She tapped the envelope against her other hand, reluctant. If it was the note she’d expected it was both overdue and something she wanted to savor in private. Jane knew her too well, and Miranda wasn’t even sure of her own feelings and reactions to Lucien de Malheur. She certainly wasn’t ready to share them.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Jane demanded, rising and leaving the ribbons behind. Jane was tall, dark-haired like her mother, but lacking Evangelina Pagett’s extraordinary beauty or her father’s cynical grace. She was a little thin, a little plain and the best and dearest friend in the world.
“I’ll open it later. ” Miranda set the note back down on the salver.
“Oh, no, you won’t,” Jane said, lunging for it, grabbing it before Miranda could stop her. “I’m the one with the stultifying life. At least I can live through you vicariously. ”
Miranda leaped to her feet, reaching for the letter, which Jane laughingly held over her head, and fixed her with a stern look. “You’re about to marry a good man who adores you, and you’ll live in a lovely house and have wonderful children and … what’s that face for? Don’t tell me you’re not happy?” Miranda stopped reaching for the invitation, falling back to look at her troubled friend.
Jane tried for her usual smile, but Miranda could see the pain behind it, the pain she should have recognized before, and she forgot about the letter.
“Things are never quite what they seem,” Jane said carefully. “Mr. Bothwell feels that I’ll make a suitable wife and that I should breed quite easily. He’s most desirous of an heir. He likes that I’m quiet and well-behaved and conduct myself just as I ought, and he thinks I’ll do very well. ”
“You’ll do very well?” Miranda echoed, incensed. “And you agreed to this affecting proposal?”
“I’m three and twenty, Miranda. I’d had five seasons and no other offers, and Mr. Bothwell is a gentleman with a significant income. ” There was a faint wobble in her voice.
“And your parents agreed to this iniquitous match?”
“Don’t be absurd. I told them I was madly in love with the man. I can’t live with them forever, and I want children. I want a life of my own. Mr. Bothwell will do very well, I’m sure. ”
For a long moment Miranda said nothing. And then she put her arms around Jane’s waist. “Dearest, you should have told him no. You could come and live with me, and we can become two strange old ladies who keep a great deal too many cats and wear eccentric clothes and say things we shouldn’t. It would be grand fun. ”
Jane shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t. You can’t convince me you’re any happier than I am. ”
“I do well enough. And besides, I deserve my banishment. I’m a lightskirt, remember? You deserve a man who adores you. ”
“You aren’t a lightskirt. And we all deserve a man who adores us. Haven’t you yet learned we don’t always get what we deserve?” Jane said. She handed her the vellum envelope. “Why don’t we see your invitation? It might be something diverting. ”
Miranda cast one last troubled glance at her dearest friend and
then turned her attention to the envelope. It was addressed with a feminine hand—she knew it hadn’t come from de Malheur, but she was nevertheless disappointed when she tore open the envelope to find a card inviting her to attend a ridotto given by the Duke and Duchess of Carrimore, in honor of their fifth wedding anniversary. She showed it to Jane, then tossed it back onto the salver with a negligent air, taking her seat by the fire.
“It was very sweet of them,” she said. “At least, sweet of his grace. He was in awe of my shocking grandfather when he was young, and he’s always gone out of his way to be kind to me no matter what. I won’t go, of course. ”
“You will go,” Jane said firmly. “I’m invited, as well. You know it’s impossible to drag my parents back to town and I could scarcely go alone. If Mr. Bothwell was in town he’d refuse on the grounds of propriety—he doesn’t hold with masked balls. If I don’t go with you I’ll never have the chance to attend one again, and besides, I’m dying to see Lady Carrimore’s diamonds. Apparently she has one the size of a pigeon’s egg. ”
“They’ll have other parties that aren’t shocking to your fiancé‘s delicate sensibilities. Bothwell can accompany you. ”
“Bothwell doesn’t approve of the Carrimores at all. Says they’re bad ton and he doesn’t want to associate with them. ”
“And what does he say about me?”
“He wouldn’t dare criticize you,” Jane said, a little too swiftly, and Miranda knew he’d done just that. “Please, Miranda. It’s been ages since you’ve been out. And if anyone dares cut you I’ll kick them. You’re acting like it’s something shocking, like, like an orgy given by the Heavenly Host. ”
“Assuming they give orgies,” Miranda pointed out. “No one really knows what they do. ”
“Orgies,” Jane said flatly. “I would be too disappointed if they indulged in something tame, given their atrocious reputation. But that’s neither here nor there. It isn’t the Heavenly Host, it’s a perfectly respectable gathering hosted by a duke and a duchess. Besides, most people will wear a mask and domino. They needn’t have any idea who we actually are. We’ll show up, wander around and laugh at all the ridiculous people, and then come back here and drink too much champagne and thank God we don’t live like that. Mr. Bothwell says diamonds are much too gaudy. He prefers me in something more subdued, like jet. ”
Author: Anne Stuart
“Something cheaper, more likely,” Miranda muttered. She’d always confided everything to Jane, her dearest friend since childhood, just as her mother had been best friends with Jane’s stunning mother. But it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t breathed a word about her midnight rendezvous with Lucien de Malheur, and she wasn’t quite sure why. She hesitated for another moment. If the Carrimores had lowered their standards enough to invite her, then she had little doubt they’d invited Lucien de Malheur, as well. And since he seemed to have forgotten her existence her best chance might be simply to arrive at a place he was likely to be. She was used to being ignored by the ton. She wasn’t going to accept being ignored by a fellow outcast like the Scorpion, not if she could help it.
“I’ll do it. As long as we leave before any planned unmasking. People will be incensed if they find out they’ve been polite to a shameless whore. ”
“Stop it! You’re no such thing! This isn’t like you, Miranda. You know it’s going to be fun. Like old times. No one will have any idea who we are, and we can behave very badly indeed. ”
“I think most people will attest to the fact that I’ve behaved badly enough for one lifetime, precious,” she said wryly.