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And it was needed now.
“When you walk and sit as though you were wearing cast-iron stays, it tells me you have visited the dowager.”
Miranda tried not to laugh, but the irreverent attitude of her friend ruined her efforts. Letting out an uncommon giggle, she smiled and removed the bonnet from her head.
“My stays are of the regular sort, I assure you, Sophie,” she said, still smiling as she sat down on the paisley-covered chair. “Though I do confess to never allowing myself to relax when in the presence of Her Grace.”
Her schoolroom friend held out her second cup of tea this morning, but this one Miranda looked forward to enjoying in informal company. Only a viscountess, Sophie was not considered by the dowager to be an appropriate companion for the Duchess of Windmere. But their friendship had been forged in the trials and challenges of the Hayton Academy for Young Ladies. The teachers there, as well as the owners, were as formidable as Her Grace, Cordelia, Duchess of Windmere and, without knowing it, they had prepared Miranda well for the constant struggle of living up to such lofty expectations.
However, where Sophie’s marriage had become one of joy and the felicity of a good bond, Miranda’s had not quite lived up to her girlish hopes and dreams. The Viscountess Allendale’s life was filled by an attentive husband, two lovely sons, a London house and their country estates. The emptiness of her own was glaring by comparison. Something must have shown through, for Sophie reached out now and patted her hand.
“A rough visit, then?” Sophie offered a smile. “It could be a blessing somehow that Her Grace is dependable for something. If you are looking to ruin someone’s happy mood, you certainly know where to send them.”
Sophie’s green eyes softened with concern. Pushing her loosely-gathered brown hair behind one shoulder, Sophie shook her head at Miranda, undermining her own belief in the words of rationalization she offered.
“I cannot imagine what has me so blue-deviled today,” Miranda replied. Sipping the tea, she waited for her nerves to settle. “Her Grace was no different than any other time.”
“Will she return to the country soon? I do not remember her staying in town this long before.”
She shook her head. “I fear not. Juliet was presented and is having her first season. Her Grace will persevere until she has secured a suitable offer for her cherished goddaughter.”
Surprised at the bitterness that entered her voice, she continued, “But Windmere is returning to the country.”
“Windmere? Leaving while Lords is sitting? I did not think he shirked his duty.” Sophie looked at her and tilted her head. The narrowing of her gaze was never a good sign for Miranda. “Something else is wrong here. I can feel it.”
“As I said, I am simply out of sorts this morning.”
Miranda smoothed her hair and leaned farther back into the seat cushions. Sophie on the scent of something new and intriguing was more persistent than Lord Bernard’s champion hounds. Miranda should have gone directly back home after the encounter with her husband. One look at the intensity on her friend’s face told her that it was too late for evasive maneuvers.
“What happened with Windmere?” Sophie’s voice was soft with concern.
“He got drunk and missed dinner….” Miranda stopped herself before revealing the more private appointment he’d missed.
“Men always drink. I’ve seen Windmere drink a fair amount before. That is really not surprising.”
Miranda looked at her friend. “He was completely foxed. Carrying on in his chambers, using vulgar language and throwing things. Even his valet tried to shield me from it. I do not remember him ever in this condition.”
Frowning, she thought back to the words he’d yelled, but his efficient servant’s coughing had covered most of them. She smoothed her skirts over her legs before looking back at Sophie. Skipping over the more personal details, she went on. “Then this morning he unexpectedly announced that he was leaving for Windmere Park and would be gone for some days.”
Sophie stood and walked over to her chair. Pulling a small stool alongside, she sat down on it and took her hand.
“Did he harm you, Miranda? You may tell me not to inquire, but did he hurt you during his attentions?”
“Sophie! How can you ask such a question?” Miranda tugged her hand free and moved back from the viscountess. “Windmere would never raise a hand to me.”
“I wasn’t speaking of his hands, Miranda. If he were drunk when he visited you for…conjugal intimacies, he could have done much harm. Are you well?”
She could feel the heat of embarrassment enter her cheeks. They had never spoken this candidly about such a topic, and Miranda was not certain how Sophie even knew.
“Come, Miranda. I know what your life is like since your husband became Duke of Windmere,” Sophie whispered more softly. “You both take the responsibilities and duties to the limit of serious, and your days, as set out by the dowager’s designs, are ruled by conformity and regularity. You once let it slip that he visited your bed on Thursdays, so it is not so unusual to expect it would be every Thursday.”
“He did not visit last evening.”
“Did he visit her?”
“The dowager?” Sophie’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. Miranda then realized of whom she spoke: Windmere’s mistress. “Of that, I have no idea.”
“Have you told him that you care?” Sophie asked.
