The Scandals Of An Innocent

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THEY WERE MARRIED three days later in the little church at Fortune’s Folly. Lizzie Scarlet was bridesmaid and caught Alice’s bouquet. Miles had asked Philip to be his groomsman, alongside Dexter and Nat. Philip had been puffed up with pride at the honor and Lady Vickery had cried with joy. Lydia had been there, too, a silent, pale Lydia whose eyes were red from crying but who had come to see her friend wed because, as she had whispered to Alice when she had kissed her in congratulation, one of them deserved to have found a rake who had put aside his past for the love of a good woman. Alice’s heart had bled for Lydia but later she had seen her friend walk away to sit quietly by the river and had seen Lowell follow her to talk to her, and she had wondered a very little. It would take a great deal for Lydia ever to trust any man again but perhaps one day…

The only sour note in the day was struck when Sir Montague Fortune announced that he was reviving the medieval Marriage Tax, which was to be levied on all couples tying the knot. Dexter and Nat had thrown him in the River Tune before returning to toast the health of the bride and groom.

“A circle with a dot in the center!” Mrs. Lister said triumphantly, looking into her teacup as she and Alice sat in the parlor at Spring House partaking of a quiet cup of tea together at the end of the wedding breakfast. “That means a baby, Alice! A honeymoon child!”

“Mama,” Alice said, “that splodge in your cup looks more like a fish than a circle-”

“A fish means good news,” Mrs. Lister crowed, peering closer. “Though perhaps it might be a heart or a horn…”

“It can be whatever you wish it to be,” Alice said, taking her mother’s hand in hers. She felt so happy that she was not sure she cared what swam out of the cup.

There was a knock at the door and Frank Gaines stuck his head around. He had been at the wedding breakfast earlier with Celia, but then a messenger had arrived for him from Harrogate and Alice had seen him speaking with Celia again afterward. It had appeared that hot words were being exchanged and Alice had wondered at it, especially when Celia had walked off, head held high, and had ignored Gaines for the whole of the rest of the afternoon. Now, she thought, he looked grim and tired.

“If I might trouble you for a moment of your time, Lady Vickery,” Gaines said. He took the chair that Alice offered and sat down slowly. There was an odd expression on his face, a compound of pity and embarrassment. Even Mrs. Lister had noticed it, for she dropped her teacup back into the saucer with a clatter.

“A raven,” she whispered. “Bad news.”

“Mama,” Alice said sharply. A strange, hard knot had formed in her throat. “What is it?” she said to Frank Gaines.

Gaines shook his head. “Mr. Churchward and I have been making the arrangements for the transfer of funds to clear Lord Vickery’s debts, my lady,” he said. “In the course of our discussions-” he cleared his throat “-it became apparent that there was an ongoing charge on the Vickery estate which must be honored.” He stopped again.

“Please, Mr. Gaines,” Alice said, trying not to sound impatient at the interminable legal language.

Frank Gaines gave a slight shrug. “In truth,” he said, “it is none of my business but…Churchward and I disgreed…I said that the money was yours before it was given to your husband and so you had a right to know. I am your trustee and as such I could not do less than my duty though it pains me. I feel-” he cleared his throat and tried to loosen his neck cloth “-though it is not a fashionable view…that an intimate relationship can only succeed if based on honesty, my lady.”

“I agree,” Alice said, “but I am afraid that I still do not quite see-”

“None of my business,” Frank Gaines said again, “but I would rather that you knew-”

“Is there a list of Lord Vickery’s ex-mistresses who have all been pensioned off?” Alice inquired. She tried to keep her voice steady. She would have to be very mature about this, she thought. It might be difficult to swallow the fact that she was in effect paying off Miles’s past lovers. But that was all over and done with now. He loved her now. She knew it.

“No, madam,” Gaines said. “Not exactly.” He took a deep breath. “Lord Vickery has in his keeping a woman named Susan Gregory who was once a maidservant in his father’s house. Her rent and keep is paid from the estate on an ongoing basis, madam, and has been for eleven years.” He hesitated. “She has a child, madam, a little girl. She is said to be of Lord Vickery’s fathering. She is just over ten years old. He visits them sometimes.”

There was a long, long silence. Alice stood up abruptly, knocking over her empty teacup. Her mind was spinning.

Miles had a woman in his keeping. A maidservant. There was a child.

