having children yet?”

Miranda could feel the tears gather. She nodded. “It is my greatest disappointment, Sophie.” She glanced at her friend’s increasing girth. “He has given me so much and I cannot give him the one thing he needs to secure his titles and estates. I did not think getting in the family way was a difficult thing. After all, girls get caught all the time. My father used to mention how this one or that one married to redeem herself, and had an eight-monther.” Miranda swallowed against the tears. “And look at you! You have managed three times to my none.”

“Has he berated you for this?”

Miranda smiled at that. Sophie was the first to her defense. “No. We have never spoken openly about it.”

“His mother, then?”

“You know that was the purpose of my visits each…” Miranda still found it uncomfortable to be too frank about these matters.

“Friday morning after a Thursday evening?”

She smiled at Sophie’s straightforward manner. “Just so. Although she would never mention the issue, her disappointment in me and her disdain for my inability were apparent.”

“Miranda, I am surely not the only person to recognize that no one meets the dowager’s standards—of behavior, of bloodlines, of wealth. It is surprising that the old duke met her criteria for a husband.”

“The kindest thing Windmere did for me was to put a stop to those visits. Now, after his mother’s interference that day, I see very little of her.”

“Miranda, have you never consulted anyone, a doctor or midwife, about not conceiving?”

She had thought about it many times over the last few years, but doing so seemed to her to be an admission of her barrenness. It would be putting a name to something that would then be real, and in spite of her desire to have a child, she was not yet brave enough to do that.

Miranda stood again and paced around the room, thinking on her friend’s question. In truth, she would like to know if there was a reason, at least an obvious
one, and there was no one other than Sophie who had spoken to her of the question. Even the dowager would never be so direct.

“Do you know of someone reputable who has some skill in this?”

“There are several physicians right here in town that specialize in womanly concerns, as well as midwives who usually handle the birthing process.”

“How would I go about it, Sophie? Would Windmere need to be there?”

“I could make a few discreet inquiries for you, and set up appointments for them to come to you. Windmere’s presence would be required at the physician’s visit, but most likely not for a midwife’s.”

“So, I must speak to him about this, then?”

“If you love him and if there is a chance of discovering if there is a problem, is it not worth it?”

Miranda looked at Sophie, who at one time or another had served as friend, confidante, sister and mother figure, plus coconspirator in a number of rather daring adventures while they were in school, and smiled. Sometimes when her friend spoke with such wisdom it was difficult to remember that they were the same age.

“
If
there is a problem? We have been married for nearly seven years and I have not conceived. Surely there is a problem?”

“Ah, but you have been the Duke and Duchess of Windmere for almost five of those years,” Sophie said, as though that explained it all.

“And?” Miranda clasped her hands together and sat on the couch once more.

“You could probably count the number of times he visited your bed in those years, what with the ducal responsibilities and that woman set up for his convenience. And I would be surprised if you had borne a child under those circumstances.”

“Sophie! How can you be so—so…” Miranda laughed, unable to continue.

“Blunt? Why dance around it? Now that he’s back in your bed, I suspect success is a short time away.”

“I’d better go before you corrupt me any further, Lady Allendale. My husband still trembles in fear of another outburst from you.”

“I apologized, Miranda,” Sophie said as they walked to the door of the drawing room. “In writing even. And I have tried to be the very model of discretion and appropriate behavior when he is present.”

“I know you are doing your best.”

“I will send word as soon as I have some information for you. Then you can go forward or not.”

“I want this, Sophie—for me, for Adrian and for Windmere. Forward it is.”

Miranda felt better than she had in months, which was remarkable considering where she’d spent much of that time. Broaching the terribly personal topic with Sophie and hearing her suggestion would make it easier to speak to Adrian about it. Surely, he must be con
cerned as well and would consent to any examination necessary in pursuit of an heir.

He was reviewing some reports from one of the estates with Webb when Sherman entered.

“Your Grace? The dowager would like to call on you, if you are receiving.” The butler bowed after his announcement and waited for Adrian to reply.

“My mother is here?” Sherman had closed the study door, so he did not know if she stood in the foyer or not.

“In her carriage, awaiting word, Your Grace.”

Although a devil on his shoulder urged him to refuse the call, Adrian would rather know her reasons for this visit than not. He nodded at Sherman to admit her, and then asked Webb to wait outside until he was done.

In a few minutes, his mother entered and, after a stiff bow to each other, they both took their seats. His desk was a sturdy enough barrier between them.

“What brings you here today, madam?”

