“Change everything, except your loves.”
—Voltaire, 1694–1778
Daniel took his cousin’s advice and paid a call on his mother.
He entered her sitting room and greeted her without preamble as soon as Weldon announced him.
“Mother, I’ve come to collect the Sussex Emerald and the accompanying pieces, and to let you know that I’m meeting Miranda St. Germaine”—he looked at the clock on the mantel—“in a little less than an hour.”
“Good afternoon, Daniel,” she said, ignoring his abrupt announcement. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I know you saw the item in the Chronicle this morning, and I know that you’ve already paid Miranda a call, so if you would be so kind as to retrieve the ring from your safe, I would be most grateful.”
“So,” the duchess heaved a sigh as she looked up at her son. “It’s finally come to this. My son, the Duke of Sussex, intends to offer marriage to a young woman in order to avoid scandal …”
“I don’t intend anything of the kind,” Daniel contradicted.
“Then what do you call it?” For the second time that day, the duchess forgot her years of training otherwise and indulged a frown.
“I call it presenting Miranda with the wedding and betrothal rings I should have given her when I married her. Three nights ago after your gala.”
“What?”
“The gossipmonger writing for the Chronicle has his facts all wrong.” Daniel smiled at his mother. “Miranda and I were married before we honeymooned at her house on Curzon Street.”
“How could you …” she began.
“By special license,” he replied. “It’s all quite legal. Bishop Manwaring married us at St. Michael’s.”
“That’s ridiculous! I saw the girl this morning, and she didn’t so much as hint at being married to you. In fact, she did quite the opposite.”
Daniel narrowed his gaze. “The girl has a name, madam. It’s Miranda, and when you speak it, do so with kindness. For she deserves no less. Especially from you.”
“If she were your wife …”
“She is my wife.”
The duchess glanced at her son. “If she is your wife, why didn’t she say so?”
“And endure having you call her a liar?”
“All she had to do to prove me wrong was show me the marriage lines,” the duchess insisted.
“She couldn’t prove it,” he said. “Because she gave me the only proof we have, to keep or destroy as I will.”
“That was rather stupid of her.” The duchess was surprised. She’d always believed Miranda was smarter than that. Smart enough and ruthless enough to set her cap for a duke and not to settle for anything less. The duchess didn’t see it as fortune hunting so much as fortune saving, for Miranda was extremely wealthy in her own right and had been besieged by men looking to secure that fortune for their own from the day she inherited. The duchess knew Miranda was infatuated with Daniel, but she’d believed it was because Daniel was one of the only young, handsome, marriageable men in London who outranked her and were strong enough and rich enough to stand up to her. Not to mention tall enough. Daniel, the Marquess of Shepherdston, and the Austrian archduke who had chased her the previous season were the only three such men the duchess could name. Miranda’s choices for a husband were limited by her position in society. For the Marchioness St. Germaine, marriage to anyone other than another marquess or a duke would be marrying beneath her, and although the duchess hated to admit it, she admired the girl for not being foolish enough to give a lesser-ranking husband control of her fortune. “She should have kept the marriage lines to force your hand in case you decided not to acknowledge the marriage.” She looked at Daniel. “I would have.”
Daniel swore, then raked his fingers through his hair and gave his mother a pitying look. “That’s the difference between you and Miranda. Miranda doesn’t have to prove anything. To you or to anyone else. You would use everything in your power to make me stay. She loves me enough not to. She set me free and allowed me to choose.”
“And you chose her.”
“Yes, I did,” Daniel said. “And I’m fortunate that she chose me as well. We chose each other long before either of us realized it.”
“This hasty, clandestine marriage will have everyone in the ton counting on his or her fingers to see if she presents you with an heir,” his mother warned.
“Let them count,” Daniel told her. “It makes no difference. Miranda was an innocent until I took her to bed. And I took her to bed after we spoke our vows. If she presents me with a child, I’ll be the happiest man on earth. Whether it’s nine months or nine years from now, I’ll welcome my daughter or son with open arms and give thanks for the miracle. And I’ll expect you to do the same.”
The duchess stared at him open-mouthed. “You love her.”