He had not told her. Even though he had professed to utter honesty, he had kept this secret from her.

The words repeated over and over in her head.

A maidservant. A child. He had not told her.

She grasped after something to steady herself and felt the back of her chair hard beneath her fingers. She gripped it tightly. Eleven years took them back to the time that Miles had quarreled with his father so badly that he had been banished. Eleven years before, Miles had walked out on his family, joined the army and become the hard, embittered man whom she had thought she had finally, finally reached out to touch and bring back into the light. But it seemed she had been wrong, for Miles had kept from her the most important secret of all, that of his daughter.

Mrs. Lister made a tiny noise. She seemed to have shrunk in her seat, dwindling under Alice’s gaze. She spun around accusingly on Gaines.

“You should not have told her. She did not need to know!”

“Mama,” Alice said, “Mr. Gaines was my trustee and he has my best interests at heart.”

Mrs. Lister’s face crumpled. “I saw it in the leaves,” she said. “A lamp for secrets that would be revealed. Well, you are a marchioness now, Alice.” Her voice broke. “Four strawberry leaves…You will just have to close your eyes and pretend that you do not know.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” Gaines said. “I only discovered today. Too late.”

“Too late to tell me before the wedding,” Alice whispered. She looked at him. “You told Celia that you were going to tell me,” she said, understanding at last what it was she had seen between them. “She was upset. She knew about the mistress and the child.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” Gaines said again, and Alice’s heart sank like a stone that he did not contradict her.

Celia had known. Lady Vickery must know, too. They all knew that when he was eighteen Miles had seduced a maidservant and the woman had given birth to his daughter. They must know that he was still paying for the upkeep of mother and child, but they all ignored it with the aristocratic disdain of their kind, pretending that it did not matter.

But it mattered to Alice because she had trusted Miles and thought that she knew him. It mattered because she loved him and thought that he loved her. It mattered because he had sworn himself honest and yet he had not told her.

“I need to think,” she said. “Excuse me…”

She went out into the gardens. The day was fine and the early spring buds were starting to show on the trees, new leaves unfurling bright green. The cool air kissed her face. A bird sang in the hawthorn.

A maidservant, Alice thought. That could have been me.

Miles had once told her that there would have been desire between them whether she was an heiress or a servant and it was true. Was that what had happened with Susan Gregory, the maid in his father’s house? Perhaps they had been drawn to each other in mutual desire, for despite this betrayal, Alice still believed stubbornly that Miles was not the man to force an unwilling woman.

That could have been me, she thought again, except that I am rich and so I am Marchioness of Drummond, and Susan Gregory and her bastard child have nothing but a cottage to live in and their upkeep paid quarterly. It was something, she thought. At least Miles had not abandoned them as Tom Fortune had abandoned Lydia.

She found she was in the walled garden. She sat down on the bench close to where she had walked with Miles only a few weeks before.

Her heart was so sore she wanted to cry. He had not lied to her, she thought. He had simply omitted to tell her the truth. You know that I have been a rake. I have never concealed my past from you…

But neither had he exposed it. He had kept an enormous secret from her. It was no wonder that he had never wanted to tell her the truth of his quarrel with his father.

“Alice?”

She turned. Miles had come into the walled garden and was standing a few feet away, looking at her. For a moment his face seemed so dear and familiar to her that Alice wanted to throw herself into his arms and forget all she knew. She wanted to forge a future that was un-troubled by the past. But even as she grasped after it she knew that it would be a fraud, based on lies and deception and pretence. She could not close her eyes, as her mother had suggested, and pretend that she did not know. Perhaps others would do that in her place. She could not.

“What is it?” Miles said. He came to sit beside her and took her hand. “Your mother said that Frank Gaines had said something to upset you.” He was frowning. Alice wanted to reach up and smooth the lines from his brow, as though touching him would reassure her that he was hers and hers alone. Except that he was not because there was a woman and child who had a claim on him.

“Mr. Gaines-” Her voice was so faint she had to clear her throat and start again. “Mr. Gaines told me about Susan Gregory and her child,” she said. “Why did you not tell me, Miles?” She looked up from their entwined hands to his face. He had turned chalk pale beneath his tan. “Why did you not tell me?” she said again. Her heart was breaking. “Why did you not tell me about your mistress and your child?”

