Читать книгу The Duchess's Next Husband - Terri Brisbin - Страница 14

Miranda had looked away as she finished her words, not wanting to allow her lack of candor to show. Luckily, her husband seemed to give up on his chase for ulterior motives at her appearance here. At least, he had for now. Finished with her food, she dabbed at her mouth and laid the napkin on the table. She rose as the footman held her chair, and walked behind Adrian to the masculine sanctuary he favored so much when here at Windmere House. She wondered if he knew that billiards was a favorite of hers and that she played frequently…when he was not present.

She took a seat near the fireplace and watched as her husband and his friend chose their weapons from the rack of billiard sticks. They exchanged typical boasts about the upcoming game and even placed bets on the outcome. Tea arrived and she sipped hers as the even match went on.

“Would you be completely offended if we removed our jackets, madam?” Parker asked some minutes later. “I know it’s terribly informal, but…” His words drifted off and he smiled that infectious smile of his as his hair fell into his eyes once more. He tossed his head to shake it back into place.

“I am certain that my constitution and sensibilities can withstand such an informality, sir. Only as long as we are in the country, of course.”

“I told you she would be game, Windmere. Now nothing, not even too tight a fit, will stop me from defeating you,” Parker boasted, as he shrugged his jacket off and tossed it on a nearby chair.

As she watched, her husband removed his, too, but instead of carelessly throwing his, he folded it and laid it over the back of a chair. Without their jackets, it was an easy thing to compare them. Both men were tall, with Parker having several inches over her husband. Both were muscular, but Adrian’s build was a leaner one than his friend’s. She could well understand that after seeing how much food Parker ate in a given day! In coloring they were opposites, with Adrian being the dark-haired one and Parker the blond Adonis.

After spending four days on the road with him, Miranda decided Parker definitely reminded her of the Adrian she’d known early in their marriage. An irreverent sense of humor pervaded his personality and behavior, but at the heart of it was a man of honor and caring. Drinking the now slightly warm tea, she wondered when Adrian had changed. She placed her cup back on the side table as she thought about it.

Not in the year they’d spent engaged to be married and not in the first year of their marriage, either. He was still the same outgoing man even during the terrible time of his brother’s death and their year of mourning. It was after they’d put away the colors of official grief that something changed deep within him.

Instead of resisting the dowager’s every command and directive, Adrian accepted them. Instead of plotting his own course for the dukedom he’d inherited, he followed the one left by his father and brother before him. Instead of the affectionate relationship he and Miranda had had, he began to distance himself from her, insisting that his mother’s ideas of the proper way to do things were what he wanted for them.

Pulling herself back from her woolgathering, Miranda watched as the match drew closer. Startled as he laughed out loud at some whispered threat from Parker, and pushed him away to the other side of the table, she enjoyed the moment of camaraderie between the two of them. Not accustomed to seeing him so, she wondered why he hid it from her.

Why did he not let down his guard with her as he did with his friend? Was she the only one from whom he’d withdrawn this side of himself? Did he share this with his mistress?

Laughing.

Spontaneous.

Playful.

Caring.

Attractive.

Miranda’s stomach roiled as the uncontrolled thoughts forced themselves forward. This kind of introspection did no good and now she felt truly sick as images of her husband and his paramour flashed fleetingly through her mind. She knew what the woman looked like—someone who disdained Miranda for her humble origins and had wanted to embarrass her had pointed out Mrs. Robinson in the park one day. She’d passed the woman by without any acknowledgment, of course, but she’d seen her clearly.

“Call for her maid, if you please.” Her husband’s voice broke into her reverie. Blinking to clear the now-gathering tears from her eyes, she saw that their game had stopped and they were both watching her.

“You see, Parker. It is as I suspected. The duchess is not well.” Adrian approached and crouched down before her. “Her complexion is now turning green.”

Parker rang for the footman, who was sent off for Fisk. Then he walked closer, squinting as he leaned down to her. “Was it the soup, do you think? Something spoiled at dinner?”

