Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(57)

“It will. Gossip is only enjoyable when it’s new. It will fade eventually. And when it does, and you have been forgotten about, I will bring you out as a different woman.”“Sang de Dieu, what are you saying?” Mira demanded, horrified. “You can’t do that!”

“I certainly can. We will make you Rand’s ward. Mireille Germain… a timid young woman brought up by a fine, very old, very respectable French family, transferred to the Berkeleys’ safekeeping along with her very attractive dowry.”

“I have no dowry.”

“Of course you do—I’ll supply it.”

“I won’t accept it. And besides, there are hundreds— thousands—of ways that people will poke holes in my story.”

“But I still remember what a superb actress you are. You’ll be so convincing that most people won’t think of disbelieving what’s in front of their eyes.”

“What about everyone who saw me at Sackville Manor?” Mira asked desperately. “They’ll remember me, and they all know I’m not from some respectable French family.”

“That is a slight problem—”

“It’s a tremendous problem!”

“—but Rand will help us think of some good lies. And he’ll convince Sackville to support whatever story we come up with. Rand is very persuasive.”

“There is another problem,” Mira said hoarsely, thinking of Alec, his eyes smiling into hers, his lips seeking hers tenderly. She did not want any other man but him, and the thought of belonging to someone else was unbearable. “I don’t want a husband, be it a chimney sweep, the King of England, or anyone in between. So it’s not worth the effort, the lies, the stories, and everything else necessary to get me a husband. I don’t want one.”

“What?” Rosalie asked, astounded. “Of course you do! You don’t want to be alone, do you?”

“Yes, I do. I want to be alone.”

“No, you don’t. You may think you do, but you don’t,” Rosalie insisted. She was about to lecture theyounger woman about the benefits of matrimony as opposed to the problems of being alone, but as she saw the signs of stubbornness on Mira’s face, she gave up the debate temporarily. “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said with a smile. “While you rest here, I’ll have several months to convince you that you need a husband—”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“You look tired. You must nap for an hour or two, and then I will take you to tour the grounds and to visit with Christian.”

“I don’t know if I can rest,” Mira said agitatedly. “I have so much to think about.”

“Think about only one thing,” Rosalie said, standing up and regarding her fondly. “After a little time here, you will start to look at things the way you used to. Remember how eager and vivacious you were? I’ve never seen anyone plunge through life with that kind of energy.”

“I remember that I was always getting into trouble,” Mira said.

“That, at least, hasn’t changed.”

It was impossible to combat Rosalie’s relentless optimism. Mira felt her spirits lighten as she was shown to a charming bedchamber decorated in shades of white and blue, filled with walnut and oak furniture. The gowns she had brought from Hampshire were already hanging in an armoire with fielded panels, while her accessories were placed neatly in a Charles II oak chest. Mira toyed absently with the brass-ring handles of the chest as she peered about the rest of the room, A set of ivory-handled brushes reposed on top of the Queen Anne dressing table, while pewter jars painted with Chinese figures perched on the mantel of the simple stone fireplace. It was not at all difficult to fall asleep in such pleasant surroundings, and Mira woke an hour or two later with a strange sense ofpeace and belonging. With the help of the shy, plump maid who had brought her tea before, she freshened her clothes and brushed her rumpled hair ruthlessly, confining the thick black-brown mass in her pearl-studded hairnet.

She walked with Rosalie and Christian through the immaculately tended grounds, enjoying the cool October air and the cavorting of Rosalie’s young son. Christian was the most engaging child Mira had ever seen, blond and green-eyed, possessing a round face and sturdy-legged body. Dressed in a belted tunic and simple pantaloons, he raced back and forth as the two women walked along the garden paths, occasionally interrupting their conversation with questions and forthright observations.

“He is unusually bright for a boy of three,” Mira said after Christian recited the names of all the different kinds of leaves he was in the process of collecting, and Rosalie laughed with delight.

“His papa certainly believes so. And unfortunately Christian is all Berkeley, down to the eyeteeth.”

“All Berkeley? Is that bad?”

“It forebodes a great deal of trouble,” Rosalie said, lifting her graceful hand in a helpless gesture and smiling resignedly. “The Berkeleys are a reckless lot, with an ancestry of highwaymen, incendaries, and troublemakers… and I have no doubt that Christian will follow in the same tradition.”

“But Lord Berkeley is a very responsible sort of man,” Mira pointed out.

“Due solely to my influence.”

“I can see that he has changed a great deal since your marriage,” Mira said, thinking back to that long-ago summer in France. Berkeley had been younger, rougher, irritable whenever he and Rosalie were apart.