Maude looked at Miranda, whose fingers were tightly clenched around hers. Miranda was very pale, very still. Robbie unhooked his legs from her hips and stood up, and for once she didn't seem to notice his actions.

"I don't believe we have any further business, milord," Miranda said, gently extricating her hand from Maude's and taking a step forward. "I believe I fulfilled my obligations as far as it was possible and the money you paid to my family is only what you promised. I believe it is owed."

"Oh, yes," he said quietly. "It is owed them, and much, much more, for their loving care of a d'Albard. You shall decide what is owed your family, Miranda." He looped his mount's reins over a hitching post and came toward her, his smile rueful.

"But I claim the right to say what is owed you, sweeting." His hands moved to encircle her throat. "I would prefer privacy, but if I must say this here, then so be it." His thumbs pressed lightly against the fast-beating pulse in her throat. "You said you loved me. Could you ever again say that you love me, firefly?"

The ground slipped and slid beneath her feet. Miranda was aware of the silence in the circle surrounding them, of the close silence and yet also of the faraway, noisy bustle of the quay. She was aware of Maude's startled and yet suddenly comprehending gaze, of Robbie's bewilderment, of Luke's puzzled hostility. She swallowed, her throat moving against Gareth's thumb.

It was Maude who broke the silence in a high, clear voice. "Luke, will you escort me to this Red Cockerel, please?" She slid off the wall. "Cousin, I shall wait with Lord Dufort until you and my sister return to the inn."

"Bravo, Maude," Gareth said softly, moving one hand from Miranda's throat to lift his young cousin's fingers to his lips.

"Should I take Chip?" Maude smiled radiantly at Miranda, her confusion now cleared. It seemed extraordinary that Miranda and the earl should love each other, but then so many extraordinary things had been happening lately, what was one more? And it had to mean one vital thing. Miranda was not going to go out of her sister's life.

"Yes, take him." It was Lord Harcourt who answered her, and Gertrude who handed the monkey over, her own expression still rapt at the drama unfolding before them.

"Miranda?" Gareth said, now taking a step away from her, as if to give her room to answer the most important question he had ever asked or would ever ask in his life.

"Everyone will know there are two of us," she said.

"That would ruin everything for you. The king of France can't know that you deceived him."

"I suppose I deserve that you should think it still matters," Gareth replied. "But only one thing is truly important to me now, Miranda. You. Can you believe that?"

She wanted to believe it. Oh, how she wanted to believe it. But the hurt still bled. "I don't know," she said helplessly.

Gareth looked around the circle of attentive faces. Every word he said was being weighed against Miranda's happiness.

Then Gertrude stepped forward. "What are you offerin' 'er, m'lord?"

"Goddammit!" Gareth finally lost his patience. "I'm proposing marriage to the Lady Miranda d'Albard."

Maude, some five feet away, stopped in her tracks, suddenly remembering an inconvenience. "I don't see how you can do that honorably, my lord, when you're already betrothed to Lady Mary," she pointed out.

"As it happens, I am not."

"Oh, how did that happen? Not that I thought you would suit in the least."

Gareth turned slowly. There was a mischievous gleam in his young cousin's eye; then with a wave and an astonishing wink, she went off with a skipping step.

Gareth turned back to Miranda. She was smiling. "I didn't think you would suit, either, milord."

Gareth knew that he'd won the hardest batde of his life. "How right you are, my love," he said equably. "And fortunately Lady Mary came to that conclusion herself. Ladies and gentlemen… if you'll excuse us." Catching Miranda around the waist, he tossed her up onto his horse, unlooped the reins, and mounted behind her. "Perhaps you would join us for a betrothal dinner at the Red Cockerel in two hours' time."

Maude was sitting with Luke in the taproom of the Red Cockerel when her guardian rode up. She and Luke watched from the taproom doorway as Lord Harcourt dismounted and, sweeping Miranda ahead of him, entered the inn and mounted the stairs.

"Where are they going?" Luke demanded. Suspicion flared in his eyes and he took a step forward. "Has the earl debauched Miranda?"

"I don't know what's happened between them," Maude replied cheerfully, laying a restraining hand on his sleeve. "But it doesn't seem to matter in the least. Miranda knows what she's doing. Chip, do you really think you should go… Oh, well, I suppose you should." She gave up the struggle to hold the agitated monkey and let him race after his mistress. Turning back to the taproom, she said, "I would like some more of that mead, I believe, Luke. Do you have coin? If not, I believe I still have a few pennies left."

"My love, can you forgive me?" Gareth took Miranda's hands in a grip so tight she could feel the bones crunching. "Do you think you'll ever be able to trust me again? I have been such a fool."

"I love you," Miranda said simply. "I have always loved you.”

Chip gibbered and swung from the bed canopy. "Aye, and I have loved you since the first moment 1 met you. I just didn't know it." Gareth stroked her face, tracing the line of her jaw, running a thumb over her eyelids, over the soft pliancy of her lips. "Will you be my wife, madam?"

"I must bring Robbie," Miranda said. "I can't leave Robbie behind. There's so much we can do for him. Boots are just the beginning."

"If you wish, we will provide habitation and employment for all your family." Gareth's fingers unlaced her bodice, his hands reaching inside to cup her breasts, run the pads of his thumbs over the nipples, feeling them rise hard and small to his caress.

"No, I don't think they'd wish that," Miranda said earnestly. "They're independent. They wouldn't take charity."

"No, of course they wouldn't." His mouth closed over hers, as he drew her down to the bed. One day he'd get this right. "But will you be my wife?"