“SHE WASN’T MY MISTRESS. Clara isn’t my child.”

Even as he spoke Miles knew, with a feeling of utter desperation, that there was absolutely no way in which he could prove to Alice that he was telling the truth. If she chose not to believe him-and his failure to confide in her, his failure to open up and trust her, condemned him louder than any words-then there was nothing he could do except, perhaps, to break his word and force his father’s former mistress out of her retirement and into the light. The damage that such a course of action would cause would surely expose all the secrets that he had striven to hide for the past eleven years.

Alice was watching him and he could read nothing in her face other than blankness and pain. She had not really heard him. She was hurting too much. His love for her stole his breath. From the very beginning he had been afraid to lose Alice and he had told himself it was because of the money, but now he knew the thing that he could not bear would be to lose Alice herself. The money was nothing in comparison. It was Alice’s warmth and generosity of spirit and love that he craved. He was terrified of being left in the cold again.

The thing that he feared the most was about to come true.

“I should have told you,” he said. “I should have told you about my father and our quarrel and why I have been estranged from my family for so long. Susan was my father’s mistress. Clara is his child.”

Some shade of expression came back into Alice’s eyes and a little color into her face. “Your father’s mistress,” she repeated.

“I cannot prove it,” Miles said rapidly. “I cannot prove to you that I am telling the truth, Alice. My name is on all the documents.” He felt wretched. His future hung on the slenderest thread, that of Alice’s trust, and what was so appalling to him was that he knew he did not deserve to keep her because he had not trusted her with the truth. He had never even told her that he loved her. He had meant to do it. Each day he had tried out his feelings a little further, testing his love for her and his ability to feel it, letting go of the dark past. But now the past had caught up with him and it had happened too soon because he had not told Alice the one thing that she needed to know.

“Tell me,” she said, and he could not judge from her voice whether he had a chance or not.

“I was almost eighteen,” Miles said. “I had finished at Eton and there was talk of me going to Oxford in the autumn to study theology.” He grimaced. “Not a natural choice for me, but my papa wished me to follow him into the church.” He shrugged. “Truth to tell, I was enjoying London too much to care much either way. I was young and I had a little money, and…” He looked at Alice and shook his head. “Well, even then I was no saint.”

He had not been. There had been women and drinking and gambling, all the temptations of town so new and so exciting for a youth who thought that he knew everything and in truth was young and naive and knew nothing at all.

“I arrived home early after a long night at the gaming tables,” Miles said. “I had not lost too heavily. I hadn’t even tumbled a lightskirt that night. Life was good-simple, easy. I wanted my bed, but as I walked in I heard a sound in my father’s study and I thought someone might have broken into the house, so I went over to investigate. I wish…I had not.” He looked up and met her eyes. “I had to break the door open,” he said. “The noise roused half the household.”

“Who was in there?” Alice said. “Your father?”

“My father,” Miles said. His tone was harsh. “His sanctimonious Lordship, the Bishop Vickery. The man I had admired and respected, the man who preached against sin, was fornicating with a maidservant on the study desk. You can imagine what I thought when I saw him. For all my supposed sophistication I was an eighteen-year-old boy and I could scarce believe my eyes.” He stopped. “It was a disaster,” he said, after a moment. “People were coming running, alerted by the noise I had made breaking the door down. My mother, my sister…” He swallowed hard. “My father assessed the situation very quickly for a man in the throes of passion. He reacted far more quickly than I. He saw that we had an audience and promptly denounced me for my debauchery. He claimed to have been roused from his bed by the sounds of my fornication and to have come down to put a stop to his son’s wanton licentiousness.”

“But the girl,” Alice whispered. “The servant girl. Did she say nothing?”

“She was afraid of him,” Miles said. “I could see her fear. She did not say a word.”

He saw Alice close her eyes for a moment as though to ward off the image, and he knew she was imagining Susan Gregory’s terror and misery because it could have been her.

“What did you do?” she said. “What did you say?”

“I said nothing to contradict him,” Miles said. “At first it was because I could not quite believe what my father was doing. I thought I had misunderstood him, that it was all some terrible mistake. I waited for him to tell the truth, but instead he railed at me for my depravity and shameless lust. It was quite a sermon.”

Alice was staring at him and he was afraid that it was disbelief he could read in her eyes. “But surely,” she said. “He was your father. Why would he do such a thing?”