“I do not know what you mean. I care not that he has a mistress. ’Tis the way of things.”
“John does not have one.”
Miranda glanced at Sophie and met her direct gaze. The dowager had made it quite clear that men of Windmere’s rank were expected to have a woman available to satisfy their baser needs. And that it was no concern of Miranda’s. Although their marriage had started out differently, Adrian’s move to the title had changed many, many things, including the physical side of their marriage.
“It is unseemly for a wife to…” Miranda began, quoting one of the dowager’s favorite admonitions.
“It is unseemly for a wife to ignore these signs of which you speak and act as though nothing is wrong. Miranda…” Sophie took her hand once more “…I would not encourage you to investigate this unless I was convinced that you are interested in your husband’s well-being and that of your marriage. You were so filled with life and anticipation when you first married. You had such a joie de vivre, and I thought that Windmere returned your feelings.”
“That was so long ago, Sophie, and so much has changed between us,” she said with resignation.
Any hopes she’d had had been eroded by each new responsibility and new duty of being a duchess married to an important peer of the realm. So many depended on him that she’d learned to stand back and become what he needed the most: a wife who understood her place. Now, they were both so changed from the man and woman who’d stood before the rector at Windmere House and exchanged marriage vows. And she was not certain that either of them could go back to the people they had been, even if they wanted to.
“If that were true, you would not be in the least bit perturbed by anything he did or said or did not do.”
Sighing, Miranda stood and walked toward the door of the drawing room. If nothing else, she was curious. Surely it was only that? Gathering up her bonnet from where she had tossed it, she placed it back on her head, securing the ribbons beneath her chin, and tugged on her gloves.
“I will return home and see if he has left yet.”
“A fair beginning. Call upon me if you need any assistance. Anything,” Sophie called out to her as the door was opened.
Sophie had done enough already, Miranda suspected. As her carriage moved through the streets of Mayfair toward home, she began to silently practice the words she would use to inquire as to any difficulties the duke might be facing. It had been so long since she’d permitted herself to ask personal questions of him that she feared even knowing how to phrase them.
And what if the problem involved Windmere’s mistress? Should Miranda simply turn away and let it be? How could she overcome the embarrassment and humiliation of having brought up such a personal concern?
News from the butler, however, gave her all the time in the world. Adrian had left word that he was out for the remainder of the day, would return very late this evening—no need to wait for him—and that he and his valet would leave for Windmere Park at dawn. She could send word of any problems to him there, through his secretary.
How exactly did one ask one’s husband through an intermediary the types of questions she was considering? Miranda spent most of that and the next few days pondering her next move and then decided that, in the proper way of things, a wife did not ask. But she also decided that she would. If there was any chance, no matter how slight, of peeling back the layers and reclaiming the man she’d married, it was worth the risks.
Three days after the duke left London for their estates in the north of England, the duchess received a note from her friend that caused her to send her own polite regrets to Lady Crispin and to the dowager. It would appear that neither the Duke nor Duchess of Windmere would be present for the ball on Saturday next, after all.
Chapter Four
Adrian watched out the window of his study as work on the estate continued as usual. His breathing had eased now, but he’d suffered two attacks during his travel here. Usually, the air felt easier to breathe in the country than in London, where the ash and dust and fog could make it rather uncomfortable. So long as he stayed away from the stables and the gardens, he remained free of those attacks the physicians and apothecaries called “hay fever.” It was the others, the more virulent, breath-stealing ones, that seemed to be on the increase.
The last seven days had been grueling for him—first traveling north to Windmere Park and then the extensive review of all his estate and family documents. If his steward here thought it strange that he should appear and demand to see all the records, he would never say so. They’d ridden to outlying farms, visited the rector in the village that lay on his property, and spoken to many of his tenants. Repairs and some changes to the summer and autumn crops were planned where needed. A larger selection of books was ordered for use by the rector’s wife to teach the children of the village.
The most difficult task yet lay ahead of him. His solicitor should be arriving either this day or the next, and Adrian would review and update his will. Although his title and most of the accompanying estates were entailed, he still had some discretionary properties and funds. He would feel better once those decisions and arrangements were made for everyone who depended on him for support or a living.
Turning from the window, Adrian picked up the glass of wine and drank from it. He’d learned the hard lesson of overimbibing the night he’d discovered his fate. His stomach had remained unsettled for days, and he’d had to stop several times on the road north to empty it rather forcefully. No, he would rather face his future, limited though it might be, with a clear head and a calm stomach.
