“Bless you,” Miranda told him.
“I took the liberty of bringing your mail and your invitations.” Ned finished unpacking the food hampers, then reached for Miranda’s mail and handed it to her. “And I instructed Pinder to pack clothes enough for a week’s stay in the country.”
Miranda glanced at the handful of invitations she’d received that bore today’s date. She knew her lady’s maid well enough to know that Pinder wouldn’t have thought to pack a ball gown suitable for Lady Garrison’s party in Richmond. Not for a week in the country. Simple day dresses, an evening gown or two, and perhaps a riding habit would be the extent of her wardrobe for the week. Miranda waved the invitations like a fan. “I suppose I should tend to these.” She frowned. “I was rather looking forward to Lady Garrison’s party tonight, but since my mother believes I’m in the country and I haven’t anything suitable to wear, I suppose I should send my regrets.”
“I could send Rupert to Upper Brook Street to fetch you a ball gown if you truly wish to attend Lady Garrison’s party,” Ned offered.
Miranda was tempted. “And leave my husband alone on our honeymoon? It simply isn’t done.” She ga
ve Ned a mischievous smile. “But since no one knows I have a husband or that I’m on my honeymoon, perhaps I should attend …”
“I think you should send your regrets to Lady Garrison and worry about the other invitations tomorrow,” Ned told her. “I’ll deliver them on my way home. Rupert will be up shortly with your trunk. Where shall I have him take it?”
“The bedroom that connects to the master bedchamber will be fine,” Miranda replied.
“Very good, miss.”
“Thank you, Ned.”
“Don’t mention it, miss. You attend to your toilette and your correspondence,” he told her, “while I dish up the food.”
“Please prepare a plate of food for His Grace,” she instructed, “but could you wait a bit before dishing up mine?”
“Certainly, milady.”
“And could you heat some water for me?”
Ned nodded. “Yes, of course, milady.”
“I would like a bath,” Miranda explained. “And the water coming out of the tap is cold.”
“I’ll fire up the burner beneath the water reservoir in the attic,” he volunteered. “It should warm it in no time.”
* * *
Miranda knocked on the bedroom door and waited until Daniel bade her enter.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come back,” Daniel admitted when Miranda opened the door.
“I wasn’t sure I would either,” she replied. “But you are the Duke of Sussex, and I can’t allow a royal duke to starve to death in my house.”
“Even if he deserves to?” Daniel asked.
“Even so,” she answered, turning to collect the tray she’d set on the floor outside the door. “I brought you something to eat.”
Daniel recognized an olive branch when he saw one. He grabbed it and held it close to his heart. “The food smells delicious. What is it?”
“Yorkshire pudding, vegetables, and cake for dessert.”
He arched an eyebrow and pretended to be skeptical. “Magically conjured up by a woman who confessed to being unable to brew tea or coffee?”
“Or lemonade,” Miranda reminded him. “Don’t forget the lemonade.” She placed the tray over his lap and removed the covers from the plate of pudding and vegetables, and from over the dessert plate containing a slice of chocolate cake. “Ned arrived with some provisions.”
Daniel smoothed the pink sheets and the spread covering him, pushed himself up against the pillows at his back, then lifted his knife and fork. “Any clothes?”
“For me,” she told him. “Not for you. At least not until he pays a call on your tailor.”
“I ordered several sets of clothing about a month ago,” Daniel said. “They should be ready. I took the liberty of writing a note for Ned to give to Weston.” He nodded toward the secretary and the folded piece of white stationery lying on top of it. The note had taken him nearly an hour to write and had all but exhausted the last of his strength. Daniel had been amazed that he’d managed to make it from bed to writing desk and back again. “I thought about having Ned take my shirt or my waistcoat, but they are probably stained and stiff with my blood, and since my tailor and my valet gossip, my tailor doesn’t need to see that.”