Truly a Wife (Free Fellows League 4)

Miranda exhaled. “I understand, Your Grace.”

The dowager duchess glanced back over her shoulder. “You also understand that I am not at all pleased at the prospect of becoming a grandmother at my age. I’m much too young.”

“Your Grace …” Miranda began, staring down at the toes of her slippers.

“Unless, of course, my grandchild is born into a legal union. And is female.”

Miranda looked up and met the duchess’s gaze.

“Boys grow up to break their mothers’ hearts.”

* * *

At Albany, the Earl of Barclay walked, fully clothed, into the guest room where Daniel had spent the night and found his cousin moving stiffly, and struggling to shave. He hung a fresh shirt and neck cloth on a wooden valet stand, then took the razor from Daniel’s hand and finished shaving him. “Colin sent word that we should join him for breakfast at home, and Griff and his father will meet us and Alex at White’s later in the morning.”

Daniel rinsed the soap from his face, then reached for a towel. “Thanks.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Jonathan shrugged. He studied the strips of cloth binding Daniel’s ribs, testing the tightness of them before adding, “Now, let’s have a look at what’s under that bandage on your side.”

Daniel would have protested, but Jonathan had already untied the cloth holding the padding over it. “Nice color.”

Daniel looked down at the large green, yellow, and dark purplish bruise surrounding his wound. “The bruise or the wound?”

“The stitches,” Jonathan chuckled. “Your injury is literally black and blue.”

“Miranda used silk,” Daniel defended, “because according to Griff’s wife, it’s the best thread for sewing up flesh.”

“Alyssa would know.” Jonathan acknowledged the Duchess of Avon’s talent for healing.

“Blue and pink were the only colors from which she had to choose.”

“Blue suits you much better than pink,” Jonathan teased, tracing the outline of the wound with his finger, checking for signs of infection or fever. “I’m impressed,” he said. “Miranda has a talent for needlework.”

Daniel reached for the borrowed shirt while Jonathan rewrapped the wound and secured it. Holding it up, he eyed it skeptically. “One of yours or one of Lord Dunbridge’s?”

Jonathan watched Daniel’s attempt to slip it on and lent assistance. “As if Dunbridge would wear a shirt as conservative as that one. Of course it’s one of mine.” He smiled at Daniel. “But you might take note of the fact that beggars shouldn’t be choosers, Your Grace.”

“So I’ve heard.” He was thoughtful for a moment, recalling a similar conversation a few days ago. Don’t they make silk thread in black? he had asked. I’m sure they do, Your Grace, Miranda had snapped, but beggars cannot be choosers. “But as it happens, I was exercising a bit of caution,” he teased. “Think what might happen if Dunbridge or one of his contemporaries were to recognize his shirt …” He grinned at Jonathan. “I might be accused of having participated in the theft of them. The scandal would be enormous. And I’ve my reputation to consider.”

“There is someone else’s reputation you might want to consider as well.” Jonathan held out the newspaper.

Daniel took it and saw that it was folded to the “Ton Tidbits” column. He quickly scanned the article, then sat down hard on a chair. “Damnation! Miranda.” Daniel glanced over at Jonathan. “Damage?”

Jonathan knew what his cousin was asking. “I wish I could say I’d snagged one of the first papers off the press. But by now,” he glanced at the clock, “everyone who reads the Chronicle will have seen it.” He met Daniel’s gaze. “You should go to her.”

“I will,” Daniel promised. I will. He frowned. Those two words sounded eerily familiar. As if he had spoken them to someone else quite recently. “How much time do I have before the meeting with Colin?” He hastily fashioned his neckcloth into a neat four-in-hand and slipped his arms into his coat as Jonathan acted as his valet and held it open for him.

“Not enough,” Jonathan admitted. “But Colin will understand if you’re a few minutes late.”

“Go to his house,” Daniel instructed. “And tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can, then collect Alex and go on to the club. I’ll follow with Colin.”

“All right,” Jonathan agreed. “Should I tell them anything? Or should I wait for you?”

“Wait for me,” Daniel instructed, leaning over to reach for the boots Jonathan had loaned him and groaning as the empty pewter flask dug into a tender spot on his ribs. “It will be better if I disclose my theory when we’re all present.” He put his hand into his pocket to retrieve it and discovered a folded sheet of vellum and what felt like a chess piece. He pulled them out along with the flask. Laying the pewter flask and the chess piece aside, Daniel unfolded the vellum and recognized it immediately.

It was a special license to marry, complete with names and signatures. His name and his scrawled signature. Miranda’s name and her signature. As well as the names of and signatures of Bishop Manwaring, Lady Manwaring, and Curate Linley. He stared at it, stunned, yet strangely relieved and satisfied, as the memories of their hasty wedding in the carriage came

flooding back.