Chapter 5

E ACH DAY OF THEIR HONEYMOON WAS BETTER THAN THE PREVIOUS one had been. Miranda, at first as skittish as a young filly, began to gentle somewhat as she became used to Jared’s presence at Wyndsong, in their bedroom, and in her life. He awoke Christmas Day to find her propped on one elbow studying him in the half-light of early winter morning. He watched her through slitted eyes, feigning sleep. She was lovely in her pale-blue silk nightgown with its long sleeves and modestly buttoned high neckline.

Her pale-gold hair hung loose after last night’s sweet combat between them, although she had come to bed with it plaited into two long neat braids. He didn’t know what it was about the sight of those braids that roused him so thoroughly, but they did. He had undone them, letting her beautiful thick silvery hair pour through his fingers, becoming excited by the soft, scented tresses, and she had laughed at him. He had taken her then and there, and she had continued to laugh into his face, a soft and seductive woman’s laughter, until she had finally yielded her body. He felt that she had yielded him nothing else this time. Miranda was growing up.

He continued lying quietly, and she reached out a slim hand to touch his face gently. In her sea-green eyes he saw puzzlement yet tenderness, and he thought, with amazement, She’s falling in love with me! Women who clung had always bored him, but he wanted this one to cling a little. He didn’t want her helpless, but he did want all of her. Reaching up, he caressed her face in return.

“Ohh!” She colored guiltily. “How long have you been awake?”

“Just now,” he lied. “Happy Christmas, Miranda.”

“Happy Christmas to you, sir.” She scrambled from bed, and ran into her dressing room to reappear a moment later with a gaily wrapped package. “For you, Jared!”

He sat up and accepted the gift. Unwrapping it, he found a beautiful buff-colored satin vest, embroidered with dainty sprigs of gold flowers with green leaves. The buttons were polished green malachite. There were also several pairs of well-knitted heavy wool stockings. He knew from the anxious look on her face that she had made both the vest and the stockings. Carefully he lifted the vest from its nest of wrapping and examined it. It was amazingly well done, and he was deeply touched.

“Why, madam, how marvelous,” he said. “I commend your needlework. I shall certainly take this excellent garment to London next spring, and be the envy of every gentleman at White’s.”

“You really like it?” Dear Lord! She sounded like a ninny! “I trust the socks also meet with your approval, sir,” she finished severely.

“Most assuredly, madam. I am flattered that you took the trouble to make me these gifts.” He reached up and drew her down to him. “Give me a Christmas kiss, my love.”

She brushed his mouth sweetly with her own, then said, “Have you nothing for me, sir?”

He chuckled. “Miranda, Miranda! Just when I believe you’re growing up, you become a child again.” She looked piqued, and he continued, “Yes, you greedy little puss, I have something for you. Go into my dressing room, and you’ll find two boxes in the bottom drawer of my chest-on-chest. Bring them here so I may present them to you properly.”

She was back in a moment with the boxes, which she handed to him. One was large, and the other small. He put them before him on the bed, and she studied them. The larger box bore the name of a Paris shop on it, the smaller the label of a London jeweler.

“Well, Miranda, which one first?” he teased.

“The smaller is bound to be more valuable,” she teased back, and he laughed as he handed it to her.

“Oh!” she breathed delightedly as she opened the box. Within the white satin nested a large cameo brooch, showing creamy-colored head and shoulders of a Grecian maiden with upswept and beribboned curls on a coral background. The maiden wore about her own neck an exquisite tiny gold chain with a single perfect diamond. It was a very unusual piece, and Miranda knew it must have cost him a pretty penny. She lifted it from its box and sighed with pleasure. “It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever owned,” she said, pinning it to her nightgown.

“I saw it last year in London, and sent for it right after we met. The jeweler was told to make me another, if he’d sold the original. I wasn’t at all sure it would be here in time for Christmas, but the fates must have heard my pleas. Open the other, my dear.”

“I have not thanked you yet, sir.”

“Words are not necessary, Miranda. I see the thanks in your beautiful eyes. Open the box from Madame Denise’s.”

Again her pretty mouth made an O of delight, as she excitedly lifted the garment from its box. “Pray, sir, tell me if you saw this in Paris last time you were there?” She stood up and held the exquisite lime-green silk and lace Circassian wrapper against her slender form.

His green eyes were smoky with amusement. “I have bought similar garments before from Madame Denise’s. For Bess and Charity, of course,” he added mischievously, and knew by the elegant lift of her eyebrow that she did not believe him.

“I do believe Grandmother Van Steen is right about you, Jared. You are a rogue!”

