“Indeed, I do, Bishop Manwaring.”
“How might I be of service?”
“I wish to marry the lady,” Daniel announced. “And she has graciously agreed.”
“You wish to marry tonight, Your Grace?” the bishop asked.
“Of course,” Daniel replied in a conspiratorial tone. “I’ve waited a long time for her to accept. I’m not about to let her get away again.”
The bishop grinned. “Most sensible of you, Your Grace. For in the world in which we live, true love is a rare and precious thing.”
Tears welled up in the corners of Miranda’s eyes. Daniel could be an ass, but his moments of gallantry made up for it. Her spur-of-the-moment wedding wasn’t the stuff of romantic dreams, but the bishop would never know it.
“Won’t you come inside out of the weather, Your Grace?” Bishop Manwaring offered, gesturing toward the church.
“Thank you, but no, My Lord, I prefer that you marry us here.” Daniel smiled. One of the first things he’d learned when he inherited the title from his father was that men of lower rank almost never questioned a duke’s requests, no matter how odd the request might be. “In the coach. If that’s agreeable to you,” he added as a courtesy. “For the lady and I prefer to avoid the rain and continue our journey in dry comfort.”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” Bishop Manwaring agreed.
“We will, of course, require a special license,” Daniel said.
“Have you ever previously applied for a special license, Your Grace?” the bishop asked.
Daniel glanced at Miranda. “No.”
“Are there any impediments to the marriage, Your Grace?”
“No,” Daniel answered. “And I will send my man of business around with sworn statements at a later date.”
The bishop nodded. “As I am empowered to represent His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, here and at his offices in Lambeth Palace and Doctor’s Commons, I’ve everything we need to make the application and issue the license.”
“Then climb aboard,” Daniel invited, clenching his teeth to keep from groaning at the jolt of pain that shot through him when the vehicle shifted beneath the clergyman’s weight.
Miranda smiled nervously and offered her hand to the bishop in greeting as he climbed inside the coach and settled on the opposite seat.
Ned moved to close the door behind the bishop, but the clergyman stopped him. “We’ll require two witnesses. I alerted my wife and the curate when your man rang the bell. They’re available,” he continued. “If you’ll go back to the house and tell them we require them.”
Ned looked to Miranda for direction.
She nodded.
“I’ll fetch them straightaway, miss.”
Her footman was as good as his word, and moments later he returned with Lady Manwaring and the curate, who joined them inside the vehicle.
Miranda sat between Daniel and the curate on one seat, while the bishop and Lady Manwaring occupied the other.
Lady Manwaring gave Bishop Manwaring plenty of room as the minister opened his prayer book and began to recite. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony …”
Daniel did his best to concentrate on the bishop’s words rather than the pain of his wound, his lightheadedness, and the blood steadily seeping through his bandage, shirt, and waistcoat. He wasn’t an overly religious man, but Daniel said a prayer of thanks that the lamps in the coach illuminated enough of the area around the bishop to allow him to read from his prayer book, but left sufficient shadows to conceal the fact that he was injured and bleeding and very intoxicated.
“Daniel, ninth Duke of Sussex, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Daniel didn’t answer, and after waiting longer than usual for the nervous bridegroom to answer, Bishop Manwaring took the liberty of prompting him. After all, a man didn’t roust a clergyman out of bed in the wee hours of the morning in order to perform a wedding unless the gentleman truly wanted to get married. “Your Grace, it’s time to answer. Wilt thou have this young woman to wife?”
He took his time, but Daniel finally answered in a voice that sounded strong and determined. “Yes.”
Miranda and the minister both breathed sighs of relief. He might not mean it. He might not want to marry—and Miranda knew in her heart that he didn’t—but he sounded as if he did. She forgave his momentary hesitation. She alone knew how deep into his cups Daniel was, and how weak, and why. She understood how hard it must be for him to ignore his pain and concentrate on what was happening.
Miranda looked over at him and recognized the firm resolve on his face. He meant it, she realized. He hadn’t wanted to marry, but he was willing to make her his duchess in order to shield her from the scandal he’d unwittingly brought to her door. And Miranda was grateful. She would have gladly endured any amount of scandal to protect Daniel, but she was relieved to know she wouldn’t have to. She knew he didn’t love her. She knew he didn’t want to marry her or anyone else. He’d told her so only a short time before he’d suddenly proposed that she marry him.
Miranda was under no illusion about Daniel’s feelings for her. She hoped Daniel might eventually fall in love with her, but she realized he might never learn to feel anything more than fondness and admiration for her. But he was giving himself to her before God and witnesses and offering her the opportunity to be a bride instead of a bridesmaid. Successful marriages had been built on much less.
Daniel didn’t love her, but he liked her. He didn’t trust easily, but he trusted her. And he believed she was a better choice for his duchess than any of the young beauties his mother had tried to foist upon him.
She was going to be his duchess, and he was going to be her husband. For as long as they lived. And, God willing, that would be a very long time. Time enough for Miranda to learn to be the kind of wife Daniel deserved.
