the character of its owner.
Take two weeks alone, and use it to rest from your journey and adjust to your new home before we begin anew. I will do my best to leave my temper in the city and return to you a contrite and respectful husband.
And, if still you decide that you wish to return home, we will arrange it when I get back. There should be no trouble procuring an annulment, as I have absented myself from the marriage bed and left you your honour.
Until my return, your husband,
Marcus Radwell, Duke of Haughleigh
He sealed the letter and left it for a maid to place at the breakfast table in the morning. Then he rang for his valet and made quiet and succinct instructions for the carriage to be readied and the grooms to be woken.
And, last, he took the letters his mother had received from the mysterious Lady Cecily. Two weeks away should be time enough to find her direction and gather information on his new bride.
Chapter Seven
The day dawned uncomfortably bright and early, and Miranda pulled the hangings shut against it. After her visit from the duke the previous evening, she was at a loss as to what she could possibly say in the morning. No doubt her bags were packed and waiting for her in the entrance hall. But would he think to arrange transportation, or assume that she could purchase a ticket from her own funds?
She laughed bitterly. As if there were such a thing. Her purse had been emptied by the trip to Devon, and showed no signs of magically filling itself for the return trip. And if she should return, where would she go? Her father had made it quite clear that there was to be no turning back from this course, and while the parting had been sweet, she knew he was sincere in his desire to get rid of her, for her own safety and his peace of mind.
Unless she abandoned all pride and made a living on her back, as more than one nobleman had suggested. And what fool thought it better to be the whore of a rich man then to be a wife?
There was nothing for it. This morning, she would seek out her husband and throw herself on his mercy, such as it was. If she ate nothing else today, it would be her words of the previous evening.
‘Your Grace, are you up?’ Polly poked her head between the curtains and offered her the tea tray. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to eat downstairs this morning. Cook says there’ll be something in the breakfast room. Not what you’re used to, I’m sure, but a bit better than you’ve been having.’ The tea was at least warm today, and she hoped that this was a sign of things to come. She took a small sip and felt a wee bit better.
‘His Grace told me that you’d no doubt be tired this morning, and that I was to make sure you had plenty of sleep and a decent breakfast, if I had to stand over you and force it in,’ she said, proudly.
‘He did, did he?’ She considered refusing to eat, but reminded herself of her promise of a few minutes ago. ‘And what else did he have to say?’
‘That you’d know what you wanted to do, and that you was the mistress of the house now, and I was to help you in any way, but to make sure that you ate and rested. And then he was in the carriage and gone.’
‘Gone?’
‘Last night, after midnight. He was off to London and then Lord St John was back from wherever he goes. It was busy as the courtyard of the inn here.’
‘St John, back?’ She tried not to let the relief show in her voice. Perhaps he could help her understand the actions of her husband.
Polly helped her to dress and she crept down the stairs towards breakfast, then stopped herself halfway. Why was she hesitating? This was her house. Her stairs. Her servants.
Well, not really hers. Her husband’s, perhaps, until he came back from where ever it was he went. Probably with the necessary paperwork for an annulment if such was necessary, since she’d assumed she would have to sign some sort of licence and it hadn’t happened yesterday. She was sure of that fact. Well, reasonably sure. The day had gone by so fast, and she’d been so tired …
She raised her hands to her temple and pushed against them, trying to silence the thoughts that were running through her head. It did no good to try to analyse the events of the last two days. Even if she had been clear headed, they’d have made no sense and they just seemed to get stranger and stranger.
She was going to focus on the task before her. Not one step behind. Not one mile ahead. Just one step at a time until she could walk herself out of the maze she was lost in.
And the first step was breakfast. She entered the breakfast room to see St John, lounging at the head of the table in the place she’d expected to find the duke. He was reading the mail as though he owned the place. She wondered what her husband’s reaction would be if he were there to take in the picture, and then checked herself.
She knew perfectly well what it would be. Similar to all the other reactions she had seen him make when he saw something that displeased him. Yelling. Threats. And St John banished from the house without a hearing. If she could do nothing else in the house, perhaps she could find a way to end the foolish bickering that these two seemed to revel in.
‘Miranda.’ He stood and beamed at her and she felt unaccountably less lonely than she had. ‘You are already having a positive effect here. There is breakfast for a change. And, although I would not trust the kippers, the eggs today seem fresh enough. Come, sit down.’
‘Aren’t you a trifle free with your brother’s hospitality, for one I saw banished from the house yesterday?’
He smiled again. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps. But they informed me at the inn that my brother was riding out for London. And although he cannot abide my company, the servants here are still quite fond of the black sheep and I count on them to hold their tongues when he comes home to pasture. And …’ he looked probingly at her ‘… I wondered if the new duchess might need assistance after being abandoned by her husband on her wedding night. Are you well?’ The question was gently put, but he was no longer smiling and he tensed, waiting for a response.
‘Of course,’ she lied. She had not been dismissed, if Polly’s attitude was any indication of the duke’s mood. And to be left alone by her new husband, but allowed to stay in the house was quite the best of all possible results, if a trifle annoying. ‘I am beginning to feel at home here already. Is that the mail?’ She reached towards the letter in front of him and he gathered it to himself.
‘Expecting a billet-doux, little sister? No, not the mail. Just something I brought with me to dispose of. Damn bill collectors tracked me to the inn. Let us show them what I think of them.’ And he resealed the letter, than twisted it into a roll and walked towards the fireplace. ‘The less time spent with this odious missive the better for all concerned.’ He struck a lucifer on the mantelpiece and held it to the paper, watching it blaze before tossing the smouldering end into the fire.
‘Really, St John, you should not be so casual with your responsibilities.’
‘Miranda, my dear, I am quite serious at times, when a goal is before me. You have not yet seen me at my best. And I am sure, if you have talked to my brother, you have heard nothing but the worst of my character.’
‘Oh, no, I assure you. There was very little time to discuss anything with the duke last night.’ She paused, embarrassed. It sounded rather like they were occupied in other ways. She looked down at her plate and nibbled on a slice of toast.
‘Did he take the time to tell you, then, why he was leaving you so quickly?’
‘I am sure he has a good reason for his actions,’ she answered.
St John nodded over his coffee. ‘I’m sure he does. There might be certain people in London that need to be informed of his nuptials. So as to avoid embarrassment later.’
‘Certain