The new year of 1812 came, and with it strong winter storms. A coastal packet from New York brought a letter from Torwyck saying that Dorothea and Amanda were snowbound, and would not even attempt returning before spring when both the river and the Long Island Sound would be free of ice.

The world about them was white and quiet, some days brightened by sunshine and skies so blue that one could imagine it was summer. Other days were windswept and gray. But there was a hint of spring in the air. The forest stood black and still, except for the evergreen pines, moaning and whispering their loneliness around Long Pond at the west end of the island. The salt marshes were frozen over on dark February mornings with a skim of ice, and the purity of the meadows broken only by occasional paw prints. On the four freshwater ponds the Canadian geese, the swans, and wild ducks mallards, canvasbacks, buffleheads, and redheads wintered in relative peace. In the manor barns the horses and cattle lived dull lives, dreaming of warm summer meadows, the chill monotony broken only by daily feedings and the friendly company of several barn cats. Even the barnyard fowl kept pretty much indoors.

At first Miranda had felt strange being cut off from her family. She had never been away from them in her entire life, and now even Wyndsong was beginning to seem different, too. She had found it difficult at first to believe that it was she, and not Mama, who was mistress here. She had reconciled herself to Jared’s place as lord of the manor, but her own place was harder to accept. With his gentle guidance, however, she began to take up the reins of authority that were hers as chatelaine.

March came, and with it the thaw. They were, it seemed, an island of mud in a bright blue sea. Suddenly, toward the end of the month, a small flock of robins appeared, the hills were polka-dotted with yellow daffodils, and the land began to green once more. Spring had come to Wyndsong. From the shelter of their barns the livestock joyfully emerged. The colts and calves were bewildered at first, but soon gamboled across the meadows beneath the benign gaze of their proud parents.

Miranda celebrated her eighteenth birthday on April 7, 1812. Her mother and sister had arrived home late the day before on the Wyndsong yacht, Sprite . The twins had celebrated all their birthdays together, even the year Amanda had had the measles, and the one when Miranda was covered in chicken pox. Then it had been their father who sat at the head of the table, their mother at the foot, the twins on either side. Tonight Jared sat at the table’s head, and Miranda at its foot, wearing her birthday present from her husband, an emerald necklace.

The master of Wyndsong sat quietly amused by the endless chatter of the three ladies who had already spent the day catching up on the news of the last four months. Miranda, according to her mama, had missed a wonderful winter at Torwyck.

“I have had a wonderful winter here,” said Miranda. “It is really preferable, Mama, to spend one’s honeymoon with one’s husband.”

Amanda giggled, but Dorothea looked shocked. “Really, Miranda, I cannot imagine Jared approves of your immodesty.”

“On the contrary, my dear Doro, I encourage my wife in such immodesty.”

Miranda blushed, but her lips twitched with suppressed mirth. Since she had returned home Dorothea had attempted to force Miranda back into being just a daughter, thus unwittingly undermining Miranda’s position as mistress of Wyndsong. Jared’s remark annoyed her. Amanda, her cornflower-blue eyes round with delight, was obviously in cahoots with them , and it made Dorothea feel old, which she most certainly was not. At that moment, Dorothea decided it was time for her news.

“Well,” she said, her pretty, plump, dimpled hands fussing with the snow-white linen napkin, “I shall not remain here at Wyndsong much longer, my dears. A mother-in-law is a welcome guest only if her visit is a short one.”

“You are welcome here always, Doro. You know that.”

“Thank you, Jared. But I married Tom young, and I am still young, though I am a widow. This winter at my brother’s home I had the opportunity to spend a great deal of time with an old friend of the family’s, Pieter Van Notelman. He is a widower with five fine children, of whom only the eldest is married. Just before we returned to Wyndsong, he did me the honor of asking me to be his wife. I have accepted.”

“Mama!” the twins exclaimed at once.

Dorothea looked extremely pleased at the reaction she had elicited from her daughters.

“My felicitations, madam,” said Jared gravely. He had been willing to offer his mother-in-law a permanent home until he saw her effect on Miranda. Dorothea could not live comfortably at Wyndsong, now that her daughter was its new mistress. It would be far better this way.

“I do not recall Mynheer Van Notelman, Mama,” said Miranda.

“He owns Highlands. You and Amanda were there for a party four years ago.”

“Ah, yes! The great house on the lake up in the Shawgunk Mountains behind Torwyck. As I remember, there was a son who looked like a large frog, and was always trying to get Mandy and me into dark corners where he might kiss us.”

