time you married him,” Joseph pointed out. “You could have a long engagement, if you wish. We could start to work on the house in the meantime.”
Miranda smiled at her father and shook her head. “I am not marrying, Papa, just because you are bored. Talk about wanting a project…”
“But this would be the project of a lifetime! And it’s not just because I’m bored since I sold out to Mr. Astor. You know I’ve wanted to get my hands on a grand old house like that for years.” He paused, considering her, then went on in a wheedling tone. “Anyway, Miranda, my love, I’m not asking that you marry the fellow tonight. All I want is for you to meet him. See what he’s like. Consider the possibilities.”
“Yes, but then you’ll be asking me about how I feel and ‘couldn’t you just give the man another chance’ and wanting me to go to this Darkwater place to see it, and…”
Her father put on a shocked face. “Miranda! You do say the most terrible things about me. As if I would badger you…”
Miranda quirked an eyebrow at him, and Joseph had the grace to smile. “Well, all right, I do badger you sometimes. I admit it. But not this time—I promise. Just meet the man. It will be nothing but going to an elegant dinner party and making polite conversation and taking a little look-see at him. Couldn’t you do that much for Elizabeth and me?”
Miranda sighed. “Oh, all right. I guess I can meet the man. But I’m not promising anything. You understand?”
“Of course, of course!” Joseph agreed happily, coming over to his daughter and enveloping her in a bear hug.
“Oh, my,” said a soft voice from the doorway. “What joyous thing has occurred?”
The two of them turned at the sound of Mrs. Upshaw’s voice. Miranda smiled at her stepmother, and Joseph beamed. Elizabeth Upshaw was a short blond woman who fluttered whenever she walked—hands, hair, ribbons, laces, the ends of her shawl. When Joseph had met her, she had been a pretty young woman, but over the years, time and inactivity had taken their toll on her, blurring the lines of her face and figure with fat. With a matronly cap on her head and wrapped in shawls as she always was, she looked several years older than her actual age. Though only ten years separated them, there were many who assumed upon meeting them that Elizabeth was Miranda’s mother.
“Elizabeth!” Joseph exclaimed, going to take his wife’s elbow and escort her to the sofa as if she were too weak to walk. Elizabeth had long suffered from a variety of real and imaginary illnesses, and her husband entered happily into her presentation of herself as a fragile woman. Miranda could not quite understand why Elizabeth enjoyed spending her life reclining on couches and beds, bearing her ills with a gentle smile, but if that was the way Elizabeth chose to live, it didn’t bother her. She was quite fond of her stepmother, whose kind heart more than made up for her litany of gentle complaints.
“The grandest thing has happened,” Joseph went on, settling his wife on the couch and making sure her shawl, an afghan and several pillows were settled around her. “I didn’t want to wake you this morning to tell you, not as poorly as you’ve been feeling from crossing the Channel.”
“I know. I’ve always been sadly affected by mal de mer,” Elizabeth Upshaw agreed in a die-away voice. “I dread returning to New York because of it.”
“Perhaps you won’t have to,” Joseph said happily. “Or at least, not for some time.”
“Why? Whatever do you mean?”
“Miranda just may marry an earl.”
“An earl!” Elizabeth exclaimed, sitting up so straight in her interest that her shawl slid down from her shoulders unnoticed.
“Papa!” Miranda said in exasperation, putting her hands on her hips. “There you go. I told you I would meet the man. I have no intention of marrying him.”
“But an earl!” her stepmother breathed, one hand going to her chest as though the news were too much for her heart. She looked wide-eyed at Miranda. “You would be a countess. Oh, Miranda, that is more than I ever hoped for.”
Miranda sighed inwardly, wishing that she had not let her father wheedle her into agreeing to meet this nobleman. Joseph would not have to badger her; after this news, her stepmother would take care of that for him.
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, and her face was lit with an animation unusual for her. “Just think—the parties, the wedding—” A thought struck her, and she turned toward her husband. “Do they have a house in Town?”
“No, the Countess told me last night that her husband had to sell it. I believe her son, the Earl, keeps a small bachelor house, but she has to lease a home during the Season. It sounded to be a sore trial to her.”
Elizabeth nodded sagely. “It would be. Having to give up one’s no doubt magnificent home and make do with a rented house every summer. Knowing that everyone knows it…It’s too bad not to be able to have the wedding party in a grand house.” She brightened. “But you can buy one, dear. I mean, we will have to have a house in London if we are to stay here any length of time, and—”
“Elizabeth, please,” Miranda put in gently. “I’m not planning to marry the Earl of Ravenscar. I just said—”
“What?” Her stepmother stared at Miranda, her face suddenly pale and her eyes wide. “What did you say? Who?”
“The Earl of Ravenscar,” Joseph put in. “That’s the fellow we’re talking about Miranda’s marrying—er, that is, meeting. Devin Aincourt’s his name.”
“Oh, my God.” Elizabeth rose to her feet, her hands clenching together. “You cannot marry him. The man is a devil!”
2
This pronouncement had the effect of rendering her audience speechless, as Miranda and her father stared at Elizabeth. Under their gaze, Elizabeth colored a little self-consciously and sat back down.
“That is, well, I mean, I don’t think that it would be a good idea for Miranda to marry him. He is, well, he has a…an unsavory reputation.”
“Do you know him, dear?” her husband asked.
“Oh, no. He was far above my touch, of course. But…I had heard of him. Everyone had heard of him. He had a scandalous reputation. That was before he was the earl, of course. His father was Ravenscar then.”
“What was wrong with him?” Miranda asked curiously. “What did he do?”
“Oh, the usual things that young noblemen do, I imagine,” Elizabeth replied vaguely. “Not the sort of thing suitable for your ears.”
Miranda grimaced. “Oh, Elizabeth, don’t be stuffy. I am twenty-five years old and not a bit fainthearted. I am not going to collapse in shock.”
“Yes, what did he do, Elizabeth?” Joseph prodded.
“Well, he gambled and…consorted with unsuitable types.”
The other two waited expectantly, and when she said nothing more, Miranda asked disappointedly, “Is that all?”
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. “He was,
