Terri Brisbin (17 page)

“So, it is true, then?” she said, squinting at him as she watched him.

“What is true?”

“I heard two rumors on my return to London this week, and both involved you. I thought it best to find out the truth from the source. Especially considering our past.”

“And the rumors?” he asked. He thought she may have heard about his worsening health, but could not think of what the other one might be.

She released his hand and looked into his eyes. She was a stunning beauty, with emerald-green eyes and porcelain skin. Her long blond hair was arranged in some new style, but the length of it hung down over her shoulder and rested on her bosom. Her not inconsiderable bosom.

But she was not Miranda.

“That you are in love with your wife,” she said, smiling. “No need to answer, for I could tell the moment you kissed me that it was true.”

“You could?”

“It was a polite kiss, Adrian. Warm even, but not passionate, as the ones we used to share. It is your wife, is it not?”

“Yes. Things have changed between the duchess and me,” he admitted. “But that was not until after you and I had parted ways.” He laughed then, feeling very strange at the thought of being unfaithful to his mistress.

“Strange, eh? Did the duchess know about us?”

“Yes, it turns out that she did. Much more than I ever realized.” He thought back to the things Miranda had told him that day at Windmere Park. He glanced back at Caro. “And the other rumor?”

A frown marred her brow and she took his hand again. “I have heard that your health has worsened. Is it true?”

“It is, Caro. But I am under treatment and expect things will work out.” He smiled at her and she searched his face.

“You always promised that you would not lie to me, and I appreciated that far more than you will even know, Adrian. Why are you lying now?”

She had always had the ability to read him—his moods, his desires, his needs. He should have known better than to try to fool her. He met her gaze and then looked away.

“It is bad. Not much more to say than that.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and Adrian found that more difficult to face than many other situations he’d experienced. She leaned against his arm, wrapping hers around him and putting her head on his shoulder.

“And the duchess knows?” she asked a few minutes later.

“Yes, she knows,” he said, now feeling guilty over the delay in telling Miranda. “And she has been a wonderful help to me. Caro, I have the best physicians treating me.”

“Good. I am glad things have worked out between you. She was always polite to me.”

“To you? When did you meet her?” He was not aware that the two women had ever met.

“We have seen each other a few times at places in town. Once at Clark & Debenham’s shop. Another time at the subscription library on New Bond Street. Only in passing, of course, but she never cut me as her friends do.”

Miranda would never cease to offer him surprises. Her behavior, her personality—everything about her amazed him.

Caro sat up and smoothed her gown. “I am glad she is at your side through whatever you are facing.” His ex-mistress stood and he did as well.

“Parker said you had some news to share with me?”

“Yes, and then I must leave. Actually, could you walk me to my carriage?”

He held out his arm and they walked toward a different entrance to the Gardens, one frequently used by those not wishing to be witnessed.

“I wanted to tell you personally that I am to be married soon.”

He stopped and looked at her in surprise. “Married? I thought you swore off that state with the death of Mr. Robinson?”

“I did. At least I swore I would not marry someone I did not love.”

“So, this means you are in love? Who is the man?” He stopped and looked at her in surprise. The always pragmatic Mrs. Robinson in love?

“An American, if you can believe it! We met in Brussels and things have progressed between us. His offer of marriage came only this week.”

“And is he honorable? Where will you live?” Adrian felt more like an older brother concerned over a sister’s interests. Strange, that, for their affair had been quite passionate.

“He has a business in Pennsylvania, in Philadelphia, and we will live there. I just wanted to be certain that I could offer him my heart.” They walked on, nearing
the line of carriages. She indicated hers and he escorted her to it.

“This was a test, then?”

“I fear so.”

“And did we pass or fail?” He knew the state of his own heart and in whose possession it lay.

“I think we passed, for it seems we have both discovered love.”

“Just so.” He nodded in agreement. “You know that you can call on me if there is need.”

They reached her carriage and the groom opened the door. Adrian took her hand and kissed it. “You have my best wishes, Mrs. Robinson.”

He handed her up, and once she was settled, she turned back to him. “And I am always your servant, Your Grace.”

The groom closed the door and climbed up behind to his place. The driver shook the reins and the carriage rolled on. Adrian’s own gig was nearby and the drive home uneventful. He was met at the door with the news that the duchess was indisposed, so after checking in on her, he drank the various required concoctions and sought sleep in his own bed.

A
fter four days of not feeling well, Miranda decided that redecorating would lift her spirits. Adrian had not mentioned that evening to her, and she was waiting for him to do so.

Although Sophie had come up with all sorts of possible explanations for what she had seen at Vauxhall, all Miranda had to do was ask her friend her husband’s opinion and Sophie became quiet. Lord Allendale never spoke of the incident to Miranda, but his expression that night had told her exactly what she feared the most.

She was not certain when Adrian would return to her bed, but so far he had accepted her excuse of being indisposed. She heard him open her door each night and then proceed on to his own. Before, when she did not love him, she’d been resigned to sharing his attentions with another woman. It was, as so many had explained
to her, the way it was done. Now, after gaining his attentions and, she’d thought, his love, she would find it impossible to go back to living like that.