Miles’s lips twisted bitterly. “He was a bishop. He had his position to consider. Think of the scandal. There was my mother to think of, as well. Her family were most influential in the church.” He looked down at their joined hands and suddenly he realized that he had been gripping Alice so tightly that it must have hurt her. He tried to ease his hold but as soon as he let go of her he felt bereft.

“I am sorry,” he said, “I hurt you.” And the words fell between them awkwardly.

He hurried on, wanting to end it now so that Alice could go if she wished.

“He sent the girl away,” he said. “Later I heard that she was pregnant and had borne a child. My father made a great show of providing for them both, to atone for my sins, so he said, whilst broadcasting those apparent sins as loudly as he could. But by then we had quarreled and I had gone abroad. I never saw him again.”

He stopped. He waited for Alice to say that it was the most unconvincing excuse that she had ever heard, that he had never once been honest in his life, that she did not believe a word of it. He waited for her to leave him. The silence seemed to last forever.

“You did it for your mother, didn’t you?” Alice said softly. “You did it for her because you love her and you could not bear to see her hurt and you wanted to protect her. You were eighteen years old and you were betrayed by your father, yet you kept your silence for your mother’s sake, and that is why you have never spoken of it since and why you push away the love she has for you-”

Miles looked up and she was watching him with understanding and compassion in her eyes and something split apart inside him and he grabbed her and held her in his arms and felt her hot tears soaking his coat and he buried his face in her neck and would not let her go.

“I wondered,” Alice said breathlessly. “I wondered why you kept pushing them all away-Celia and Philip and your mother most of all. I wondered why it hurt you so much to speak of it and why you rejected me, too, when I asked you.”

“She adored him,” Miles said roughly. “She still does. I could not take that from her. Not then. Not ever.” He closed his eyes and unfurled his fingers against the curve of Alice’s cheek. “He is dead now. The injustice of it should not matter to me anymore.”

“But it does matter,” Alice said. “You have kept the secret for all these years and taken the blame for a man whose duty it was to protect you. You were a child-his child! He forced you to take the responsibility and then he forced you to carry the secret forever.”

“I could not live with the hypocrisy,” Miles said. “That was why we quarreled. He argued that it mattered nothing because it could have been me, and he was right.” He sighed. “As I said, I was no angel, even at eighteen years of age. I could have seduced a maidservant and made her pregnant and been as careless and as callous as you once accused me.”

“But it wasn’t you,” Alice argued. She leaned forward and kissed him. “Miles,” she said, “look at me. Listen to me.” She cupped his face in her hands. “It was never your fault,” she said. “Your father was the one who was weak. He was the one who failed you. You might have been wild but you were never cruel like he was.”

Miles looked at her. “I should have told you,” he said again. “I should have trusted you with the secret, but the truth was that I was afraid, Alice. I was afraid of loving and trusting ever again because I had taken my family’s love for granted and suddenly it was smashed and gone and I could not bear for that to happen to me ever again.”

“It will not,” Alice said fiercely. She drew him back into her arms. “And the rest-all the things that followed,” she said. “Your army career…”

“I joined the army because I had to get away,” Miles said. “I was angry and disillusioned, even more so when my father died and I realized how appallingly extravagant he had been as well as hypocritical. I suppose in some strange way I became the person he had branded me. I swore not to care anymore and so I took on the role I told you about, and with each step I became more hardened and cynical.”

“You are lying,” Alice said softly, smiling at him. “You have been caring for people since the very first, Miles, protecting your family, keeping your mother safe from the disillusionment of the truth. And Laura told me how much you did to help her, and how much you love Hattie. You even visited your father’s mistress to make sure that she and the child were safe and well. Mr. Gaines told me.”

“And you thought that I was visiting my mistress and child,” Miles said.

“I did at first,” Alice admitted. “What else was I to think when the evidence seemed so strong against you? But when you told me the truth I did not doubt you for a moment.”

“That is the miracle,” Miles said. He smoothed his hands over her, stroking gently. “How could you trust me, Alice? After all I have done?”

“I think it is because I love you,” Alice said. A dimple dented her cheek as she smiled. “And, after all, you have reformed. You have become an honest man.” She raised her hand to his cheek. “I love you, Miles, and I shall never stop.”

