LITMIR.BIZ

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mirror before turning away to pull on her long evening gloves. The whole evening would be worth it just to see his expression.

      Joseph popped into the room again, evening gloves in one hand and his gold watch in the other. “Time to go,” he said, then stopped, looking at his daughter. “Well! I’ll be having to fight them off tonight, I can see that.”

      Miranda chuckled. “Thank you, Papa.”

      “Don’t you have anything you can put in that neckline to cover you up some?” he went on, frowning. “Ruffles or lace or some such?”

      “It is an evening gown, Papa. That’s the way it’s supposed to look.”

      “Yes, dear,” Elizabeth agreed placidly from her position on the couch. “It is the very height of fashion.”

      “I think it’s perfectly grand,” Veronica stuck in, sighing. “I wish I could go with you. To think of meeting all those people—the wealthiest and toniest of English society.”

      “The phoniest and silliest is more like it,” Miranda replied and ran a loving hand down the girl’s brown hair. “Just wait, you shall get your chance.”

      “Yes, your sister will see to your coming out,” Joseph promised. “Once we’ve got her all settled.”

      “Papa…”

      “You know, Joseph, you should not push her,” Elizabeth put in softly. “She does not need to marry Lord Ravenscar. Indeed, you know that I think she should not.”

      “I know, Elizabeth,” Miranda told her stepmother with a smile. “Believe me, I have no intention of agreeing to become Lady Ravenscar.”

      “I think that is a wonderfully romantic name,” Veronica said, heaving another sigh of admiration. “Ravenscar. It sounds so—so wild and exotic.”

      “Mmm.” Miranda picked up her fan from the table nearby. “Far too wild and exotic for a plain thing like me, I’m sure. All right, Papa, I’m ready.”

      “Finally.” He went to his wife and bent to kiss her cheek. “I wish you would go with us, Elizabeth. It seems a shame that you’re missing all these parties.”

      “It doesn’t matter. I’m really not feeling up to it tonight. I want to go to the opera in a few days more.”

      “I am sure it will be much more enjoyable—and far less tiring,” Miranda agreed, also going to her stepmother and kissing her on the cheek.

      Her father offered her his arm, she took it, and they proceeded out the door and down the stairs to where the carriage awaited them outside. Her father was uncharacteristically silent on the drive over to Westhampton House, staring thoughtfully out the window.

      Finally he said, “You know, I would not want you to do anything that would make you unhappy.”

      “I know that, Papa.” Miranda reached over and patted his knee.

      “Perhaps Elizabeth is right—I am just thinking of myself and not you.”

      “Well, I am quite capable of thinking of myself, and, believe me, you will not be able to bully me into doing something I don’t want to.” She smiled. “Surely you don’t think that I have turned weak and biddable the last few days?”

      A grin flashed across his face as he swiveled his head to look at her. “No, that I don’t.”

      “Then there’s nothing to worry about. I am just as bullheaded as you, so you may argue with me to your heart’s content and you won’t budge me past what I wish to do. Now, Veronica is a different matter.”

      “Veronica!” Her father looked shocked. “Why, I would never try to bully Veronica into anything. She’s, well, she might do it just to please me and then be miserably unhappy.”

      “You see? You know with me you don’t have that worry.”

      “You’re right.” He took her hand with a smile. “It is a comfort to me to know that you never pay the least heed to me.”

      Miranda chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze.

      Westhampton House, when they reached it, was packed with people. Miranda had hung back on purpose, dithering over her clothing as she never did, because she wanted to make a grand entrance. It was disappointing, therefore, when she swept down the grand staircase on her father’s arm and realized that Ravenscar was not standing at the bottom of it to watch her descent. The man had gotten the better of her, she thought disgustedly, as her eyes roamed quickly and discreetly around the great ballroom. She did not see him anywhere. Could it be that this party was all just a result of his sister’s wishful thinking and he did not plan to try to press his suit with her at all?

      It was a lowering thought. She had been counting all week on another opportunity to give the arrogant man a set-down. However, she put the best face on it that she could, greeting Rachel, who stood receiving at the foot of the stairs, with a smile.

      “Miss Upshaw!” Rachel’s green eyes lit up, and she took both Miranda’s hands in hers in a friendly grasp.

      Now that she had met her brother, Miranda could see the resemblance between the two of them. Like her brother, Rachel was tall, with a femininely broad-shouldered figure that made clothes hang beautifully on her. Her thick, lustrous hair was black, like his, and her eyes the same leaf green. But warmth made her eyes soft and inviting and touched her features with a friendliness that was completely missing from Lord Ravenscar’s face.

      “I am so glad you came this evening. I was afraid my brother’s intolerable behavior would keep you away. I can assure you that he regrets it deeply.”

      Miranda held her own counsel about that. She had her doubts about the Earl of Ravenscar ever regretting anything, but one could scarcely blame his sister for not seeing his true character.

      Rachel greeted Miranda’s father warmly, too. Beyond her stood her mother, Lady Ravenscar, who unbent enough to smile at them, although the gesture did not reach her eyes. She, Miranda thought, was more like the Earl—hating the notion that she had to stoop to allow mere peasants into her family. Miranda replied to Lady Ravenscar with as much warmth and enthusiasm as her ladyship exhibited. Then she started to move on with her father into the crowd.

      But Rachel was not about to let her get away so easily. She moved up beside them and linked her arm through one of Miranda’s. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends,” she told her, guiding Miranda in the direction of a knot of young matrons.

      Rachel introduced her to all the women. Some were as warm as Rachel in their greetings, others almost frosty. Miranda could feel their eyes running over her gown, assessing style and cost. She knew that it had been made by one of the premiere modistes in London, so she had no fears on that score. No doubt the ones who wanted to would find something to criticize about her manner or speech, but Miranda did not care. She knew that she had dressed for only one person here tonight—and it seemed as if it might all be a waste. There was no sign of the Earl of Ravenscar anywhere.

      She knew that people were talking about her. She saw the sidelong glances and heard the whispers behind hands and fans as Rachel led her along, introducing her to a dizzying array of girls dressed all in white, matrons in magnificent dresses and black-clad dowagers lined up in chairs against the wall. Every now and again, when Rachel turned away to speak to someone else, she could hear snippets of conversation:

      “…so wild only an American would marry him…”

      “…nothing but gambling dens and houses of ill repute…”

      “Well, what can you expect? He’s run through all his fortune—cards, liquor and women.”

      “…handsome as Lucifer himself, of course.”

      “Thank heaven he never cast his lures to my Marie.”

      “Well, she’ll be sorry.”

      It was almost enough to make one

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