Looking for a distraction from her uncertainty, Miranda opened the storage closet and searched through the watercolors stored there. She was looking for a particular painting, one she’d done for him after their trip to Brighton. He’d laughed when she chose to paint a picture of the large yellow flowers that grew near the house they’d rented. If he could not smell them, at least he could be around them, she’d explained at the time. Now, with her spirits crumbling, she hoped it would cheer up the drawing room and her.

“Mrs. Manning, I do not see the painting I’m looking for in here. Where else do you have them stored?” The housekeeper was following her from closet to closet as she searched.

“This is the only place, ma’am. The other closet is not dry enough to trust them.”

“That is very strange. It is one of my newest paintings.”

“Your Grace, Meg said that His Grace has it.”

“The duke? Is it in his chambers? Or in his study?” Miranda dusted off her dress, closed the door and waited for an answer from the chambermaid.

“It is not in his room, Your Grace. I just cleaned there and there’s no painting of yellow flowers there,” the girl said.

Miranda waved them off and walked downstairs to Adrian’s study. She’d been in here a few days ago and
had not seen it. Sherman opened the door for her and she dismissed him to other duties.

As she’d thought, no new watercolors were hanging here. Walking around the desk, she looked to see if it was anywhere else in the room. That was when she saw the papers on the desktop, spilling from a leather portfolio. She only recognized them because of the names; it was the list of possible suitors for Miss Stevenson that she and Adrian had reviewed. The same men with whom she’d found herself dancing and eating and watching a play and walking and…

Curious, she pulled out the sheets of paper and looked more carefully at them. The list, with only Lord Parker’s name crossed out, included not only their names and her general comments, but more notes scratched around the margins and facts underlined in her husband’s own hand. Financial information, their worth, their yearly incomes, and another figure that she thought might be their indebtedness. Family connections and names of their friends and business associates were scribbled as well.

Miranda sat down and read the information several times. This did not make sense. Then she noticed the comments on the second sheet. Next to each man’s name was a list of her own social engagements and which of the men she’d met or spoken to or shared a meal or other situation with. If she had been given only this information, it could have been damning to her reputation, but she knew that her husband had been pres
ent at each one. Indeed, he had brought about the introductions and released her into the company of these men each time.

Her stomach churned as she tried to figure out the reasons for this bizarre list. Why would he keep track of such things? Even more, why would he seemingly plan such interactions between his wife and these men?

Miranda opened the portfolio to see if there was something that could help her understand his notes. A letter from Dr. Blake was there. The message was short and to the point—“for your use”—and his signature. The other document was longer, filled with medical terms and details of his visit and his consultation about her lack of fertility. She gasped when she read his declaration that, in his professional opinion, she was unable to have children and would be unable to do so.

Adrian had alluded to it, but had never said how negative Dr. Blake’s opinion had been. And this document, a report for the duke’s use, stated it in no uncertain terms—she was barren.

The tears fell before she even knew she was crying, and she leaned back so that they did not fall on his papers. There was no hope of a child, according to the doctor’s words.
Any efforts to beget an heir will be met with failure due to the duchess’s infertile womb.

Waves of nausea passed over her as she sat there thinking about and crying over what she’d read. And when she remembered the sight of Adrian and his mistress meeting, it was all she could take. She barely made
it to the downstairs water closet before her stomach rebelled completely.

With her head pounding and her stomach still unsettled, she knew she must confront Adrian about these strange occurrences. He would explain it and all would be well. She sought the comfort of her bed for a short rest and was almost there when Sherman approached her with a note.

Almost afraid to read the words, she allowed Fisk to help her undress and put on a robe before opening it. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she read it.

It was just as well that he did not come home. It would take a day or so for her to regain her calm and face her husband with all the questions racing through her mind. She fell into a light sleep, but woke a few hours later feeling worse. After a simple meal, she retired to her room and read for the rest of the evening.

She begged off from an afternoon engagement she’d planned with Sophie, and found herself wandering through the house and gardens, then back to Adrian’s study. The papers made little more sense to her now than they had the first ten times she’d read them. Tempted to
show them to Sophie, she decided against it. She would give Adrian a chance to explain them first.

Just before dinner, she received a note from Lady Allendale. The urgency in the words forced her to answer her friend’s summons. Dreading whatever Sophie had discovered with her formidable network of gossip and news, she dressed and went to call on her. Not sure that she was ready to hear the truth, but unwilling to live a lie, she waited for the information that she feared would end the loving marriage she’d sought for so long with her husband.

Their talk went on and Sophie had learned much about Adrian’s actions of the last several days and weeks, and each fact cut Miranda’s heart into pieces.

Mrs. Caro Robinson was back in London and had been seen by many in the duke’s company at Vauxhall that night. A rather costly gift of crystal had been sent to the hotel where she was staying, with a card written by the duke himself.