Amanda took up the story. “He managed one wet kiss, I shrieked, and Miranda came flying to my rescue. She blackened his eye. He spent the rest of the party telling people he’d walked into a door.”

Jared laughed heartily. “I think, pigeon, that a kiss from you would be worth it. Lord Swynford is a fortunate man.”

Dorothea spoke again. “I am distressed to hear, even at this late date, of such an unsavory incident,” she chided her daughters. “The young man of whom you speak died in a boating accident on the lake three years back. It was his demise that brought on the death of Pieter’s first wife, from melancholia. The boy was, you see, the only son.”

“And of the five remaining daughters one is plainer than the other,” said Amanda mischievously.

“Amanda, that is unkind!” scolded Dorothea.

“Have you not taught me to be truthful, Mama?” answered Amanda demurely while Jared and Miranda chuckled.

“When is your wedding to take place, Mama?” asked Miranda, not wishing to distress her mother.

“In late summer, when we return from London, dear. I would not think of marrying Pieter until I have Amanda safely settled with Adrian.”

Jared took a deep breath. He hadn’t intended to speak of this tonight, but now he had no choice. “Amanda cannot go to London. In fact none of you can. Not right now. With President Madison’s decree against trade with England there are no ships sailing for London. The French are still seizing American vessels. It’s much too dangerous, ladies. I received the New York papers today, and our minister to England has returned home. It’s not possible for us to go to London now.”

“ Not possible?! ” Miranda’s eyes were blazing. “Sir, we are not speaking of a casual pleasure trip! Amanda must be in London on June twenty-eighth for her wedding!”

“It is impossible, wildcat,” he answered with such finality that Amanda began to weep. Jared looked at her pityingly. “Pigeon, I am sorry. ”

“ Sorry! ” shouted Miranda. “You’re deliberately destroying my sister’s life, and you say you’re sorry?! The church was booked a year ago! Her trousseau awaits its final fitting at Madame Charpentier!”

“If he loves her, Adrian will wait. If not, it’s better the wedding be cancelled entirely.”

“Ohh!” wailed Amanda.

“Adrian would wait,” snapped Miranda, “but his mama will not. She was furious at his engagement to an American colonial as she insists on calling us. Adrian adores Amanda, and he is perfect for her, but Lady Swynford is strong-minded. If Amanda postpones the wedding Lady Swynford will use it as an excuse to separate them forever. Adrian will find himself married to some meek miss more acceptable to his mama.”

Amanda sobbed loudly.

“War may break out any minute between England and America,” said Jared.

“All the more reason for Amanda to get to London on time. War has nothing to do with us. If the stupid governments of England and America wish to fight, then let them. But Amanda and Adrian will be happily wed.”

“There are no ships,” replied Jared irritably.

“ You have ships! Why can’t we sail on one of them?” she persisted.

“Because I will not lose a valuable vessel and endanger a crew even for you, my dear wife!”

“We will go!” she yelled.

“You will not!” he thundered back.

“Miranda! Jared! This is most unseemly,” chided Dorothea.

“Mother! Be silent!” snarled Miranda.

“Oh, Adrian! Oh! Oh!” hiccoughed Amanda.

“Dammit, be quiet, all of you! I will have peace in my own house!” roared Jared.

“There’ll be no peace in any part of this house, Jared Dunham, unless you get us to England by June,” Miranda warned ominously.

“Madam, are you threatening me?”

“Was I not clear enough, sir?” she replied with false sweetness.

With a final waii Amanda fled the table. Miranda, with a furious look at her husband, followed her sister.

“I suppose we must postpone the birthday cake,” said Dorothea seriously, and when Jared burst out laughing she looked at him strangely. This was not the Wyndsong she was used to.

In Amanda’s room Miranda comforted her twin. “Don’t worry, Mandy, you’ll be safely wed to Adrian. I promise you.”

“H-how? Y-y-you heard what Jared said. There are no ships!”

“There are ships, twin. One simply has to find them.”

“Jared will stop us.”

“Jared must go to Plymouth. He held off on the trip because of our birthday, but he’ll be gone within a few days. When he returns, we will be gone. You’ll be married at St. George’s, Hanover Square, on June twenty-eighth, as planned. I promise you.”

“You’ve never made a promise you didn’t keep, Miranda. This time, however, I fear you’ll not be able to keep it.”

“Have faith, little twin. Jared believes I’ve become a tamed house cat, but I’ll soon show him how wrong he is.” Miranda smiled a strangely mischievous and seductive smile.

“We have no money but what he gives us,” said Amanda.

