Miranda Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Miranda

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  About the Author

  Miranda

  By Leonora Blythe

  Copyright 2014 by Leonora Blythe

  Cover Copyright 2014 by Untreed Reads Publishing

  Cover Design by Ginny Glass

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  Previously published in print, 1980.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Also by Leonora Blythe and Untreed Reads Publishing

  Carolina

  Helene

  Lady Tara

  Sally

  Felicia

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  Miranda

  Leonora Blythe

  For Sally, John, Ester, Pips, Alex, Tim and Jasper (the dog)

  One

  The coach turned into Belgrave Square and the footman prepared to jump down. As it stopped outside number ten, he leapt to the ground and opened the door quickly. With an agility born of experience, he lowered the steps and waited for the occupant to descend. Then, with equal agility, he darted for the door knocker and by the time Lord Romford arrived on the top step, the massive oak portals had been flung open and three lackeys were waiting to receive him.

  “My Lord Romford,” the footman intoned, “to see Miss Haverfield.”

  “You are expected, my lord,” one of the lackeys said, quickly relieving Lord Romford of his hat, gloves and cane. “Please step this way.”

  With a scowl deeply ingrained on his face, Lord Romford followed the servant through the main hall, past the large drawing room to the library. Still frowning, he walked in, dismissing the servant with an impatient gesture. Sitting at the far end of the room, almost hidden behind a pile of papers, was Miss Miranda Haverfield. She wore a worried expression, but when she saw who entered she sprang from her seat and ran to greet her visitor with a smile. This, however, faded as she noticed his reproving look.

  “Hugo, I knew you would come,” she said tremulously. His apparent ill humor made her uneasy. “Thank you for being so prompt.”

  Lord Romford’s frown deepened as she spoke. Her large eyes, framed by long lashes and her delicate, heart-shaped face were appealing and she had a frailty that made it difficult to be excessively out of sorts with her for long. At least, people who didn’t know her well found it so. However, he knew better and this time was determined not to be taken in. Her frailty was no more than a coating, for underneath she had a strength that made her extremely stubborn on occasion.

  “Dammit! Miranda,” he said finally, “you have the uncanny knack of always getting yourself into trouble when I can give you the least amount of help. I am on my way to Southampton and have but a day to spend here!”

  “Please…please don’t look so forbidding, Hugo,” she begged in a husky voice. “I know my being your ward imposes a terrible strain on you and, honestly, I do my best to keep out of trouble. Really I do,” she added quickly as she saw the look of disbelief cross his face. “This time I am not to blame at all. It was the viscount’s fault. If he hadn’t insisted on attending the rout in such a disguise, it would never have happened….” She broke off with a cry and tapped her feet in agitation. Her normally brilliant blue eyes were clouded with tears of frustration. “I don’t care how compromised I am, Hugo, I will not marry him.”

  Much to her surprise, her guardian threw back his head and laughed, giving her a moment to survey him without being observed. When he was not in a bad humor he was a handsome man. His fair, unpowdered hair, caught at the nape of his neck by a simple ribbon, accentuated his hooded eyes and straight nose. They were classic Romford features. As were his mouth and square jaw. He stood over six feet in his stocking feet, but, today, with his heeled boots, he towered above her, making her feel even smaller than her five feet. He was a careless dresser, yet his clothes fit him snugly thanks to the efforts of his tailor, and showed off to perfection his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

  “Miranda, Miranda, what am I to do with you?” he asked, shaking his head. “Last month your horse bolted down Bond Street. Three months ago I was just in time to prevent Freddie and Calvin from fighting a duel over you. Now, it seems, Viscount Brynmawr is your fiancé. I shudder to think what else will happen to you. Ring for some refreshment, there’s a good girl, and then let me hear your story from the beginning.”

  “I’m sorry, Hugo,” she said, moving to the bellrope. “I forgot you would be thirsty.” Encouraged by his change of humor, she gladly obeyed his command. The interview was going much better than she had dared hope and if she could scrape through the next fifteen minutes without quarreling with him, then, maybe, he would excuse her behavior of last night.

  Lord Romford sat down and crossed his legs casually. Turning his head toward the fire, he stared thoughtfully at the dancing flames. His ward’s hoydenish ways were extremely vexing, and he was at a loss to know what to do to keep her in check. He had assumed guardianship of her nine months ago on the death of her brother. Now, he was close to admitting to himself that perhaps he had made a mistake in agreeing to so mad a scheme. Had he been married, it would have been easy to leave everything to his wife, but he wasn’t and he had no idea how to cope with a headstrong young lady of eighteen years. But he hadn’t thought to the difficulties ahead when Justin, his closest friend and confidant, had died after a long and painful illness. He had simply given Justin his word that he would undertake to manage Miranda’s vast inheritance and ensure that she had some fun before she shackled herself to some worthy whelp. She was beautiful and rich, a combination that could only lead to disaster.