“My lady …” The bishop looked at Daniel and waited for the duke to supply the name of his intended.
But Daniel hadn’t been to enough weddings to know what came next. Miranda, on the other hand, had served as a bridesmaid on more occasions than she cared to count. She’d attended so many weddings and had heard the marriage vows so often she could recite them by heart. She looked at Daniel as she gave the bishop her name. “Miranda, fifth Marquess of St. Germaine.”
Bishop Manwaring widened his eyes in surprise as he recognized the name and the title. “Lady Miranda, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him …”
Miranda glanced at the bishop. “I can’t promise to obey him,” she admitted honestly. “But I promise I will try.”
The bishop struggled to keep from laughing. In all the years he’d been married, his wife had never given him the blind obedience she’d promised. And in all the years he’d been performing marriages, he had never had a single young woman admit to doubting her ability to obey her husband. But Bishop Manwaring supposed that was to be expected from a marchioness in her own right. He shook his head. At least His Grace knew what he was getting. “Fair enough. Now, where was I?”
“Wilt thou serve …” Miranda prompted.
“Ah, yes,” the reverend continued, “wilt thou serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Miranda answered solemnly.
Bishop Manwaring turned back to Daniel and asked him to repeat the vows, then did the same to Miranda. And when they’d finished repeating vows and making promises, the minister asked for the ring.
“Have you a ring, Your Grace?”
br />
He didn’t—not for Miranda—but he’d worn a gold ring on his right hand since he’d inherited the dukedom. Daniel tugged his gold signet ring off his finger, then looked up at Miranda. “This will have to do for now.”
Miranda bit her bottom lip, then gave a slight nod.
“Place the ring on the third finger of her left hand, Your Grace, and repeat after me.” Bishop Manwaring waited until Daniel did as he’d instructed. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Daniel repeated the solemn promise, then slipped the ring bearing his ducal crest onto Miranda’s gloved finger.
The ring was heavy, and she automatically closed her fist to keep it from sliding off.
“Those whom God had joined together let no man put asunder,” the minister continued. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He looked at Daniel. “You may kiss your bride, Your Grace.”
Miranda kept her fist closed around Daniel’s signet ring, clutching it against her heart as she turned her face up to receive his kiss—their first kiss as husband and wife. But Daniel barely brushed the corner of her mouth with his. She gave a little sigh and put away her disappointment. Her wedding barely qualified as a ceremony, and Daniel’s brush of her lips barely qualified as a kiss. Both were in perfect accord.
Bishop Manwaring took out his pen and ink, and the special license with the dispensation from the Archbishop of Canterbury allowing the purchaser to wed at any time or place and issued it to Daniel, ninth Duke of Sussex. The bishop wrote in Miranda’s name, and after signing his name with a flourish and affixing his seal of office, he offered the pen to Daniel to sign the parish register.
Daniel made no move to take the pen. “I’ve no wish to have our marriage made public just yet.”
Bishop Manwaring nodded. “I gathered that this was a secret wedding.”
“For the moment,” Daniel said. “Although we wanted very much to marry, this is not the opportune time to reveal it.”
“I see.” The reverend looked from the Duke of Sussex to his new duchess. “Rest assured, Your Grace, that the wedding is legal even if it is not recorded. Your special license will bear proof of it. But the church encourages all of its parishioners to record the important events of their lives in as timely a manner as possible.”
“How timely?” Miranda asked quietly.
“Before a month has passed.”
She looked at Daniel. “We shall do our best to return to sign the register within thirty days, shan’t we, Your Grace?”
Daniel gave the bishop a quick nod and reached into his jacket, rummaging through his pockets.
Miranda feared Daniel was reaching for his flask, and was enormously relieved to see him produce his purse. He opened it, shook out several gold and silver coins, and handed them to the bishop. “For the license and your trouble, My Lord.”
“You need only pay for the license, Your Grace. You already have my discretion. Your patronage of St. Michael’s through the years has always been most generous.” He held out his hand, offering to return the coins Daniel had given him.
Daniel frowned. He couldn’t think what to do, and he’d always prided himself on handling awkward situations with more aplomb.
Miranda came to his rescue. “Please, accept it,” she told him. “You’ve done us a very great favor, My Lord, and His Grace and I would like you to use this money wherever it will do the most good, as a way of sharing our good fortune.”
“I’d be delighted, Your Grace,” Bishop Manwaring said, taking Miranda’s hand and patting the back of it. “And may I be the first to wish you happiness on your nuptials?”
Miranda blinked in surprise. Your Grace. For better or for worse, she had just become Daniel’s duchess.
Chapter Six
“The better part of valor is discretion;
in the which better part I have saved my life.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564–1616
“Where to, miss … ma’am?” Ned asked, returning to the coach after escorting the bishop and Lady Manwaring back to the palace.
“I don’t know.” Miranda looked down at Daniel’s ring on her finger, then slowly slipped it off and turned to hand it to her new husband. “Daniel, where do you want to go now? Daniel?” Miranda leaned closer, and her voice took on an edge of panic when Daniel failed to respond. “Daniel?” Miranda opened the reticule looped around her wrist and dropped Daniel’s ducal signet inside for safekeeping, then placed her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a gentle shake.
