The Inconvenient Duchess

the past six months and smiled. He was reading his mail, and when he sensed her eyes upon him he took the letter before him and slipped it to the bottom of the stack and out of sight.
    ‘Is there anything interesting in today’s post?’ she asked pointedly.
    ‘Hmm.’ He looked down at his mail and pretended ignorance, but she could see the smile playing at the corners of his lips.
    ‘Something that you don’t want to tell me about?’
    His smile broadened to a grin. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
    ‘Some part of the great Christmas surprise you’ve promised me. No,’ she corrected, ‘have taunted me with for weeks without revealing anything.’
    ‘That would be the definition of surprise, would it not? Something I know which you do not. And which I will reveal to you soon, even though it is still a week to Christmas.’
    ‘How soon?’
    ‘Very soon. Today, perhaps.’
    ‘If I am very good?’
    His eyes darkened as he gazed down the table at her. ‘You are always very good, my darling. And, no, your behaviour will not affect the timing of the revelation.’
    ‘But you might tell me today. Or will you show me? Is this an event? Or a physical thing?’
    ‘Are we to play “yes and no” while you try to guess what I have no intention of telling you?’
    ‘Will it work?’
    ‘No. And my eggs are getting cold.’
    ‘Then eat them, sir.’
    He forked up a mouthful and muttered around it, ‘And did you receive anything interesting in the post?’
    ‘Christmas greetings from the neighbours. Several more acceptances for our ball.’ She touched her stomach. ‘The women have all assured me that dancing will not hurt the baby, now that I am well along. But I tire easily.’
    ‘Then you must not overwork, darling. And at the ball you must only dance with me.’
    ‘Are you looking out for my welfare, Marcus, or is this merely an attempt to keep me to yourself?’
    ‘Both. If successful, I would have persuaded you that any entertaining would be too stressful, and that you must remain alone with me at all times. But I suppose we must have all these people traipsing through our home, eating our food and breaking up the peace until the wee hours.’
    ‘Indeed. We owe many invitations, since everyone in the area has opened their homes to us. I can no longer use the excuse that the house is not fit, for we scrubbed the last crystal on the ballroom chandelier several days ago and thedecorating is complete. The footmen have been gathering greens and hanging mistletoe.’
    ‘And chasing the maids,’ he added. ‘How you get any work out of the staff at this time of year is quite beyond me. But you are right. The house looks splendid and we must open it to our friends. This is quite the nicest I’ve seen it since my father was alive.’ He toasted her with his coffee cup. ‘You have done well, Miranda.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Thank you .’
    She returned to her own mail with a contented smile. The last letter in her stack was a strange one. It was lumpy and stained and appeared to have travelled a great distance to get to her, but there was no direction to indicate the sender’s whereabouts. When she opened the envelope, it contained one sheet of tightly folded paper. She unwrapped it and a single green stone tumbled out onto the table. On the paper, someone had written the words ‘Thank you’ in a steady masculine hand.
    She walked to the head of the table and set it in front of her husband.
    ‘Do you think this means…?’
    ‘That St John has written to let you know he is alive and well? It certainly seems so.’
    ‘I am glad.’
    ‘As am I. As long as the letter has come to us from far away.’ He turned the envelope over. ‘It is addressed to you, but that makes sense. I doubt a few months’ time would be sufficient to cause St John to thank me for anything.’ He held the stone up to the light. ‘And it appears he has sent you the change from your gift. He must have landed on his feet before squandering all of the money.’ He handed it back to her. ‘Put this in your jewellery box for luck.’
    ‘A-hem.’ Wilkins had crept into the room and announced himself as discreetly as possible. If the single fidget and the raised eyebrow were any indication, he was in a state of extreme anticipation.
    ‘Yes, Wilkins?’
    ‘The package you were expecting has arrived, your Grace.’ It was said with such significance that Miranda was certain it must hide a secret.
    ‘Very well. It seems you are to know