"My armband," he said, with some irony.

"For Leticia," she added, as if he did not know that.

"I believe I told you that I have chosen not to mourn her."

"But this is London," she hissed. "And your sister's debut."

He shrugged. "My coat is black."

"Your coats are always black."

"Perhaps I am in perpetual mourning then," he said mildly, "for innocence lost."

"You will create a scandal," she fairly hissed.

"No," he said pointedly, "Leticia created scandals. I am simply refusing to mourn my scandalous wife."

"Do you wish to ruin your sister?"

"My actions will not reflect half so badly upon her as my dear departed's would have done."

"That is neither here nor there, Turner. The fact of the matter is your wife died, and- "

"I saw the body," he retorted, effectively halting her arguments.

Lady Rudland drew back. "There is no need to be vulgar about it."

Turner's head began to pound. "I apologize for that, then."

"I wish you would reconsider."

"I would prefer that I did not cause you distress," he said with a bit of a sigh, "but I will not change my mind. You may have me here in London without an armband, or you may have me in Northumberland…also without an armband," he finished after a pause. "It is your decision."

His mother's jaw clenched, and she did not say anything, so he simply shrugged and said, "I shall find Miranda, then."

And he did.


* * *

Miranda had been in town for two weeks, and while she was not sure she could term herself a success, she did not think she qualified as a failure, either. She was right where she'd expected herself to be- somewhere in the middle, with a dance card that was always half full and a journal that was overflowing with observations of the inane, insane, and occasionally in pain. (That would be Lord Chisselworth, who tripped on a step at the Mottram ball and sprained his ankle. Of the inane and insane, there were too many to count.)

All in all, she thought herself rather accomplished for one with her particular set of God-given talents and attributes. In her diary, she wrote-

Am meant to be honing my social skills, but as Olivia pointed out, idle chatter has never been my forte. But I have perfected my gentle, vacant smile, and it seems to be doing the trick. Had three requests for my company at supper!

It helped, of course, that her position as Olivia's closest friend was well known. Olivia had taken the ton by storm- as they all had known she would- and Miranda benefited by association. There were the gentlemen who reached Olivia's side too late to secure a dance, and there were those who were simply too terrified to speak with her. (At such times, Miranda always seemed like a more comfortable choice.)

But even with all the overflow attention, Miranda was still standing alone when she heard an achingly familiar voice-

"Never say I have caught you without company, Miss Cheever."

Turner.

She could not help but smile. He was devastatingly handsome in his dark evening clothes, and the candlelight flickered gold against his hair. "You came," she said simply.

"Didn't you think I would?"

Lady Rudland had said he was planning on it, but Miranda hadn't been so sure. He had made it abundantly clear that he wanted no part of society that year. Or possibly any year. It was hard to say just yet.

"I understand she had to blackmail you into attendance," she said, as they assumed side-by-side positions, both gazing idly out at the crowd.

He feigned affront. "Blackmail? What an ugly word. And incorrect in this instance."

"Oh?"

He leaned toward her ever so slightly. "It was guilt."

"Guilt?" Her lips twitched, and she turned to him with mischievous eyes. "What did you do?"

"It's what I didn't do. Or rather, what I wasn't doing." He gave a careless shrug. "I'm told that you and Olivia will be successes if I offer my support."

"I expect Olivia would be a success if she were penniless and born on the wrong side of the blanket."

"I have no worries for you, either," Turner said, smiling down at her in a somewhat annoyingly benevolent manner. Then he scowled. "And what would my mother blackmail me with, pray tell?"

Miranda smiled to herself. She liked it when he was disconcerted. He always seemed so in control of himself to her, whereas her heart always managed to thump in triplicate whenever she saw him. Luckily the years had made her comfortable with him. If she hadn't known him for so long, she doubted she would be able to manage a conversation in his presence. Besides, he would surely suspect something if she were tongue-tied each time they met.

"Oh, I don't know," she pretended to ponder. "Stories of when you were small and such."

"Hush your mouth. I was a perfect angel."

She raised her brows dubiously. "You must think I'm very gullible."