“Promise …” Daniel whispered.
Miranda leaned close to hear him. “Promise what?”
“Me.” Daniel closed his eyes once again and gave a heavy sigh.
“Daniel Sussex! Don’t you dare die on me!”
“He’s not dead, miss,” Ned said softly. “He’s just passed out.”
“Well, fine,” Miranda replied a bit more sharply than she intended, now that she knew Daniel hadn’t expired on her.
Now that she knew he hadn’t made her a widow before she became a wife. Now that she knew he’d passed out from pain, or loss of blood, or too much Scots whisky. Now that she knew Daniel had placed her on the horns of a dilemma and left her to sort out the problem and find a solution. “What am I supposed to do now? We may have exchanged wedding vows, but as long as it’s a secret, I’ve nowhere to take him that doesn’t require an explanation except back to his home at Sussex House, and I gave him my word that I wouldn’t do that.” Leaning close enough to feel his shallow breath, Miranda caressed his cheek with her hand and muttered, “Some wedding this has turned out to be. It would serve you right if I took you home to my mother and let you explain all of this. How would you like that, Your Grace?”
Miranda had no intention of doing either, but venting her spleen on him made her feel much better—especially when she knew there wasn’t a thing Daniel could do or say about it. She turned to Ned.
“Do you think you could gain entrance and locate the Duke of Avon, or Lords Grantham, Shepherdston, or Barclay, if we returned to Sussex House?”
“Shepherdston’s not there.”
“Oh?” Miranda didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “How did you know that?”
Ned took a deep breath. “Begging your pardon, milady, uh, Your Grace …”
“Milady will do fine, Ned,” Miranda told him. “You were witness to the ceremony that made me the duchess, but I shall be known as the Marchioness of St. Germaine until His Grace decides otherwise.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ned gave a little bow. “After you presented your invitation and entered the house, I overheard one of the duchess’s footmen say something about the Marquess of Shepherdston not attending even though Her Grace had invited him, and the Marchioness of St. Germaine attending even though Her Grace had not invited her.”
Miranda blinked at the stinging indictment. “Do you think you could slip inside Sussex House and find the Duke of Avon or Lords Grantham or Barclay?”
“On any other night, perhaps, but not tonight. Not in this livery.” He glanced down at the distinctive St. Germaine livery. “I won’t make it past the front door unless I can find another footman willing to exchange livery with me or go in my stead.”
“No one can go in your stead,” Miranda said firmly. “It has to be you. I don’t trust anyone else.”
“I’m willing to try if that’s what you want, milady.”
Miranda chewed her bottom lip. Daniel had asked for her help, and he trusted her to do the right thing by him. Finding a footman willing to exchange livery with Ned could take precious time. Perhaps it was just as well because she wasn’t sure Daniel could spare it. She pressed her hand against the front of Daniel’s waistcoat. It was saturated with blood, but the fresh flow appeared to have slowed. “I want to get His Grace out of the night air and into a warm, soft bed,” she said. “Unfortunately, I have no idea wher
e to take him.” She sat back against the cushions and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Where could she take her new husband so that no one would know he was foxed and injured or newly married? Where in London was there such a place? Of course. “The house on Curzon Street.” She looked at Ned. “Can we get to Curzon Street from here?”
Ned thought for a moment. “We’ll have to turn around and make our way through Reeves mews, but we can do it.”
Miranda had owned the house on Curzon Street for years, but she hadn’t realized she owned it until six months ago, when her solicitor had turned over a box of papers that her father, the late Marquess of St. Germaine, had instructed him to release on the fifth anniversary of his death.
The deed to the house had been among a bundle of deeds to various London rental properties the late marquess had owned.
Reading the papers, Miranda had learned that her father had begun purchasing desirable properties in and around London soon after inheriting the title of Marquess of St. Germaine. Most of the properties had been parts of estates purchased from gentlemen down on their luck. Some he leased back to the original owners for a nominal fee. Others he kept for their income-producing abilities.
Her father’s letter explained the significance of the properties and the fact that he’d kept them separate from the other St. Germaine holdings as a form of insurance for Miranda for five years. If she proved to be a good steward of her inheritance and an asset to the title, these properties would insure the growth of her personal wealth. If she proved to be a poor manager of her wealth and title, these properties could be liquidated and used to sustain her position in society in order to protect the entailed St. Germaine lands that could not be sold and could only pass through her to her heir.
The Marquess of St. Germaine had left it to his faithful solicitor to determine whether Miranda should be trusted with the management of the additional properties. And he’d given his solicitor five years in which to observe her.
Fortunately, Miranda had proven to be her father’s daughter. She was an excellent businesswoman who saw herself as guardian of the wealth and position she had inherited. When Mr. Thompson, her solicitor, turned the box over to her, Miranda was pleasantly surprised to learn she owned quite a few London properties, including several buildings leased by foreign governments and used as embassies.