Miranda took a deep breath and shook her head. “I think that I am simply overtired from traveling. If you will excuse me,” she said as she stood, or tried to, for her legs would not hold her up. Pausing for a moment and allowing Adrian to offer her his arm in support, she took in another deep breath and felt her head clear a bit. “I will seek my chambers and recover more thoroughly from the journey.”

Parker backed away and allowed Adrian to escort her to the door. Fisk arrived and Miranda was released into the maid’s efficient and meticulous care. She turned to take her leave and noticed Adrian’s quiet scrutiny. He did not ask anything else of her, but wished her a good night’s rest and nodded as she turned away.

It was as she drifted off to sleep that she realized it was Thursday evening.

Day was full upon them when Miranda next opened her eyes. Even the drawn curtains at each window could not disguise how high the sun was in the sky. Guessing it to be early afternoon, she pushed the covers aside and slid from the bed. As her feet touched the carpet, the door to the hallway opened and Fisk entered.

“What time is it?”

“Half past one, Your Grace. The duke gave orders that no one should disturb your rest,” she said as she held out a dressing gown for Miranda to slip into. “The house does not have its full complement of staff, so it was easier than most times to insure that you would not be disturbed.”

“Is the duke busy?” Miranda tied the gown and sat at her dressing table, allowing Fisk access to her hair for arranging. “Something simple, if you please.”

“His Grace has been closed up in his study with his solicitor since early this morning, Your Grace. Other than a call for some food and wine to be served to them there, no one has seen or heard him.”

Their lives did not intersect much at any time, least of all in the country, so Miranda decided to invite the rector and his wife to dinner. Tempted to include her husband, she hesitated, for his opposition to her presence was quite clear. She would stay out of his way for a day or two and then see if she could approach him with her questions.

“If the weather is as fine as it looks from my window, I plan on taking advantage of it and sitting out in the gazebo. Would you have Cook send some chocolate and a roll out to me there?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Should I join you there?”

Fisk stood and helped her out of her night rail and into a yellow day dress that had short sleeves and was trimmed in white ruffles. After taking the proffered matching bonnet, Miranda shook her head. “There is no need. You may remain inside.”

Miranda picked out a book she’d been intending to read and walked through the house, out a side door, and found the gazebo surrounded by pleasant sunshine. Once her chocolate and roll arrived, she sat quietly and read the book she’d chosen.

Actually, she tried to read, but irritating and bothersome thoughts kept creeping into her mind. Finally, she put the book down on the table and considered her options.

She’d learned over the last four days of travel that there were many things about her husband that she did not know. Lord Parker had regaled her during their time in the carriage with tales of his and Adrian’s visits to the various Windmere estates and other places in England. Even a hunting lodge in Scotland that Miranda did not know the Warfield family owned. When he’d looked embarrassed about having mentioned it, she knew it was used for the type of event a wife was not invited to attend.

She’d learned last night that her husband could be stubborn and secretive. Something was indeed going on, and he did not want her interference. His words clearly told her she was an inconvenient interruption to his plans.

The wind blew a loose curl free and it fell into her face. Miranda tugged off the bonnet and laid it on her lap, rearranging the curl.

She’d also learned, by her own weakness and reaction to the thought of his more personal relationship, that she would not be able to broach such a subject with him. They’d adjusted over the past few years to a certain level of marital involvement, and, although it was not the warm and personable one she’d dreamed of having with her husband, it was clearly his choice.

She smiled at her own folly. A momentary lapse in the duke’s behavior did not mean he wanted things to change. It meant that he was simply a man. She should have waited for something more significant than one night’s overindulgence to signal a change in him…or a crack in his ducal veneer.

“You do make such a lovely sight, Your Grace.”

The words and Lord Parker’s approach startled her out of her thoughts. “My lord, you surprised me.” Shading her eyes to see him in the bright sunlight, she realized she had no bonnet on.