“I love you, too,” Miles said. He stumbled over the words a little. They still felt strange but they also felt right, a blessing and a promise. Alice looked up into his face and then he was kissing her with joy and gentleness, and she cried tears of what Miles hoped were happiness this time, and he kissed them from her cheeks and tasted them salty on his tongue.

“You love me,” Alice said, breathless and rosy and glowing, when he finally let her go. “You love me!”

Miles started to laugh. “Why the surprise, sweetheart? Surely you must have known.”

“I hoped,” Alice said. “But I did not know.”

“Well, now you will always know because I intend to tell you several times every day,” Miles said. He scooped her up in his arms. “And to prove it to you.”

He strode toward the house, in the door and up the stairs, past the scandalized faces of the wedding guests, brushing aside Mrs. Lister’s anxious inquiries, taking the steps two at a time.

“What are you doing?” Alice demanded as he flung open her bedroom door and placed her gently on the bed.

“I am consummating our marriage,” Miles said. He ripped open his cravat and shrugged off his jacket. “I need to prove my love to you as soon as possible.”

“But, Miles,” Alice said, “our guests are still downstairs. They will be wondering what on earth is happening. We cannot simply abandon them like this!”

Miles joined her on the bed and started to unbutton the tiny pearl fastenings of her wedding gown. “Of course we can abandon them,” he said. He gave her a wicked smile. “And I do not think they will be in any doubt as to why we have done so.”

He kissed her with hunger and passion and love.

“Oh!” Alice said, emerging from the embrace as starry-eyed as he could ever have wished.

“Yes,” Miles said. “Now help me get you out of that dress. We have a marriage to celebrate.”

IT WAS SOME CONSIDERABLE time later that Alice lay in her husband’s arms and dreamily watched the spring breeze stir the drapes about the bed.

“How do you feel now?” she whispered against Miles’s lips as he leaned over to kiss her.

“Very good,” Miles said. He drew her down to lie against him. “I cannot quite believe that you trusted me,” he added. “I was sure that you would leave because I was so slow to tell you the truth-and to tell you that I loved you.”

“I had faith in you,” Alice said, snuggling up to him and turning her face up for another kiss.

“I still do not think that I am a worthy enough man for you, Alice,” Miles said a little later, “but perhaps under your influence I may reform further.”

“I do not want you to be too good,” Alice said, sliding a hand down his chest and lower to the taut planes of his stomach. “In fact, sometimes I rather like it when you are bad…” she added, her questing fingers seeking and finding his erection, which she was pleased to discover was already hard again. His shaft was huge and hard but as soft as velvet, silken and smooth. Alice let out a sigh of awe and pleasure. Gently she stroked, learning him, feeling so feminine and so powerful that a little smile curved her lips.

Miles gave a soft groan and kissed her again, deep and certain, and Alice felt her heart unfurl and her love for him stretch and expand like a butterfly in the sun. He had trusted her and told her the truth, she thought, as she slipped deeper into the cocoon of their bed and the warmth of his lovemaking, and had bound them all the closer for it. Maybe in time he would finally heal, too. For now all she wanted to do was pour out the love that she felt for him and hope that it could touch his soul. She stretched luxuriously as his caresses became more urgent. His lips found her breast and her thoughts fragmented. She was aware of nothing now but the hot tug as he sucked her into his mouth. The pleasure pain of it was exquisite, curling through her body, rippling deep inside her.

She met his gaze and it was dark with desire now. Slowly he moved over her body, his head dipping to lick and kiss each curve and hollow, lower and lower.

“Miles,” she said, her body feeling as soft as molten honey, “what are you-” Her voice broke as he slid his hands under her bottom and raised her up. His hair tickled the smoothness of her inner thigh.

“I want to kiss you,” Miles said, “just here.”

He put his mouth to her and she cried out as the dazzling sensations took her. He thrust inside her, wicked flicks of his tongue that matched the rhythm his body had made when he had taken her before. Alice felt her body stretch and spiral unbearably tight as the feelings built relentlessly, and then one last wanton slide of his tongue sent her over the edge into the pool of pure pleasure below.

She was still gasping at the intensity of her climax as Miles rolled over, pulling her on top of him and then she was straddling him and sliding down and he filled her, grabbing her hips, greedy and desperate now. She bent to kiss him and their tongues tangled and he drove up into her, fierce and inexorable. His hands were in her hair and he cupped her face to kiss her more deeply and she met his heated climax and felt her own body convulse again as she poured out her love in return.