A Mr. Adrian Warfield had opened several accounts with various shops that were providing furniture, linens and other supplies necessary to stocking and decorating a house.

The same Mr. Adrian Warfield had purchased a house in a new section of a London suburb.

Miranda refused to believe it. Her heart simply would not accept that he was seeing his mistress again, but the proof was there in front of her when she made Sophie drive with her to the address given as the new house. In
a carriage that could not be identified as the viscountess’s, they drove past Number 60 on the fashionable new street.

The house was not complete yet, but it had occupants whom she could see through an undraped window in the front. As their carriage moved down the street, Miranda leaned closer and peered into the house.

Adrian stood in the center of the room, pointing at various objects and speaking to someone she could not see immediately. Then he moved out of her view and she glimpsed Lord Parker. Although the house itself was enough to make her husband’s intentions clear, and his presence here another insult to her, at least there was no woman with him.

Shaking her head at Sophie’s offer to stop and accompany her to speak to her husband, Miranda discovered that she did not have the courage to do so at that moment. She racked her brain for reasons for Adrian buying a house that did not involve some discreet liaison of a personal nature, but she could not come up with one. Even while acting as devil’s advocate for a moment, Sophie was stymied by the question.

Deciding to pursue this when he returned home, Miranda rapped on the roof to tell the driver to move on, just as a coach approached from the other direction. Leaning back so that they could not be seen, Miranda nevertheless was able to view the occupant in the other vehicle.

Mrs. Caro Robinson.

Wordlessly, both she and Sophie turned and watched the carriage stop at the house they had just passed. With help from the groom, the woman climbed out and was greeted by Adrian.

Together, they walked into Number 60 Charleston Street.

Sophie wrapped her arm around Miranda and held her as they drove back to the Allendale house. Unable to believe what they’d seen, and knowing that Adrian would not be home, Miranda allowed Sophie to send word to Warfield Place that she would be staying the night with the viscountess. After a glass of very good brandy, Miranda found herself bundled off to bed. Still awake at dawn, she contemplated what the rest of her life would be like, first facing his infidelity and then his death.

Adrian returned to Warfield Place and was surprised to find that Miranda was gone. Sherman informed him that the duchess had sent word from Lady Allendale’s that she was spending the night there. When he checked her appointment and invitation book, he found there was nothing scheduled for the next several days.

Once the decorators finished the house, he wanted to take her there and show it to her. He and Parker had argued over that, too, but Caro had settled the question. He’d asked her there for a woman’s opinion of the location and the house itself, and she’d sided with him about when to tell the duchess.

Going to his study, he found the portfolio of papers
on his desk and thought about his plan to find a husband for her. He had not remembered leaving them out so plainly on his desk. Looking over his notes, he smiled at what her reaction might be to such a scheme. Part of him was curious about which man she would have chosen. Then he realized that, after his death, at least she would know these men if one or more did indeed become suitors for her.

After destroying the papers and the odious and doubtful report from Dr. Blake, Adrian decided to turn in early. By habit, his feet stopped at her door, even though he knew she was not at home. Opening it, he breathed in the scent of her from the room.

Footsteps in the hallway stopped behind him.

“Your Grace,” a woman said.

“Good evening, Fisk.”

“I wondered if the duchess is well?”

Adrian faced his wife’s maid. “Why would you think otherwise?”

He knew she had been ill for a few days, and related that to her monthly. With all their efforts on producing an heir, Miranda tended to be rather glum when it came and revealed that they had not been successful.

“The duchess had a rather restless night, sir. And she did not look well when she went to Lady Allendale’s.”

“Her message said nothing of being ill, did it?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I am certain she will return in the morning as
fit as always.” He closed the bedroom door. “Good night, Fisk.”

“Good night, Your Grace.”

The encounter disturbed him. Miranda had been the strong one in these last few months. If nervous tension could worsen his own condition, he had no doubt that it could affect other illnesses.

But once they retired to Windmere Park, things would calm for both of them. As he’d promised Parker, after all the arrangements were finalized, he would step back and simply live the rest of his life with his wife, however long that was.

The morning came abruptly when he was awakened with word of serious problems at Windmere Park. A fire, the message said, had destroyed several buildings, and he was needed at once. As Thompson packed his things, Adrian sent word with a footman to Miranda.

Unfortunately, the footman chosen to deliver the message took it instead to the other Duchess of Windmere. The dowager managed to keep several Warfield Place servants on her payroll so that she was kept apprised of activities in the household. The note was altered at the dowager’s order and then delivered to the Allendales’ guest.

Having sent the original note to her son, she knew her path was clear to handle the family’s biggest problem without interference. Cordelia sat back and waited for the duchess to arrive back home and receive her call. She had waited long enough to dispose of this unacceptable wife.

By the time her son traveled north to Windmere Park, ascertained that there was no emergency, and returned to London, Miranda would be gone and Windmere would be free to seek another wife. A young and fertile one, a woman who would listen to the guidance of her betters and her elders, a woman who would be grateful to Cordelia for all she received.

A woman like Juliet.