“There is a matter that I wish to speak to you about, Windmere.”

“And that matter is…?” He would not drag this out any longer than he had to.

“That of your worsening health and your need for an heir.”

“My health is fine, madam. Although your physician made things worse briefly, now that I am under the care of
qualified physicians
I am improving daily.”

Her hands clenched, but he could see her fight the
urge to argue with him. It had been her own personal physician whom she had brought with her that night. In spite of knowing that Adrian would not abide being bled or being dosed to unconsciousness with laudanum, she’d ordered both.

“And the other? What progress is being made in that endeavor?”

“Madam,” he said, standing to bring the interview to an end, “that is none of your business.”

“As your mother and the wife of the twelfth duke, I find the continuation of our name and control of the title to be of the utmost concern.”

“I repeat—” he lowered his voice and continued “—it is
none
of your concern.”

“Wives have been set aside for less, Windmere. With a physician to testify to the unfortunate barren condition of the duchess, and the support of Lords and the Regent, it could be accomplished. The Warfield family must continue.”

“You would endure the scandal that would surround such an action?”

“For the good of the family, I would. You have entered into too personal a relationship with Miranda and it is clouding your judgment in this. Step back and carry the title and honor as your father did, and you will see that even such a repugnant thing can work out for the best.”

“Carry the title as Father did? Are you certain you want to drag up the past and admit to his mistakes, madam?”

It had taken his brother’s death and five long years
of struggle to put the family back to rights. Five years of repairing the damage his father had done.

“Sherman,” Adrian called out. He would probably strangle her if she did not remove herself quickly, so he strode to the door and opened it himself. The butler was a half step away and nearly fell into him. “The dowager is leaving now. Please see her to her carriage.”

She nodded and left without further argument, but the damage was done. How dare she bring up the past in an effort to get rid of the one person whose arrival in the family had saved it from ruin? Only the dowager would.

He could feel the anger rising within him, but did not want, nor could he afford, another attack brought on by nervous tension. Reaching into his jacket, he took out his flask and drank directly from it, not willing to waste time on finding a glass. Mrs. Gresham had been contacted and had sent new instructions and new ingredients for the dispensation of the elixir she suggested. This new one burned his throat, but seemed to work faster and more thoroughly than the last one had.

He sat in his chair, leaned his head back and breathed in a slow, even manner. Or as slowly and evenly as he could manage now that he was outraged by his mother’s suggestion. Thinking of her incredible gall, he shook his head.

Even if such a suggestion was considered, and he would not, there would not be enough time to go through the arduous process of ending the marriage. It would take well over a year in the church and courts, and Par
liament’s speed of handling something like this would be anyone’s guess. Beyond that, it was simply not done. And that his mother, with her standards of behavior, would come up with such a suggestion was frightening.

Did she know the truth of his health? Was she gambling that he could outlive the length of time needed to rid himself of one wife and get another? The duke he’d been even up until a few months ago would have jumped at her offer.

Now he was a man in love with his wife who wanted her protection first. A son could be raised to take over control of the estates and continue the nurturing and growth that he’d contributed since taking over at his brother’s death. A son could enlarge and expand the industries Adrian was investing in for the future of the family. A son…

Well, he’d certainly been doing his part to beget one, and Miranda had entered into it with an acceptance and joy that made it no chore. It was one of the best parts of falling in love with one’s wife, he realized. The other would be to hear her tell him that she loved him.

Shifting in the chair, he immediately thought differently. No, he was convinced that his course of action was the correct one. Continue his efforts to give her a child, and if that did not work in time, ensure her future by making arrangements for a house and an income that would provide a safe place for her to live. And, of course, his newest plan—find Miranda’s next husband.

Parker had balked, but had come up with a list of po
tential candidates for consideration. Adrian had done the same, and now that list sat on his desk. They’d removed any wastrels, rakes or drunkards. Also, any youngish man of noble birth who needed an heir was eliminated from consideration, since no guarantee could be given about that situation. Adrian was left with a list of men whom he thought would be suitable for her in their natures, manners and livings.

Now, as he reached over and pulled open the portfolio revealing the names, he was saddened by the need for it. Closing his eyes for a moment, he prayed for things to be different. To be given the chance to be with her and to grow old with her.

Suddenly, as if she’d been conjured from his thoughts, she stood before him.

“Miranda,” he said, beginning to stand.

“No, please.” She waved him back to his chair. “I did not mean to disturb you. Webb told me you were in here alone and I thought we might talk. If you have a moment, of course.”