“I protest,” she said drowsily, when she had finally regained her breath. “Being Marchioness of Drummond is an arduous business.”

Miles shifted beside her. “On that subject…” There was some tone in his voice that pulled her out of the sleep that threatened to claim her. She rolled over and opened her eyes.

“Miles?” she said.

Her husband, she thought, was looking somewhat nervous. “I have something to tell you,” he said. He must have seen the expression on her face, for his own changed and he put out a hand toward her. “No more secrets, sweetheart. I swear it.”

Alice relaxed again. “What is it, then?” she asked.

“There was a letter delivered,” Miles said. “I received it just before I came to find you. I was going to tell you its contents earlier but what with our discussions, I forgot.”

“Is it bad news?” Alice asked. She was starting to feel nervous now, too.

“Good news and bad news,” Miles said, smiling a little. He drew her into his arms and pressed his face against the warm curve of her neck, and Alice breathed in the scent of him and felt dizzy with love and a sense of rightness.

“The bad news first,” she murmured. “I feel strong enough to face it.”

“I fear that your mama will not be able to bear it,” Miles said, “but you are no true marchioness.”

Alice drew back a little and stared at him, perplexity in her blue eyes. “Whatever can you mean, Miles?”

Miles laughed. “My esteemed cousin Freddie, the sixteenth Marquis of Drummond, is currently alive and well and sailing for an island in the East Indies. In his letter he told me that he had falsified his own death to escape his debts, has married his mistress and she is enceinte with what might well turn out to be the next Drummond heir.”

Alice sat bolt upright, heedless of the bedcovers falling around her. “How dare he!” she said wrathfully. “The deceitful, irresponsible scoundrel! I would like to give him a piece of my mind! He wished to wriggle out of his obligations and so you were compelled to pay his debts instead. That is monstrous unfair! I hope you renounce his title and his debts at the same time, Miles, and send the creditors to hound him in the Indies!”

Miles drew her back down to his side. The warmth of his body helped soothe some of the quivering indignation and anger within her.

“That is the good news,” he said. “We are not as debt-ridden as I had thought. Nor do I have the Curse of Drum hanging over my head anymore so we shall be spared the superstitious dread of our respective mothers.”

He rubbed his cheek gently against Alice’s and she felt herself relax further, sliding down in his arms. “For one thing only I am grateful to Freddie,” Miles said, “for if I had not believed myself to be Marquis of Drummond and so desperately in debt that I was about to be thrown in the Fleet, then I would not have sought to marry you, Alice, and found myself the happiest of men against all expectation or merit.”

Alice smiled reluctantly. It was difficult to resist his words. They made her feel very warm inside. “Hmm, you have a point.”

“I hope,” Miles said, “that now you find you are not a marchioness after all but merely the wife of a lowly baron you will still wish to be wed to me.” He lowered his head to hers. “Can you bear it?”

Alice put her arms about his neck and drew him closer. “I think I will have to endure it,” she whispered against his lips, “even if I am not entitled to any strawberry leaves at all now.”

“Then I think you must love me very much,” Miles said, “and there is something I want you to know.” He frowned a little, as though he had something difficult to say, and suddenly she felt a little afraid, as though she was not sure she wanted to hear it.

“What is it?” she said. She knew Miles must be able to feel her heart pounding since she was held so close against him. He pressed a kiss against her brow, smoothing back her hair so that he could cup her cheek in one tender hand. Alice shook to feel the strength of the love in him, the love that she knew at last was utterly and completely hers.

“You may remember that before we were wed you asked me if I would be able to be faithful to you and I said that I did not know,” Miles said. There was a smile in his hazel eyes now and they were so warm with love that Alice could feel herself melting inside. “That was never good enough for you. So now-” he held her in a tight grip “-I give you my answer. Alice Vickery, I will love you and only you until the day I die. I pretended to myself that it was your money that I needed, but that was a lie. It was you, Alice, that I could not bear to lose. I want no one else and I never shall.”

“I think you have persuaded me, my love,” Alice whispered as her lips met his. “You speak very well for a mere baron. And after all-” she smiled “-I am only a housemaid turned heiress myself. I told you I was no lady.”

“And I told you I never wanted one,” Miles said as he kissed her again.