“You forget that today half of Papa’s wealth became mine to do with as I please. I will inherit the rest when I am twenty-one. I am a rich woman, and rich women always get what they want.”

“What if Jared is right, and there is war between England and America?”

“War, fiddlesticks! Besides, if we do not get to England you will surely lose Adrian. Jared is being a fussy old man.”

There was a knock, and Jemima’s head popped around the door. “Master Jared says you’re both to come downstairs for dessert and coffee in the front parlor.”

“We’ll come directly, Mima.” The door shut firmly. “Pretend to be devastated, but resigned to Jared’s wishes, Mandy. Just follow my lead.”

The sisters descended to the main parlor of the house, where their mother and Jared awaited them. Miranda seated herself regally at the dessert table and sliced the cake. “Mama, will you pour for me?”

“Of course, dear.”

Jared looked at his wife suspiciously. “Surely you cannot be resigned to my wishes so quickly, Miranda?”

“I am not resigned at all,” she answered pertly. “I believe you are wrong, and I think you are ruining Amanda’s happiness. But what can I do if you won’t take us to England?”

“I am relieved to find that you are maturing enough to accept my decisions.”

“Please reconsider,” she said quietly.

“My darling, the seriousness of the times not I have made the decision. I am going up to Plymouth tomorrow, but when I return in around ten days, if the situation has eased we’ll sail for England immediately. If war still seems imminent I’ll write to Lord Swynford myself on Amanda’s behalf.”

The Dunham family yacht had barely cleared Little North Bay the following morning when Miranda was riding across the island to Pineneck Cove, where she kept her own catboat anchored. Leaving her horse to graze by Long Pond, she sailed across the bay to Oysterponds and, tying her catboat at the village dock, made her way to the local tavern. Despite her boy’s garb, it was obvious that she was a woman and she received much clucking disapproval from the village wives as she passed. She strode into the Anchor and the Plow, much to the consternation of the landlord, who hurried toward her from behind the bar.

“Here now, miss, you can’t come in here!”

“Indeed, Eli Latham, and why not?”

“By cricky, ’tis Miss Miranda, or rather Mistress Dunham. Come round to the dining room, ma’am. It’s not seemly you bein’ in the taproom,” said the older man nervously.

She followed him into the sunshine-filled room with its mellow golden oak tables and benches. The shelves were filled with polished pewter tankards and chargers, and there were blue glass vases of yellow daffodils on either end of the carved oak fireplace mantel. Eli Latham and his wife, Rachel, were proud of their dining room. The Lathams fed travelers going across the water to and from New England.

Miranda and the Lathams sat down at a table in the empty room and, after declining cider, Miranda asked, “What English ships lie just out of sight of the coast, Eli?”

“Ma’am?” His bland face looked innocently at her.

“Dammit, man, I’m no customs agent! Don’t tell me your tea, coffee, and cocoa tins are bottomless, for I know better. English and American trading vessels lie off this coast despite the blockade. I need a reputable English ship.”

“Why?” asked Eli Latham.

“Amanda’s wedding is scheduled for June twenty-eighth in London. Because of this damned blockade my husband says we cannot go, but we must!”

“I don’t know, Miss Miranda, if yer husband says no …”

“Eli, please! For Amanda. She is devastated, and I fear she will pine away entirely if I cannot get her to England. Lord, man, what do we care for politics?”

“Well, there is one ship I’d trust to carry you safely. He’s some highborn milord so’s I expect he’s all right.”

“His name?” she asked eagerly.

“Now hold on, Miss Miranda. I can’t be givin’ his name to you unless I’m sure he’ll be willin’ to take on passengers,” said Eli, glancing at his wife.

“Then have him contact me at Wyndsong.”

“The house?”

“Of course at the house, Eli.” Then she laughed, realizing his predicament. “My husband left today for Plymouth and won’t be back for ten days.”

He demurred. “I just don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, Miss Miranda.”

“Please, Eli! It’s not for a silly whim. It’s for Amanda. I’d as soon never see London again. It’s a fearfully dirty and noisy place. But my sister will die of a broken heart if she cannot marry Adrian Swynford.”

“Contact the Englishman, Eli! I’ll not have that sweet child’s sorrow on my conscience,” said Rachel. “Morning, Miss Miranda.”

“Morning, Rachel, and thank you for sticking up for us.”

“Yer mama know ye’re doin’ this?”

“She will. I’m taking her with us. We can’t go without her chaperoning us.”

“She’ll not be happy ’bout it. I hear she’s planning to marry again.”

“How on earth did you Oh! Jemima, of course.”