The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

Miranda's head snapped up. 'Don't you think that's an unkind remark?'

Olivia gave a little smile. 'I knew you were listening to me.'

'It's nearly impossible not to,' Miranda muttered.

'I was merely saying that- ' Olivia's chin rose, and her gaze moved to the doorway behind Miranda. 'And here he is now. What a coincidence.'

'Winston,' Miranda said cheerfully, twisting in her seat so that she could peer over the edge of the sofa. Except it wasn't Winston.

'Sorry to disappoint,' Turner said, one corner of his mouth twisting into a lazy and extremely slight smile.

'Sorry,' Miranda mumbled, feeling rather unexpectedly foolish. 'We were speaking of him.'

'We were speaking of you, too,' Olivia said. 'More recently, in fact, which is why I remarked upon your entrance.'

'Diabolical things, I hope.'

'Oh, indeed,' Olivia said.

Miranda managed a close-lipped smile as he took a seat across from her.

Olivia leaned forward and rested her chin coquettishly in her hand. 'I was just telling Miranda that I thought you would make someone a terrible husband.'

He looked amused as he sat back. 'True enough.'

'But I was about to say that with the proper training,' Olivia continued, 'you could be rehabilitated.'

Turner stood. 'I'm leaving.'

'No, don't go!' Olivia called out with a laugh. 'I am teasing, of course. You're quite beyond redemption. But Winston…Now, Winston is like a lump of clay.'

'I shan't tell him you said that,' Miranda murmured.

'Don't say you don't agree,' Olivia said provocatively. 'He hasn't had time to turn dreadful, the way most men do.'

Turner watched his sister with undisguised amazement. 'How is it possible that I am sitting here listening to you lecture on the management of men?'

Olivia opened her mouth to reply- something clever and cunning, to be sure- but just then the butler appeared in the doorway and saved them all. 'Your mother requires your company, Lady Olivia.'

'I shall be back,' Olivia warned as she exited the room. 'I am most eager to complete this conversation.' And then, with a devilish smile and a wag of her fingers, she departed.

Turner stifled a groan- his sister was going to be the death of someone, just hopefully not him- and looked to Miranda. She was curled up on the sofa, her feet tucked under her, a large, dusty tome in her lap.

'Heavy reading?' he murmured.

She held up the book.

'Oh,' he said, his lips twitching.

'Don't laugh,' she warned.

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

'Don't lie, either,' she said, her mouth assuming that governess expression she seemed to do so well.

He leaned back with a chuckle. 'Now that I cannot promise.'

For a moment she just sat there, looking equal parts stern and serious, and then her face changed. Nothing dramatic, nothing to raise alarm, but enough so that it was clear that she'd been debating something in her mind. And that she'd reached a decision.

'What do you think of Winston?' she asked.

'My brother,' he stated.

She held out her hand and flicked her wrist, as if to say- Who else?

'Well,' he said, stalling because, really, what did she expect him to say? 'He's my brother.'

Her eyes glanced upward sarcastically. 'Positively revelatory of you.'

'What exactly is it you are asking me?'

'I want to know what you think of him,' she insisted.

His heart slammed in his chest for no reason he could identify. 'Are you asking me,' he inquired carefully, 'if I believe that Winston would make a good husband?'

She gave him that owlish stare of hers, and then she blinked, and- it was the strangest thing- it was almost as if she were clearing her head before she said, in quite the most conversational tone, 'It does seem that everyone is trying to make a match of us.'

'Everyone?'

'Well, Olivia.'

'Hardly the person I'd turn to for romantic advice.'

'So you don't think I should set my cap for Winston,' she said, leaning forward.

Turner blinked. He knew Miranda, and he'd known her for years, which was why he was quite certain that she had not adjusted her position with the intention of showcasing her surprisingly lovely bosom. But rather distractingly, that had been the end result.

'Turner?' she murmured.

'He's too young,' he blurted out.

'For me?'

'For anyone. Good God, he's barely twenty-one.'

'Actually, he's still twenty.'

'Exactly,' he said uncomfortably, wishing very much there was some way to adjust his cravat without looking like a fool. It was starting to feel rather warm, and it was getting difficult to keep his attention focused on something other than Miranda without being obvious about it.

She sat back. Thank God.

And she said nothing.

Until finally he could not help himself. 'Do you intend to pursue him, then?'

'Winston?' She appeared to be pondering it. 'I don't know.'

He snorted. 'If you don't know, then clearly you should not.'

She turned and looked him directly in the eye. 'Is that what you think? That love should be obvious and clear?'

'Who said anything about love?' His voice was slightly unkind, which he regretted, but surely she understood that this was an untenable conversation.

'Hmmm.'

He had the unpleasant sensation that she'd judged him, and he'd come up lacking. A conclusion that was reinforced when she returned her attention to the book in her lap.

And he sat there, like an idiot, really, just watching her read her book, trying to devise some sort of cunning remark.

She looked up, her face irritatingly placid. 'Do you have plans for the afternoon?'

'None,' he bit off, even though he had had every intention of taking his gelding out for a trot.

'Oh. Winston is expected soon.'

'I'm aware.'

'It's why we were talking about him,' she explained, as if that mattered. 'He is coming for my birthday.'

'Yes, of course.'

She leaned forward again, God help him. 'You did remember?' she asked. 'We are to have a family supper tomorrow evening.'

'Of course I remembered,' he muttered, even though he had not.

'Hmmm,' she murmured, 'thank you for your thoughts, anyway.'

'My thoughts,' he echoed. What the devil was she talking about now?

'About Winston. There is much to consider, and I did wish for your opinion.'

'Well. Now you have it.'

'Yes.' She smiled. 'I'm glad. It is because I have such great respect for you.'

Somehow she was managing to make him feel like he was some kind of ancient relic. 'You have great respect