  The door opened and a footman appeared, interrupting his reverie.

  “You rang, my lady?” he asked.

  “Yes, Johnson. Please bring in some refreshments immediately, and…and if Mrs. Branley inquires after me, say I am busy in the library. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Very well, my lady,” Johnson responded. “Although Mrs. Branley has already asked after you and I said I rather thought you had gone to the Pantheon with Molly and were not expected back until noon.”

  “What a treasure you are, Johnson. Thank you.” As the door closed behind him, Miranda turned to Lord Romford and saw that he was frowning again.

  “Please don’t scowl so, Hugo,” she begged.

  “Johnson has been with our family for years and
knows exactly what I want him to say. Mrs. Branley might well be your cousin, but she certainly doesn’t have your fine understanding.”

  “Understanding nothing, Miranda,” Lord Romford said sharply, disturbed by yet another example of her unconventional manners. “Mrs. Branley is your chaperone and that you should have cozened the footman into lying about your movements is appalling. I have a good mind to summon her here now, and have her tell me exactly what happened at the rout.”

  “Please don’t,” she said in a small voice. “You see, the whole trouble arose because she wasn’t with me.” She broke off as she saw the look of outrage spread across her guardian’s face, but pride came to her rescue. Her chin went up and her gaze didn’t waver under his harsh scrutiny.

  They were standing thus when Johnson returned with a laden tray, which he quickly put down, and withdrew.

  “I don’t give too much on hers getting out of this one lightly,” he remarked to the underfootman. “It looks like real trouble abrewing in there.”

  “If I am to understand correctly,” Lord Romford was saying in a cold, clipped voice, “you went to a rout in Vauxhall without your chaperone and because Viscount Brynmawr removed your mask whilst in the middle of the dance floor…” He paused for a moment to look at Miranda for confirmation of these facts.

  “You make it sound far worse than it was, Hugo,” she said quickly. “Honestly, my mask was off only for a fleeting second.” Even as she spoke she was wondering how he had discovered so much so quickly.

  “Long enough for at least three prominent dowagers to recognize you and cause enough of a commotion to force you to remark to Mrs. Jeffries that as Brynmawr was your fiancé, you were at a loss to understand why anyone should be shocked by your behavior.”

  “That woman has an asp’s tongue,” Miranda retorted angrily. “I know what I said, but I didn’t mean it.”

  “Whether you meant it or not, my dear, Brynmawr is accepting the situation. I left him not ten minutes ago at White’s and he was busy repeating plans for the upcoming nuptials to anyone who would listen.”

  “I cannot believe it,” Miranda whispered in despair. “You must tell him that it isn’t so, Hugo, for it is obvious he won’t listen to me.”

  Hugo shook his head slowly. “No, Miranda, I don’t think I’ll interfere. Maybe, this time, I’ll let things stand. This marriage might just be the making of you. God knows, I have tried to be patient with you. I know Mrs. Branley has done her best to keep you in check. Who knows, Viscount Brynmawr may succeed where we have failed.”

  “Hugo, please listen,” Miranda pleaded, desperately biting back her tears. “You cannot allow such a marriage. Why, he is not only old enough to be my father, but I loathe him.”

  “My mind is made up,” Lord Romford said. “I will send the announcement to The Times today. We can proceed with the wedding arrangements when I return. And, my dear ward, for your edification, the viscount is but two years my senior and I have never considered myself old enough to be your father.”

  She burst into tears and cracked her fan against the arm of a chair. “I won’t do it, Hugo,” she stormed. “I don’t care what you say.”

  He looked at her sternly. “Enough of your hysterics, Miranda,” he commanded impatiently. “My mind is set. I have arranged for you to go to Ramsden until all the brouhaha from last night has died down.” He looked at her sitting there so forlornly and experienced a moment of remorse. She really was a dear child. It was a great pity she had no family to protect her from herself. Maybe he was being too hard. Somehow it seemed criminal to force her into a marriage she found distasteful; it was tantamount to caging a wild bird. Yet, he was not unhopeful that the viscount would be just the right sort of husband for her. He was patient, gentle and, though not overly plump in the pocket, had enough money to live comfortably, and, the most important factor, had been unashamedly infatuated with Miranda for the longest time. With a sudden resolve to do the best for his ward, he decided to soften his stand. “Do you really loathe him?” he asked abruptly.

  Miranda turned her tear-stained face toward her guardian. A faint hope that he would relent lit her eyes. “Well…no, Hugo,” she admitted reluctantly. “But…but, I don’t feel I could ever love him enough to want to marry him.”

  “Yet you were prepared to let people think so last night,” Lord Romford remarked dryly. “No, not again,” he said quickly as he saw the tears spring into her eyes. “I fully intend to send you to Ramsden, but I will hold off sending out the betrothal announcements. I will suggest to Brynmawr that he repair to his estates, which, as you know, abut mine, to give you time to get better acquainted”—he paused to allow Miranda to absorb this slight adjustment to his plan—“and, when I return from Southampton, we can think about making the necessary arrangements.”

