and John Fletcher, 1579–1625
REGENT’S PARK, LONDON
One month later
“The morning post has arrived, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Ned.” Miranda lifted the letter from the silver tray he offered to her and placed it on her lap.
“It’s Beckham, ma’am.”
Miranda looked up from the newspaper she was reading. “Pardon?”
“It’s Beckham, ma’am,” Ned insisted. “Now that I’m a butler, you should call me by my surname, Beckham.”
“I’ll try, Ne … Beckham,” she promised, as Daniel walked into the room and placed a kiss on her neck.
“Problems with the help?” he teased.
Miranda nodded. “Now that he’s recovered from his wound and been promoted to butler, Ned insists on being called Beckham.” She looked over at her husband. “I’ve known him all my life and I’ve always called him Ned.” She sighed. “Beckham is going to take some getting used to.”
“You elevated him to the position of butler, Your Grace,” Daniel reminded her. “And that entitles him to be called by his surname.” He leaned over her shoulder. “Anything newsworthy in the Chronicle?”
She shook her head. “I keep waiting for the “Ton Tidbits” column to recant their earlier article about us.”
“No luck?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“No matter. We can always bring suit against them.” Daniel stared at the cream-colored heavy vellum envelope in Miranda’s lap. “What’s that?”
“Morning post.”
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
Miranda folded the newspaper and laid it aside, then reached for the envelope in her lap and flipped it over. “That’s odd.”
“What is?” Daniel had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning like a jackanapes.
She frowned. “It’s from your mother.”
“Well, open it,” he urged, “and see what she wants.”
Miranda ripped open the envelope and read: “ ‘Her Grace, the dowager Duchess of Sussex, requests the honor of your presence at the wedding of her son, His Grace Daniel Edward Arthur, Ninth Duke of Sussex, to the Most Noble Miranda Margaret, Fifth Marquess of St. Germaine on Wednesday, 30th June at nine o’clock in the morning at St. Michael’s Church, St. Michael’s Square, London. Gala breakfast to follow at Sussex House.’ ” Puzzled, Miranda looked up at her husband. “She’s inviting us to our wedding.”
Daniel shook his head. “The invitation was addressed to you,” he said. “She’s inviting you to the wedding she’s hosting for us.”
“She wants us to get married again?”
Daniel leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “She wants to make amends by publicly inviting you to her second gala celebration of the season.”
Tears formed in Miranda’s eyes. “She doesn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Thirtieth of June?” Miranda squeaked. “That’s barely a fortnight away. What should I wear?”
Daniel laughed. “Strange that you should ask that particular question.” He leaned down and picked up a dress box from Madam Racine’s and handed it to her. “For I seem to recall owing you a ball gown fit for a queen.”