“Pardon for barging in on you here, Your Grace. I’ve been bumping around the house and grounds and not having much success finding anyone else. Well, at least anyone who is not engaged in some earth-shatteringly important endeavor that cannot be interrupted.”

He looked confused and then laughed. “Not that your activity here is not as important—that is, not as…”

Miranda held up her hand to stop him. “I took no offense at your words,” she said, pointing to an empty chair. “Join me if you care to.”

As they slipped into a pleasant conversation about the estate, Miranda realized that she’d spoken more to Parker in these last few days than she’d spoken to Adrian in years.

He tugged the curtain aside once more to watch her. From his study he had a clear view of the gazebo on the western veranda and its occupants. His wife had been alone for some time before Parker had joined her. They seemed to rub along quite companionably. Parker had told him of the journey north from town. Although she still looked pale, Miranda did appear recovered from whatever had ailed her last evening.

“So, that is the extent of the settlement for the duchess? No property, no title?” Adrian turned to face his solicitor.

The terms of the will and the entailment were not a complete surprise to him—without a male heir to inherit directly, everything moved to his grandfather’s other line. His mother had also inherited an income from her eldest brother, so her future was quite settled.

Miranda was a different sort of problem. With her widow’s jointure, she would live closer to the edge of genteel poverty than to the standards to which she’d become accustomed. When they had married, her dowry had replenished his family’s depleted coffers and allowed him, on his accession, to make much needed improvements on the grounds here, as well as on the other family estates. Her father, overwhelmed by the prestige of joining his with the exalted Warfield family and Windmere name, was not overly concerned with carving out a protected settlement for Miranda. And he’d been willing to pay for the privilege of his daughter marrying even the second son of the esteemed Duke of Windmere.

Within a few years, changes unthought of and certainly unanticipated had occurred, and the second son held the title. And after his death, she would have a small allowance and be granted a place to live on the grounds of Windmere Park. As the widow of the previous duke, with no family to take her in, she would be an outsider.

Still an outsider.

As she’d always been.

Turning back to the window, he watched her talk quite animatedly about something with Parker. Then she stopped and her smile disappeared. Instead, she stared pensively out toward the lake and nodded her head at whatever question she’d been asked.

It was only a thought at first. Then it tickled Adrian’s conscience and drew his attention. He watched as some sadness overtook her, and he found himself opening the window. For what, he knew not. Drawing away, he tried to discover the source of his discomfort.

“Your Grace? Should I continue?”

“Let us break for a bit. I should like to walk to clear my head,” he said, nodding at the man.

Anderson agreed readily and gathered his papers into neat little piles before standing and bowing to him. Adrian waited for him to leave his study before opening the door that led out to the gardens. Striding quickly, he approached the gazebo and listened to the conversation.

“Rubbish!”

“I assure you, Parker, though it may sound as though I boast, I could do it.”

“An affront! That’s what it is. An affront to my honor,” Parker replied with the theatrics of a man intensely insulted.

Adrian’s curiosity got the better of him and he asked the obvious, drawing their attention at once as he approached. “What could you do, madam?”

He stared at her and she placed her bonnet back on her head and then stood to greet him. He had enjoyed the sight of the wind catching little tendrils of her hair and pulling them free of the arrangement that her maid had done up. Part of him wanted to tear the hat off and run his hands through her hair, loosening it until it fell below her waist. His body took no more than a moment to respond to the feelings engendered, with a clear message of intent. Blinking, he shook off the odd thoughts and turned his attention back to his wife’s boast.

“Your duchess claims that she could best me in a game of billiards. Is that not audacious?” Parker said, offering a bow to Miranda. “Couldn’t be true, could it, Windmere?” His friend looked horrified as he contemplated the very thought of it.

“Is it true, Miranda? I have not seen you play in many a year.” Adrian realized it was before their marriage and before his mother began her campaign to make Miranda a suitable wife for a man bearing the Warfield name.

