Miranda stood by the window in the vast bed chamber that was now her own. Fairytales rarely went beyond this point. The weight of her responsibilities as a duchess were emphasized in the very gleam of the polished hardwood of the solid, centuries-old furniture and in the tapestries that hung on the wall tapestries created by Simon's ancestors.
She ran her hand absently over the smoothly carved bedrail, able to feel the grain of the wood with her fingertips. How old was this bed? Had the first, newly-made earl had it commissioned to celebrate his success? Or was it the first earl to be made duke? Her wedding night was taking on more import.
If she could not find a cure for Simon's illness, they had little time to make sure there would be at least a chance for a male heir to inherit. Instead of a bridge between two people, they held the responsibility to create a bridge from the present to the future. She knew how Simon valued his lineage. What if she failed him?
She smiled as she traced a golden thread through its path in one of the tapestries. The historic significance of what would pass between Simon and herself was not nearly enough to sober her. An impatient joy bubbled in her. Simon would come to her tonight. She wondered why she did not feel more sorrow, for if Simon was right, then he would be dead too soon and her joy but fleeting.
Yet she had her plans — Katherine would arrive soon. If her healing skills were as good as the villagers attested, Miranda had hope that the village healer might succeed where Simon's doctors had failed. She must.
She held her impatience at bay until she had finished tracing the golden thread. What could Simon be saying to his mother that would take him away for so long? Surely he was not nervous, such vagaries of the nerves were for the female on her wedding night, not the male.
She drifted toward the gilt-edged looking glass. She had long since changed into her wedding nightgown, a frill of lace and silk that made her blush, even after she had covered it with a robe of silk.
Where was Simon? If he did not come to her soon, she would be too nervous to ensure that things went smoothly between them. As her mother had often lamented, Miranda was not by nature a person able to wait quietly. She must do something. After a moment more staring at the bed and its imposing grandeur, she looked down at her attire.
Impulsively, she chose a gown from her trunk and dressed quickly. She found her way to the front hall with only a little difficulty. There was light from under the drawing room door, but no sound of conversation or argument. Hesitantly, she opened the door.
''I'm glad to see that you have recovered from your earlier indisposition," Simon's mother said calmly. Her steel gray eyes missed nothing as she examined Miranda from head to toe. "I wanted to meet the woman who could convince my son to marry her considering his ... condition."
Miranda was too distracted to do more than blush lightly. "I am honored to meet you, Your Grace. I apologize for my earlier indisposition. Our trip was long and exhausting, and neither Simon nor I expected a guest."
A true smile, with a bitter twist, softened the dowagers' features briefly. "I hardly think I qualify as a guest in the home I came to as a bride — or in which I raised my son." She looked directly at Miranda, as if issuing some challenge.
Feeling as if she was being ensnared by a careful spider, Miranda decided that directness would be the best course. "Where is Simon?" Astonished, she felt half embarrassed and half proud that she was able to sound as condescending as the dowager.
"I should try the stables, my dear. I don't believe he trusts himself in the house at the moment." She sounded almost amused.
Miranda searched the impassive face for a clue as to how to take such a comment coming from Simon's own mother. Was this woman evil inside, as Snow White's stepmother had been? Would Miranda be safer refusing apples from the dowager, lest they be poisoned? Or was her poison one of the soul rather than the body?
After a moment's silent clash of gazes, she bit her lip and turned to look out into the hallway. What was wrong with Simon's mother? Miranda, her sense of alarm aroused, had no time to find out. "I shall try the stables, then."