Miranda moved beneath him, loosening the bunched-up folds of her gown as his hands slid over her thighs, searching for her. "Are you certain you don't still want me to marry Henry of France, milord?"

Gareth didn't reply but his hand moved over her, his fingers opening, nipping at the tight little bud of pleasure. Miranda murmured, her hips lifting as the joy began to bloom deep in her core. And then, just as the flower was about to burst open in glory, he took away his hand.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Gareth."

He smiled and brought his mouth to hers." Try not to ask silly questions, firefly."

She laughed softly and the last shards of pain and unhappiness drifted from her in the soft glow of renewal.

Chip took up his usual place on the rail at the foot of the bed and tucked his head under his arm, whispering to himself as the soft sounds of a deep and affirming pleasure filled the chamber.

Miles entered the taproom and his eye fell immediately on Maude. She appeared to be keeping company with a ragged youth at the bar counter, but her own attire was so disheveled that she seemed perfectly suited to her companion. Her hand was circling a pewter tankard with all the familiarity of one who'd begun drinking what it contained with her wet nurse's milk.

Gareth's message, received some hours after the earl had left the Harcourt mansion, had been brief and un-informative. Lord Dufort was to repair to the Red Cockerel in Folkestone and await developments. This, Miles conceded, was an interesting development.

"Maude?"

"Oh, Lord Dufort. Lord Harcourt said you would be arriving soon." Maude smiled merrily. "May I introduce Luke, he's a friend of Miranda's. Would you care for some mead? Or perhaps ale? We seem to be running out of coin, but I expect you have some."

"Ale," Miles said, gesturing to the potboy. He nodded to Luke and took the stool beside Maude. "I daresay I can settle your account." He looked around. "But isn't your guardian here to do so?"

"Yes, but he's abovestairs with Miranda."

"Ah," Miles said, taking up his tankard. "Ah," he said again.

"I believe they're to be wed," Maude informed him, signaling to the potboy for a refill.

"Ah," Lord Dufort repeated. "Precisely."

Maude smiled. "Are you not surprised, sir?"

"Not precisely," Miles said, taking up his tankard. "But I'd give my immortal soul to know how he's going to explain to the world the sudden appearance of your double."

"My twin,' Maude said.

Miles looked at her sharply. Then he let out his breath with a little popping sound. "Ah," he said. "Precisely."

Epilogue

"You know what you have to do?" "Brazen it out," Miranda said. "Lie," Maude said.

Gareth accepted the sisters' responses with a wry smile. "Words to that effect," he agreed.

"But will it work?" Imogen demanded from the doorway, plying her fan with vigor.

"If it's brazened out, as Miranda said, I don't see how it can fail to work, madam." Her husband bobbed up from behind her. "Let me look at you, my dears." He came into the chamber and Gareth stepped aside, giving way to the expert.

"Oh, what a stir you will cause," Miles declared, rubbing his hands with glee as he walked around the sisters. "It was a brilliant conception to dress you so alike and yet so different."

The idea had been his, but his delight was so unaffected that no one could accuse him of self-congratulation.

"Cor, you don't 'alf look like a princess, M'randa," Robbie observed in awe from the window seat where he was perched with Chip. A very different Robbie: a rounder, shinier, merrier Robbie altogether. "Can I come wi you?

"No, you have to stay and look after Chip," Miranda said. "But I'll tell you all about it when I get home." Robbie appeared satisfied with this and returned his attention to the dish of raisins he was sharing with Chip.

"Let us take a look at ourselves, Maude." Miranda reached for her twin's hand and stepped up to the mirror. The two stood side by side examining their wavery reflections. Despite the imperfections of the reflection, the effect was stunning. The gowns were of identical design, but Miranda's was of emerald green velvet stitched with gold thread and encrusted with diamonds, while Maude wore turquoise velvet, silver thread, and sapphires. The neckline of the gowns plunged to the bosom, and rose behind the head in a small jeweled ruff. The only other significant difference lay in their hair. Each wore her hair loose, bound with a fillet, silver in Maude's case, gold in Miranda's. No attempt had been made to hide Miranda's short, glowing bob that curved behind her ears and clung to her neck. Maude's rippling auburn-tinted locks curled on her shoulders.

"They won't suspect," Miranda stated. Then she turned to Gareth, her eyes filled with doubt. "Are you sure they won't, milord?"

"Why should they?" he said, smiling. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips." The missing d'Albard twin has been miraculously restored to her birthright."

"But if they do suspect," she persisted. "If the queen should… or Henry should… then you'll be ruined."

"And as I've already told you more times than I can count, love, it wouldn't matter."

Imogen mewed softly, but no words emerged from her tightly compressed lips.

"We should go," Miles said. "The barge awaits and Henry will be impatient."

"Aye, I daresay he's pacing the halls of Greenwich already," Gareth agreed with a chuckle. "Come, my wards, let us enter the lion's den."

Maude cast Miranda a look that was both nervous and excited before they left the bedchamber. Miranda squeezed her hand.

Chip chittered from Robbie's lap as they went out, then before the boy could react, he leaped onto the sill and dropped through the window.

"Oh, Chip! Come back!" Robbie leaned out after him but the monkey was already clambering down the ivy and merely raised a scrawny arm in farewell. Robbie, who knew his limitations where Chip was concerned, withdrew his head and began to contemplate what new delights he could explore in this palace. The kitchen was as good a place as any to start, and had proved fruitful already. The cook and one of the housekeepers had taken a fancy to him and they were baking apple tarts this afternoon…