After The Storm by Kimberly Nee

rise up to the lady’s lips. But then, she could hardly fault Sally, for His Grace was most definitely sigh-inducing. An urge to sigh right along with her rose up, but she kept it contained. He appeared not to notice either one of them staring, as he was now engrossed in conversation with his brother-in-law.
    “Oh, you’ve nothing to fear,” Lady Hevingford chuckled as she eyed Miranda up and down, “I’m quite certain Miss Marchand is well aware of her—ah—situation, and which gentlemen are considered appropriate and which aren’t.”
    “MacDonough,” Miranda muttered without thinking.
    “I beg your pardon?” The countess stared down her nose again.
    “I am not a Marchand. I am a MacDonough.”
    “Are you, then?” Lady Hevingford’s superior smile rested on her for a long, patronizing moment. There was nothing at all friendly in her smile, but rather very much the smile a spider offers a fly trapped in its web. Lady Hevingford’s voice was equally superior and cold as she continued, “I do hope you’ll forgive me.”
    Miranda held the countess’s stare easily and her back prickled as her temper sparked. “I will, but please remember in the future.”
    The duchess cleared her throat as the two women glared at one another. “If we are all ready, then, we should go to the dining room.”
    Lady Hevingford rose to her feet with a rustling crush of claret-colored taffeta. “Come along, Sally. I am certain your duke wishes you to walk with him.”
    “Mother!” Sally shot her a glance and shook her head. “Ignore my mother. She sometimes forgets herself.”
    “I heard that, Sally,” Lady Hevingford called over her shoulder as she stomped out of the room behind the duchess. It was comical, as the woman was almost perfectly round, and looked very much like an oversized cherry in her dark red gown.
    Hugh stepped up, indeed offering his arm to his intended. “May I?”
    There was a definite pang in Miranda’s belly as Lady Sally beamed up in admiration at the man beside her. The glow in her face and the pleasure in her eyes only added to her striking beauty and Miranda flinched at her first taste of bitter envy. How she’d love to switch places with Sally, if only for the day. How delightful to experience that wonderful rush of pleasure, to glow with it.
    As Hugh and Sally started down the hallway, Miranda hung back, taking in the duke’s broad shoulders and tapering waist. His limp was more pronounced than it had been earlier. She only hoped her foot-grinding dancing had little to do with it. A dull thud accompanied his footfalls, made by the gleaming black cane in his left hand.
    “They are a lovely couple, don’t you think?” Elyse sidled up to her and nudged her. “She’s been in love with him since she was about six years old.”
    Another pang, stronger than the last, and she nodded slowly. “They seem perfectly suited.” She glanced up at Derek, walking on his wife’s right side. “Your husband…where in America is he from?”
    Elyse smiled. “He’s a Philadelphian by birth, Londoner by marriage, isn’t that right, darling?”
    Derek chuckled. “I’m afraid I’ve yet to come to think of myself as a Londoner. I am still very much the Philadelphian, I’m afraid.”
    “Well, give it time. You’ve only been here a short while.” Elyse waved him on. “Do go on ahead of us, then. Allow us a chance for a bit of gossip, won’t you?”
    “As you wish.”
    He hurried on ahead and Elyse leaned in to whisper, “It makes me wish my other brothers were here. Hugh and Derek don’t always see eye-to-eye and it can make for some uncomfortable moments.”
    “And why is that?”
    “Hugh cannot quite forgive Derek for being American, as if it were something needing forgiveness. He is still a bit bitter about the war and all.”
    “You said other brothers. Have you more?”
    “Goodness, yes. There’s Gerry, whom I believe you met earlier. He was supposed to be here this evening, but he was