“I did not mean it as a challenge, sir,” she began. He watched her eyes light with a mischief he had not seen recently, and she nodded to Parker. “But it is a fair statement of my abilities.”

Adrian walked to where she sat. “It would seem the only fair thing to do is to offer Parker the chance to defend his honor. Rather than an appointment at dawn, would you be willing to settle for billiards after dinner?”

“Actually, I have an engagement for dinner this evening. Could we play later?” Miranda looked at Parker for an answer.

“Are you having guests or going somewhere?” So used to having separate schedules and social engagements, Adrian had no idea of hers.

“The rector and his wife are coming here, Windmere. You are welcome, of course.” She had not hesitated, so he felt the invitation was genuine. He also had not known that she was on social terms with Reverend Grayson and his wife. “I did not ask because I did not want to interfere any more than I have with your business here.”

He almost answered with a quick excuse, but she turned her gaze on Parker then and he was not certain he wanted his friend there without him being present, too.

“And you, as well, Parker. You might enjoy meeting the Graysons.”

Parker turned a bit pale and shook his head. “I appreciate the invitation, of course, but meeting with a parson is not my idea of entertainment.” He shot Adrian a look that implored Help me out of this situation, and Adrian laughed.

“I would enjoy that. Shall we plan on holding the challenge at, say, nine this evening?”

Miranda smiled and looked from him to Parker and back. “Nine it is, then.” She stood and so did Parker. “I will not keep you any longer, Windmere.” With a nod, she picked up the book on the table and walked back to the house.

She had just closed the door when the coughing erupted. Deep spasms racked Adrian’s chest and, as he turned away from the gazebo, he groped in his jacket and waistcoat to find the small bottle of syrup that usually quieted them. Tugging off the small cap, he leaned his head back and poured some of the thick, brown concoction into his mouth, then swallowed. Lowering his head, he looked into the face of his friend. In his haste, Adrian had forgotten all about Parker.

A few more coughs escaped before he felt his chest loosen and calm. Searching for words to make light of his symptoms, Adrian opened and closed his mouth. To his surprise, it was Parker who spoke first—in a tone much too serious for a lighthearted rogue of his nature.

“Your cough has worsened?”

“It is just the flowers. Hay fever, the physicians are calling it,” Adrian said, trying to brush aside any concerns.

“No, Adrian. It has worsened. I have noticed it lately. You have more of these spells and I have witnessed you drink from that bottle more times now than even a few months ago.”

Startled at the familiarity, Adrian shook his head and tried to deny the assertion. “It is just this time of year.”

Parker walked closer and spoke in a quiet voice. “I know there is more to this than you willingly will admit. Just know that I am here for you if you need anything.”

His gut tightened as he realized the importance of this. Parker had noticed the changes. Who else had?

“Do not add disclosure to your list of concerns. We are in each other’s pockets. I could not help but notice. Others who see you occasionally have not.”

Adrian turned back and looked at the path that Miranda had taken.

“The duchess is another matter altogether,” Parker added.

“What do you mean?” Had he given himself away that night when he’d been drunk and rambling? Although Thompson assured him nothing had been heard by the servants or the duchess, he was not so certain.

“I had an opportunity to get to know her more during our travels here. I think she senses something is wrong and does not know what to do about it.” Parker stepped away. “Is something wrong?”

Not ready or willing to part with the secret yet, he simply changed the subject. “Anderson is waiting inside for me. Will I see you at dinner?”

The dismissal was effective. They both took a polite step back and nodded. Turning away, Adrian felt some measure of guilt clawing at him. After too many years spent distancing himself from friends and family, as was befitting someone in his station of life, his mother would say, he now did not know how to bridge those distances.

He returned to his study and remained there, closed up with Anderson, reviewing the remaining papers and documents so important to his demise and what would follow. When his solicitor excused himself with plans for a walk and then a dinner tray in his room, Adrian went and prepared for dinner. Anticipation within him grew as he thought about the evening that lay ahead.