“His lordship may need a wedding dress for a bride someday soon,” Madame Devy mused.
“An entiretrousseau,” the head seamstress added in a tone of excitement, “and plenty of gowns for his new baroness.”
Miranda thought them mistaken. The baron most definitely did not wish to have a wife, and if she captured the interest of some single gentleman over the next six weeks, then her father would pay for anything she needed up until the wedding day.
Like any young lady, Miranda also acquired a dozen new pairs of soft doeskin slippers for dancing and just as many pairs of gloves.
“Stockings!” her aunt announced, scanning the list she kept pulling out of her reticule as they traveled between Wood, which manufactured ladies’ fashionable shoes, and Harding Howell & Co. for a new parasol. “Shawls, two new spencers. Oh, and we must see about a riding gown, something with a very full skirt.”
Miranda hoped Lord Mercer knew the extent of a woman’s wardrobe for a Season, far beyond a few ball gowns.Would he be annoyed?
Two days later when he stomped into their front hall and was shown into the parlor where she was answering a letter from Helen, she had her answer.
“These bills were dropped off at my house.” He waggled a few account slips in front of her. “You must cease outfitting all of your friends, for that can be the only explanation as to how you could have spent a fortune in such a brief period.”
“Gowns are not cheap,” Miranda told him, thinking he looked very fine even when in a great tweague. “But I believe you’ll find those bills are less expensive than a wife and baby.”
“Don’t you go using that same tired argument upon me. Besides, it doesn’t give you license to fleece me. Let me have a word with your father. Is he here?”
Miranda wasn’t sure if she should tell Lord Mercer they were alone. Her father’s words about the utmost propriety between them rather knocked her preference for a casual friendship upon its head. From then on, they would probably never have a private moment, and all her questions would have to be done in the presence of her aunt.
“I assure you, my lord, I purchasedonlywhat was necessary.”
“Gloves ineverycolor,” he stated, slapping the papers against his palm.
“To match each of my dresses,” she explained.
He paused. “Do they have to?”
“I was advised they ought to whenever possible.”
“And if not possible?” he asked.
“Then I will wear white, of course.”
“Of course.” Then he glanced at one of the bills again. “Do you ride, Miss Bright?”
“Not as yet, no.” She was looking forward to doing so, especially with the major by her side. She was certain he would sit a fine horse.
“You’re not much of a horsewoman, then?” he asked, his voice mild.
She shook her head.
He pounced in a louder tone, “Then why am I paying dearly for not one but two riding gowns? With matching hats!”
“And a crop,” she confessed. “But only one, as well as a single pair of riding boots. I had no idea how attractive they were until I tried them on.”
He stared at her, then looked down at the bills, then back at her.
“Do you not intend to take me riding in Hyde Park?” Miranda asked.
He frowned. “I suppose I shall. And if I understand this arrangement, you will wish to borrow a gentle mare from my stable. Unless you have already purchased one and I have yet to receive the bill from Tattersall’s.”
Seeing his expression and hearing his exasperated words, Miranda laughed.
“I promise you, my lord, I did not buy a horse. And we do own a carriage and a pair.”
The baron’s nostrils flared. She thought he might even have shuddered.
