The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

If he had just left- that, I could have forgiven. But he has not come back!

He has not called upon me. He has not sent a letter. And although I hear whispers and gossip that he is out and about and being seen in society, he is certainly never seen by me. If I am in attendance at an event, then he is not. Once I thought I saw him from across a room, but I cannot be certain, as it was only his back as he made his departure.

I don't know what I may do about all of this. I cannot call upon him. It would be the height of impropriety. Lady Rudland has forbidden even Olivia from visiting him; he is at The Albany, and it is strictly gentlemen. No families or widows.

'What do you plan to wear to the Worthington ball tonight?' Olivia asked, splashing three sugars into her tea.

'Is that tonight?' Miranda's fingers tightened around her teacup. Turner had promised her he'd attend the Worthington ball and dance with her. Surely he wouldn't renege on a promise.

He would be there. And if he wasn't…

She would simply have to make sure he was.

'I'm wearing my green silk,' Olivia said. 'Unless you want to wear your green dress. You do look lovely in green.'

'Do you think so?' Miranda straightened. Suddenly it was imperative that she look her absolute best.

'Mmm-hmm. But it wouldn't do for both of us to wear the same color, so you'll have to decide soon.'

'What do you recommend?' Miranda wasn't hopeless when it came to fashion, but she would never have as good an eye as Olivia.

Olivia tilted her head to the side as she examined her friend. 'With your coloring, I do wish you could wear something more vivid, but Mama says we are still too new. But maybe…' She jumped up, snatched a pale sage green pillow from a nearby chair, and held it up under Miranda's chin. 'Hmmm.'

'Are you planning to redecorate me?'

'Hold this,' Olivia ordered, and she backed up several steps, letting out a ladylike 'Euf!' when her foot caught on a table leg. 'Yes, yes,' she murmured, catching her balance with the arm of the sofa. 'It's perfect.'

Miranda looked down. And then up. 'I'm to wear a pillow?'

'No, you will wear my green silk. It is precisely the same color. We shall have Annie take it in today.'

'But what will you wear?'

'Oh, anything,' Olivia said with a wave of her hand. 'Something pink. The gentlemen always seem to go mad for pink. Makes me look like a confection, I'm told.'

'You don't mind being a confection?' Because Miranda would hate it.

'I don't mind them thinking it,' Olivia corrected. 'It gives me the upper hand. There is often benefit in being underestimated. But you…' She shook her head. 'You need something more subtle. Sophisticated.'

Miranda picked up her tea for one last sip, then stood, smoothing out the soft muslin of her day frock. 'I should go try it on now,' she said. 'To give Annie time to make the alterations.'

And besides that, she had some correspondence to attend to.

* * *

Turner was discovering, as he tied his cravat with nimble fingers, that his talent for the invective was broader and deeper than he'd realized. He'd found a hundred things to malign since he'd received that blasted note from Miranda earlier that afternoon. But most of all, he was cursing himself, and whatever sodding sense of honor he still possessed.

Attending the Worthington ball was the height of folly- quite the most asinine thing he could possibly do. But he couldn't bloody well break a promise to the chit, even if it was for her own good.

Holy hell. This was not what he needed right now.

He looked back down at the note. He had promised to dance with her if she lacked partners, had he? Well, that shouldn't be a problem. He'd simply make sure she had more partners than she knew what to do with. She'd be the bloody belle of the ball.

He supposed that as long as he had to attend this deuced party, he ought to go ahead and examine the young widows. With any luck, Miranda would see exactly where he planned to devote his attentions, and she'd realize that she ought to look elsewhere.

He winced. He didn't like the thought of upsetting her. Hell, he liked the chit. He always had.

He gave his head a shake. He wasn't going to upset her. Not much, anyway. And besides, he would make it up to her.

Belle of the ball, he reminded himself as he stepped into his carriage and steeled himself for what was certain to be a most trying evening.

Belle. Of. The. Ball.

* * *

Olivia spotted Turner the moment he entered. 'Oh, look,' she said, nudging Miranda with her elbow. 'My brother is here.'

'He is?' Miranda replied breathlessly.

'Mmm-hmm.' Olivia straightened, her brows coming together. 'I haven't seen him for ages, now that I think on it. Have you?'

Miranda shook her head absently as she craned her neck, trying to spot Turner.

'He's over there speaking with Duncan Abbott,' Olivia informed her. 'I wonder what they're talking about. Mr. Abbott is quite political.'

'Is he?'

'Oh, yes. I should love to have a discussion with him, but he probably wouldn't care to discuss politics with a woman. Annoying, that.'

Miranda was about to nod her agreement when Olivia furrowed her brow again and said in an irritated voice, 'Now he's talking to Lord Westholme.'

'Olivia, the man is allowed to speak with whomever he likes,' Miranda said, but inside, she, too, was growing irritated that Turner was not making his way over to them.

'I know, but he ought to come and greet us first. We're family.'

'Well, you are, at least.'

'Don't be silly. You're family, too, Miranda.' Olivia's mouth opened in an outraged little O. 'Will you look at that? He's gone in quite the opposite direction.'

'Who is that man he's talking to? I don't recognize him.'

'The Duke of Ashbourne. Devilishly handsome fellow, don't you think? I think he's been abroad. Having a holiday with his wife. They're quite devoted to one another, I understand.'

Miranda thought it a positive sign to hear that at least one ton marriage was happy. Still, Turner certainly wasn't about to ask for her hand if he couldn't be bothered to walk across a ballroom to say hello. She frowned.

'Excuse me, Lady Olivia. I believe this is my dance.'

Olivia and Miranda looked up. A handsome young man whose name neither could recall was standing before them.

'Of course,' Olivia said quickly. 'How silly of me to have forgotten.'

'I believe I will get a glass of lemonade,' Miranda said with a smile. She knew that Olivia always felt awkward when she went off for a dance and left Miranda alone.

'Are you certain?'

'Go. Go.'

Olivia floated out onto the dance floor, and Miranda started to make her way to a footman who was pouring lemonade. As usual, she had been claimed for only about half of the dances. And where was Turner, she might ask, after he had promised to dance with her if she lacked partners?

Horrid, horrid man.