Daniel picked up the bishop and held it in his hand. He knew what it meant. He had used it to checkmate her king in their final game of chess, right before he’d shoved the board out of the way, toppled the pieces, and kissed her as if his life depended on it. Kissed her as if he would never let her go.
The bishop was her way of telling him that she’d made the last move.
I love you, Daniel.
The words popped into his mind.
She had offered him her heart with those four words, and he, fool that he was, had pretended not to notice. But she had known they were legally wed and she hadn’t said a word or shed a tear when she’d watched him walk away.
Apparently, Miranda loved him enough to let him go.
“I didn’t believe her.” He shook his head. “She told me the truth and I didn’t believe her.”
“Who? What?” Jonathan asked.
“Miranda,” Daniel answered, extending the sheet of vellum and showing it to Jonathan. “My wife.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564–1616
“I’ve come to see Miranda,” Daniel announced unceremoniously as Crawford, the St. Germaine’s butler, showed him into the Blue Salon where Miranda’s mother, Lady Frederick St. Germaine, was waiting.
“I’m afraid she isn’t here, Your Grace.” Lady St. Germaine curtseyed.
Daniel raised an eyebrow at that. It was still early and he’d gone to the house on Curzon Street before he’d called upon Upper Brook Street. The Curzon Street house was locked and deserted.
“You just missed her,” Lady St. Germaine was saying. “Miranda left shortly after your mother departed.”
Her statement caught Daniel off guard. “My mother came here?”
Lady St. Germaine snorted. “We were, unfortunately, graced with the dowager duchess’s presence while we were taking breakfast. She was none too happy to be here. And we were less than pleased at having our breakfast interrupted in order to open our doors to her.” She looked up at Daniel. “Whatever did you do to put her into such a fine fettle?”
“I think you know what I did, ma’am.” Daniel blushed. “Or rather, what we—Miranda and I—did.”
“My daughter didn’t volunteer details,” Lady St. Germaine told him. “All I know of the matter is what I read in this morning’s paper.”
“Then I’ve some explaining to do.” He smiled at his mother-in-law. “And I’ll be happy to do just that as soon as Miranda joins us.”
“Would that she could, Your Grace,” Miranda’s mother murmured, “but as I said before, Miranda is not here.”
“Have you any idea where I might find her?”
“She mentioned something several days ago about staying with friends in the country.”
“I see,” Daniel nodded. “And these friends must be very good friends to leave town in the midst of the season with a woman whose good name has been besmirched by a scandal sheet this very morning.”
“As the besmircher of her good name, I’m sure Your Grace knows more about that than I.”
He laughed. “I now know from whom my wife gets her sharp tongue.”
“And I now know from whom Your Grace has obtained his exquisite manners …” Her words drifted off and the marchioness looked up at Daniel. “Did you say wife?”
“I did.” He tugged his signet ring off his finger and pressed it into Lady St. Germaine’s hand, carefully closing her fist around it. “Please give this to my wife when you see her, and remind her that it is hers for safekeeping until I can do better. Ask her to be ready to join me when I call for her later this afternoon so that we might conclude our business at St. Michael’s and discuss our future.”
“I would be most happy to, Your Grace.” Lady St. Germaine smiled broadly.