The Fairy Tale Bride

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

“Less than a month to prepare a house party to reintroduce you to polite society? And I suppose it must be perfect? How very like Simon to set such an absurd standard.”

The dowager sat at a fragile cherrywood writing desk, a pile of invitations in front of her, her quill waving through the air for emphasis as she spoke.

Miranda wondered, not for the first time, if she would be better served to permanently alienate the dowager, rather than attempt a reconciliation between Simon and his mother. She smiled with strained patience. “We certainly have made a good start on it in these last weeks. I thank you for your help, despite the need to do so much so quickly. It’s just that there are considerations ...”

The dowager raised one elegant eyebrow, reminding Miranda uncannily of Simon. “Such as the haste of your marriage? The scandal you fear? Your five younger sisters, two of whom must be brought out quickly and well?”

Miranda thought she had hidden her anger — and astonishment — well, until the dowager continued. “My dear, don’t look surprised. I am very well informed — even if not kept so by my son. And never fear. I am very organized. We shall be the talk of the season.”

She couldn’t help wondering if that would be a good thing or not, but she kept her reservations to herself, and if she somehow let them show on her face, the dowager was mercifully tactful enough not to bring it to her attention again.

In the last few weeks they had planned a menu, entertainment and — most importantly — a guest list. Miranda found herself reluctant to make the decisions and deferred to the dowager on almost all things — where the dowager would allow the decision to be deferred, of course. All that was left to be done was pen the invitations.

“Are you certain you want to include him?” The dowager pointed to Giles Grimthorpe’s neatly penned name.

“Simon thinks it best.” Miranda was annoyed at her own timidity. She had agreed with him, so why hadn’t she said, we think it best? What was it about the dowager that made her feel as if she were back in the schoolroom?

“Yes, I can see his point. He is a relative, after all.”

The dowager brushed the feathered edge of the quill against the underside of her chin. “Still, it makes for an awkward weekend.”

Miranda shrugged her shoulders. “I suspect the entire weekend will be unpleasant.”

“I meant awkward in the sense of where to place his room, and who to seat him near at table, child.” She did not hide her amusement — or her condescension.

“I meant unpleasant in that he — and everyone else — shall be whispering and buzzing about the rumor that something untoward happened between us five years ago and hoping for a scandal. If they even deign to attend.”

“Of course they will attend. The hint of past scandal as well as the curiosity about Simon’s new duchess will ensure that.” The dowager seemed to find that an encouraging fact.

Miranda nodded miserably, trying to maintain the stiff upper lip the dowager so admired at the thought that she would be on exhibit like an ancient ruin for the pleasure of her guests.

The dowager said sharply, “And they will whisper, as well, but you will deal with that.”

“I will do my best.” Of course, her best had not been good enough five years ago. Had she learned enough cloistered at Anderlin, selling candlesticks and jewelry and raising her sisters, to handle London society again? Even with Simon’s protection and in her own home?