It would be a few hours until supper even with the earlier country hours, so Adrian decided to walk down to the lake. He mentioned his intent to the butler as he picked up his hat and made his way through the house. Using a side door in the blue drawing room, Adrian followed the path that led away from the house to the larger of the two lakes in Windmere Park.
The sun beat strongly and its heat could be felt, in spite of the cool breezes that moved through the trees surrounding the lake. Seeking refuge from the strongest of its rays, he found a well-spread chestnut and sat down next to it, leaning against its stout trunk. The irony of facing his own impending death, even as every living thing was moving toward bloom and maturity, was not lost on him.
As was his custom, he reviewed the list of unaccomplished tasks left to him on this trip and realized that in his haste to leave the city, he’d not had the latest concoctions made up. The crumpled papers were most likely still in the pocket of his coat, where he’d shoved them the next morning. There was an apothecary of some experience whom he usually frequented some miles away in Newcastle, but also a woman in his own village who had gained some measure of good repute as a healer. Perhaps he would visit her.
Adding it to his mental list, he moved on to the next item. The estate and his personal papers were in order. Everything would be ready for his…demise. Adrian pulled off his hat and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes.
How did one approach this? Never an overly spiritual or religious man, he did not feel compelled to seek out a religious advisor. He trusted that the rector would perform the necessary rites with the solemnity Adrian deserved. When his symptoms worsened and he was convinced the end was nearing, he would speak to the rector about it. But not now.
The matters of the entailed estate were handled, those of his own properties and will would be, and the only ones left were…his family. His mother and his wife.
His mother and his wife.
Shaking his head, he knew there would be no way of avoiding those subjects once his solicitor arrived. Although the estate documents included arrangements for both of them, he would verify the specifics and clarify what each woman could expect for an income and home after his death.
What would become of each of them? The strange thought formed in his mind and he knew that it was the thing that bothered him the most.
His distant, twice-removed cousin Robert would inherit the lands and titles and, since he already had the prerequisite heir-and-a-spare, the dukedom would go on. A pang of regret pierced Adrian then and he tried to discover its cause.
Never meant to inherit, he had come almost reluctantly to the titles and the powers and the responsibilities of being Duke of Windmere. And the primary responsibility after taking control was to produce an heir. In that, he and Miranda had failed. Perhaps that was the source of his discontent? No son of his own to inherit? Not even a daughter to convey everything entailed to a son of her own?
Racking his brains would make no difference in this. He picked up his hat and stood, dusting off his clothes as he did. Tugging the hat into place, Adrian began the walk back to the house. He suspected that once his solicitor arrived and everything was in order, his mind would cease struggling with the questions and ramifications of his death, and he could seek out ways to spend the time he had left.
Dinner and the rest of the evening were spent in quiet reflection as he examined his life. When sleep would not come, he walked the halls of Windmere House. He visited rooms he’d not seen since his childhood and was surprised to find that some of his toys were still stored in the nursery, waiting for small hands to find them. From the window of the bedchamber where he’d spent his visits home from the university, he spied the tree that had been the site of many adventures for him and his brother.
Dawn found him as restless as the night before, so he called for a horse and rode over the lands that had been his for such a short time. Only when the sun reached high in the midday sky and the loud protestations of his stomach could no longer be ignored, did he return to the house for rest and food.
The butler woke him to inform him that a coach had arrived from London. No instructions need be given about the hospitality required for guests at Windmere Park, so Adrian sent word that he would see Anderson at dinner. Spending time in the country had its advantages, the foremost in Adrian’s mind being that of earlier and less formal meals. His household knew his clear preferences, and that, coupled with the fact that most of his neighbors were in London, assured him of uninterrupted time with his solicitor.
Now, drinking a glass of claret in the drawing room, he awaited the man’s arrival. A clamoring outside the door drew his attention and he turned as the footman opened it, admitting not his solicitor, but his best friend.
“Parker! What are you doing here?” Adrian stood and strode over to his unexpected guest.
“Your cryptic note about your sudden departure did more to inflame my curiosity than to appease it, so I am here.” Parker accepted a glass of claret from the butler. “Is it nearly time to eat? We did not stop for a noon meal.”
Adrian looked to the corridor but saw no one else. Had Parker traveled with the solicitor then?
“As soon as Anderson arrives, we will go in to dinner. I’ll have them set a place for you.”
“Anderson?” Parker shook his head. “The man sent word that he is delayed in London and will not arrive until tomorrow. Surely we need not wait that long?”
At Parker’s dry wit, Adrian shook his head. “I received no such word.”
“I am, I fear, the messenger in this, Windmere. I ran into him at your house in London and have now delivered the message to you.” Parker held out his glass and watched as it was filled again. “Where the devil is she?” Walking to the door, he peered out.
