“I am, my lord. Good day to you. Would you care for some tea?”
“No, thank you. I won’t stay long.”
When her maid forgot her earlier instructions and went for the door, Miranda called her back.
“Eliza, take a seat.” She looked around. It was out of the question for her to sit with them. “Over there, if you please.” She gestured toward an ottoman at the other end of the room, pulled into place when her father wanted to put his feet up, but which currently held a stack of newspapers.
With big eyes fixed upon Miranda, their maid did as she was told, not even moving the papers but sitting firmly upon them.
Amidst the sound of crinkling, Lord Mercer stared at her, and Miranda quickly took her seat so he could do the same.
“I had a wonderful time,” she volunteered. “Did you enjoy the evening?”
“I did,” he said.
She could see he had something on his mind. “Is there aught amiss?”
He hesitated. “It is not usually my position to play the nanny, but when you meet with your gentleman callers, you ought to have a true chaperone. I’m afraid the help, no matter how dedicated, does not qualify.”
They both heard another round of scrunching paper as Eliza settled herself.
“My aunt was too exhausted from the early morning conclusion to the assembly. Hopefully she hasn’t worn herself out for the entire Season,” Miranda added. “Yet it is neither here nor there. I have had no gentlemen callers, except for you.”
She was rewarded with a genuine look of astonishment.
“But how can that be?” Lord Mercer demanded.
She shrugged. “I suppose that is for you to say, my lord. My father thought your attention would draw a flock of suitors, as he said. I can only assume the fault in the plan rests with me.”
She tried to speak lightly as if it were unimportant. After all, she hadn’t wanted or expected a Season anyway, nor was she desperate for a husband. But her disappointment must have shown.
Leaning forward with earnest, Lord Mercer declared, “You were the most desirable woman there, I promise you.”
She sat up straighter, a tremor of happiness running through her. Quickly, it dissipated. She must recall he was using her to get her father’s assistance.
“If that is the case, which is highly unlikely, then why did no one come? I believe you are only humoring me.”
“No, Miss Bright, I swear it.” He rubbed a large hand over his chin, considering. “It must be because you favored me with a contra-dance early in the evening and then two waltzes. One more than your father allowed, by the way, but apparently Mrs. Cumbersome cannot count.”
Miranda laughed. He’d succeeded in lifting her mood.
“Then our three dances,” she began.
“Scared off the swells and blades,” he finished. “They are in awe of me.”
“Naturally,” she agreed, biting back a smile at his vanity. After all, it was true. He had been the most attractive man at the ball. Not noticing her hint of amusement, he continued.
“The problem is you showed me too much preference. Consequently, the others believe they have no chance to gain your affections.”
Miranda considered this. “Do you think so? Truly?”
STALLING FOR TIME, Philip nodded sagely and crossed his legs, folded his arms, and even cleared his throat. He should have accepted the blasted tea. It would have given him something to do with his hands.
In truth, he hadn’t a bloody clue why she didn’t have a line of callers on her doorstep. The way she’d filled out that dress, her graceful dancing, her lilting laughter. If he’d been interested in gaining a wife, he would have fought tooth and nail to be the first one into the foyer that morning.
He certainly hoped the lack of suitors wasn’t due to some shallow reason such as her being a magistrate’s daughter and not having the best Mayfair address.
“In two nights, at Vauxhall, you must allow me to plead my case loudly and then you must brush me off.”