  Miranda, realizing from the stubborn set to his jaw that he meant what he said, sighed unhappily. “I have to agree, don’t I?” she said miserably. “I won’t change my mind, though, about Rodney. In fact,” she continued quickly, “I shall probably turn into a shrew with boredom, especially if I only have Mrs. Branley to converse with, and that might make Rodney dread the fact that I will become his wife.”

  “I have thought of that, my dear,” Lord Romford responded, smiling in the lopsided way that Miranda usually found irresistible. “I intend to ask Cousin Anita to join you.”

  “Anita!” Miranda exclaimed. “’Pon rep that is the best thing you have suggested yet, Hugo. Why your other relatives cannot be as lovely is something I will never comprehend.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious and Lord Romford found himself laughing at her change in temper. “It is to be hoped that Anita will use her common sense and intelligence to show you the error of your ways, young lady,” he said jocularly.

  “Oh! No, not Anita,” Miranda responded cheerfully. “She might well have donned her spinster cap, but she has by no means lost her sense of humor. Why, only the other day in St. James’s Park I saw a particularly fine gentleman surveying her intently through his quizzing glass. And do you know what she said when I drew her attention to this phenomenon?”

  Lord Romford shook his head. “I cannot imagine,” he murmured.

  “‘That, surely, must be Horace Bateman.’ And when I expressed my ignorance of this man she said, ‘It is not to be expected that you know him, but his three aging maiden aunts died last year. He had spent a lot of time with them and was very fond of them. Now, it seems, he considers himself an authority on women who have been left on the shelf.’ I told her, Hugo, that she was making no sense, but she just laughed. ‘Why, dear Miranda, he is collecting material for a book he intends to have published for us poor unfortunates, giving us advice on how best to cope with our lowly status.’”

  “It doesn’t sound very interesting to me,” Lord Romford said.

  “Exactly my sentiments,” Miranda replied. “Anita, however, was vastly amused because she has heard that he firmly believes spinsters all hanker after a little attention from the opposite sex. Hence, he ogles them whenever he has the chance.”

  “Anita is still far from reaching that status,” Lord Romford said, seemingly surprised by the revelation that his cousin considered herself in that light.

  “I told her, but you know Anita,” Miranda said. “She says she is very happy looking after her sister’s children.”

  “Be that as it may,” Lord Romford said mildly, “we are allowing ourselves to get sidetracked. I shall join you at Ramsden in a sennight and talk with you further about your upcoming nuptials. In the meantime, I beg you not to try Mrs. Branley’s patience too much.”

  Although thankful for the short reprieve her guardian had granted her, Miranda knew that she had lost and did her best to conceal her dismay. “I will do my best to behave with the utmost propriety,” she said lightly. “What is more, I will endeavor to keep out of trouble until you return.”

  “I would hope so,” he replied shortly, “for I’m sure Anita would be none too plea
sed if she had to cope with an attack of Mrs. Branley’s vapors that your hoydenish ways inevitably bring about.”

  “That’s unfair, Hugo,” she said hotly, for the truth of his words made her angry. “She only indulges in those attacks because she enjoys the attention they bring.”

  “That is quite enough, Miranda. I will not tolerate such impudence. You must learn to curb your tongue before you land yourself in deep trouble.”

  “I…I can’t believe that you mean to be so unfeeling,” Miranda managed. “You act as though you have never been young, or ever kicked up your heels for a lark. But I know from Justin that that simply isn’t so.”

  Doing his best to ignore her outburst, Lord Romford rose from his chair. There seemed to be no way to explain to his ward that there was a world of difference between two young men sowing their wild oats and a young lady acting foolishly. At least, no way that wouldn’t embroil them in another heated dispute. “I refuse to be drawn into any further discussion on that topic, Miranda,” he said in tones that brooked no argument. “I have said all that is necessary. I trust that you will see the error of your ways and do your best to mend them.” He bowed perfunctorily and left. Miranda stared stormily at her guardian’s retreating figure. It was always the same, she thought miserably. They simply couldn’t be together without fighting.

  Lord Romford’s temper subsided the moment he left the room. For a second he was tempted to return and smooth things over, but he dismissed the idea quickly. Miranda would have to learn to be more circumspect in the future, and if expressing his disapproval at her more outrageous behavior helped, then it was surely best to leave things the way they were. Instead, he stopped in briefly to see Mrs. Branley, who was in her sitting room. He wanted to ensure that this worthy lady knew that while she was to keep a discreet eye on the couple, she was to do her utmost to promote the match.

  “And don’t make too much of last night, Clarissa,” he cautioned. “Miranda is filled with remorse and knows that she overstepped the mark.”