"No, just too polite to contradict me."

Miranda rolled her eyes and turned back to the crowd. Olivia was holding court across the room, surrounded by her usual bevy of gentlemen.

"Livvy's a natural at this, isn't she?" she said.

Turner nodded his assent. "Where are all of your admirers, Miss Cheever? I find it difficult to believe you haven't any."

She blushed at his compliment. "One or two, I suppose. I tend to blend into the woodwork when Olivia is near."

He shot her a disbelieving look. "Let me see your dance card."

Reluctantly, she handed it over to him. He gave it a quick examination, then returned it. "I was right," he said. "It is very nearly filled."

"Most of them found their way to me only because I was standing next to Olivia."

"Don't be silly. And it's nothing to get upset about."

"Oh, but I'm not," she replied, surprised that he should think so. "Why? Do I look upset?"

He drew back and surveyed her. "No. No, you don't. How odd."

"Odd?"

"I have never known a lady who did not wish for a gaggle of eligible young men surrounding her at a ball."

Miranda bristled at the condescension in his voice and was not quite able to keep the insolence out of hers, as she said, "Well, now you do."

But he just chuckled. "And how, dear girl, are you going to find a husband with that attitude? Oh, don't look at me as if I am being patronizing- "

Which only made her teeth grind harder.

"- you yourself told me that you wish to find a husband this season."

He was right, drat the man. Which left her with no option other than to say, "Don't call me 'dear girl,' if you please."

He grinned. "Why, Miss Cheever, do I detect a bit of temper in you?"

"I've always had a temper," she bit off.

"Apparently so." He was still smiling as he said it, which was all the more irritating.

"I thought you were meant to be moody and brooding," she grumbled.

He gave her a lopsided shrug. "You seem to bring out the best in me."

Miranda gave him a pointed look. Had he forgotten the night of Leticia's funeral? "The best?" she nearly drawled. "Really?"

He had the grace to look sheepish, at least. "Or occasionally the worst. But tonight, only the best." At her lifted brows, he added, "I am here to do my duty by you."

Duty. Such a solid, boring word.

"Hand me back your dance card, if you will."

She held it out. It was a festive little thing, with curlicues and a small pencil ribbon-tied to the corner. Turner's eyes grazed over it, and then narrowed. "Why have you left all of your waltzes free, Miranda? My mother told me quite specifically that she had secured permission for both you and Olivia to waltz."

"Oh, it's not that." She clenched her teeth for a split second, trying to control the flush that she knew was going to start creeping up her neck any second now. "It's just that, well, if you must know- "

"Out with it, Miss Cheever."

"Why do you always call me Miss Cheever when you're mocking me?"

"Nonsense. I also call you Miss Cheever when I'm scolding you."

Oh, well, that was an improvement.

"Miranda?"

"It is nothing," she muttered.

But he would not let it go. "It is quite obviously some- thing, Miranda. You- "

"Oh, very well, if you must know, I was hoping you would waltz with me."

He drew back, his eyes betraying his surprise.

"Or Winston," she said quickly, because there was safety- or at least fewer chances of embarrassment- in numbers.

"We are interchangeable, then?" Turner murmured.

"No, of course not. But I am not skilled at the waltz, and I would feel more comfortable if my first time in public is with someone I know," she hastily improvised.

"Someone who wouldn't take mortal offense if you trod on his toes?"

"Something like that," she mumbled. How had she got herself into this bind? He would either know she was in love with him or think her a silly twit scared to dance in public.

But Turner, bless his heart, was already saying, "I would be honored to dance a waltz with you." He took the little pencil and signed his name to her dance card. "There. You are now promised to me for the first waltz."

"Thank you. I shall look forward to it."

"Good. So do I. Shall I put myself down for another? I can't think of anyone else here with whom I'd rather to be forced into conversation for the four or so minutes of the waltz."

"I had no idea I was such a chore," Miranda said, grimacing.

"Oh, you're not," he assured her. "But everyone else is. Here you are, I'm putting myself down for the last waltz, too. You'll have to fend for yourself for the rest of them. It wouldn't do to dance with you more than twice."