“She?” Alarmed, Adrian turned to the door. “Who did you bring here?” Surely not. Surely, Parker would not have brought….
“Here now! If your thirst is not overwhelming, we can go right in,” his friend was saying.
“Good evening, Windmere. My apologies for holding you up from your meal.”
Miranda.
She stood in the doorway, with an anxious frown on her brow as though waiting for his anger. Relieved that Parker had not brought Caro as he’d suspected, Adrian walked to greet his wife.
“I did not expect you, madam,” he said, lifting her hand and touching his lips to it. “I said there was no need to accompany me here.”
He felt her shiver at the sharpness in his voice. He needed time alone to deal with his fate and did not want the complications that a wife presented. However, he could ascertain her reasons over dinner and send her back to the city on the morrow. Before he could say more, Parker pushed Adrian aside and offered Miranda his arm.
“He said the same thing to me, Your Grace, and you can see how much weight I gave his words. Come, the butler has assured me that dinner is ready.”
After a glance at him and a moment’s hesitation, his wife laid her hand on his friend’s arm and off they walked down the hall, following the butler to the private dining room. Indeed, his staff knew of the changes to his plans, for three places were set at the oval table, all to one end, as he’d requested for the two originally planned. He watched as Parker escorted Miranda to one of the side chairs and then took a place opposite her. Adrian then sat in the chair at the end, with his wife on his right and his friend on the left.
At his nod, the butler and his assistant began serving the meal. Parker shoveled food into his mouth at an alarming rate. Without stopping for more than a breath or a swallow of his wine, he devoured two bowls of cream of lobster soup along with a small loaf of bread. When there was a slight delay in serving the next course, he continued to tear a slice of bread into pieces and push them in his mouth.
“Are you certain you only missed one meal?” Adrian asked. Parker did not even have the decency to look embarrassed at his behavior.
“Traveling the long roads here over these last… How many days did it take us, madam? Four?” Parker mumbled the rest as he finished chewing.
“It did take four days, although we arrived a bit earlier today than I had thought possible,” Miranda replied softly.
Irritated by their friendly manner and the very fact that they were here, Adrian snapped out what he’d wanted to ask from the first moment.
“Why are you here, Miranda? I told you that this trip was simply to handle some family business. There is no entertainment here. No parties or luncheons to attend. No balls to dance at. I would think that the amusements of the city would have held your attention longer.”
The room grew silent and even the servants paused in their actions at his tone. It was only the briefest of pauses, but he marked it. Parker choked as he chewed, and then swallowed loudly and washed his food down with another mouthful of wine. When he cleared his throat, Adrian got the message. For Miranda’s part, the only reaction to his rude words was a slight fluttering of her eyelashes and her refusal to meet his gaze.
Any response was interrupted by the arrival of the next course. Plates of roast venison and leg of lamb were placed on the table, as well as boiled turnips and sauces for all the dishes. Adrian took up the carving knife and cut slices of the meats for each of them. At Parker’s glare, he added a few to his plate. It was as he cut into his own food that Miranda answered his question.
“I have felt a bit overwhelmed by the demands of the Season, Windmere. I thought a short respite to the country might do me well.”
“Overwhelmed by the dowager’s demands, more likely,” Parker interrupted. Pointing at her with his fork, he continued, “And now that she is sponsoring that chit in her first season, I would guess she’s dragging you from one end of town to the other.”
“That chit? What do you know of my mother’s social activities?” Adrian felt the odd man out in this discussion.
“She cornered me ever so politely at Lord Hanson’s soiree and made it clear that as your friend and close associate, I had a duty to help bring out the chit—excuse me, Miss Stevenson.”
“And your reply?” Adrian asked. It wasn’t often that someone got the better of Parker. Of course, his mother was, candidly, quite formidable when she desired to be so. And she’d made no secret of her desire for a successful launching of her goddaughter into polite society.
Parker blinked several times and frowned at him. “What do you think I told Her Grace? I agreed, of course.”
Not to be deterred from his original question, Adrian turned back to Miranda. “Are you well?”
A hint of a blush tinged her cheeks and the corners of her mouth rose in a slight smile as though she was intrigued at some private thought. Then she met his gaze and shook her head. “I am well, Windmere. It is just that your mention of the country reminded me that, at times, I find it so much less tiring than the tedium and closeness of town.”
Adrian winced at the formality of her address. He sensed that the one expressed was not her only answer. But, in company, even just Parker, he decided he would not press her for more. To articulate more concern than necessary would make her presence into an issue. And it would make it seem more important than the inconvenience it was. It was a simple case of not having the solitude he’d anticipated when he’d journeyed north.
