The last of the steps outside the room stopped, and the door opened to reveal the resplendent Miranda Sterling, silvery blue bonnet in one hand, her gloves in the other. Also in her hand was a lead attached to the drooping form of her beloved hound, Rufus.
“Dear, dear, dear,” Miranda said as she looked Michael over. “How is it that we never noticed this before? What a dreadful mess.”
“Ah, such vision,” the valet praised, rising from his chair and offering it grandly to Miranda, who took it at once, Rufus sitting calmly beside her.
Michael scowled at them both, which was apparently exactly what the valet needed.
“Ooh,” he said with some interest, considering Michael as if from a new angle. “Now there is a look I can dress. The brooding gentleman of wealth and consequence is every fair maiden’s wish.”
Tyrone exhaled a loud groan. “No, Stone, Michael isn’t going to be the new Mr. Darcy, thank you.”
“Why not?” Stone asked. “Real men never live up to the fictional ones; all of the maids say so.”
The men in the room looked around at each other, and Tyrone stared at his valet in amused surprise. “Do they? And who are they saying this to?”
Stone’s face became a mask. “I’m sure I do not know, sir. I only hear things.”
“I’m sure you do.” Tyrone nodded at Miranda and gestured to Michael. “Well?”
Miranda pursed her lips, her fingers absently scratching at the back of Rufus’s head. “It would be all very well if this was the country, and I understand that Mr. Sandford has spent a deal of time at his country estate of late. Is that not so?”
“It is,” Michael conceded, unsure where Miranda wished to take this line of questioning.
She nodded knowingly. “Such a lovely place, Crestor Grove. You must be so very proud to be master of it.”
Michael blinked, knowing full well that Miranda Sterling had never set foot on the property of Crestor Grove in her entire life. “I am, yes. It’s done very well since my father’s death, despite my failings.”
“Such devotion to the family estate and your heritage,” Miranda simpered, almost seeming to tear up. “Such tireless efforts to improve life for your mother, your sisters, and your sweet brother Peter. You can hardly think about yourself with all of that weighing on you, can you?”
What in the world was she talking about? Michael had certainly been dedicating much of his energy to improving the estate, but it was not as though his father had left it in ruins. They had been well set up in his death, and his sisters had dowries that were secure. Peter would need a profession one day, but so did most younger sons in England.
And Michael could think of himself because he not only had an intelligent and capable estate agent, but a mother who could run the place better than any man he’d ever met, including his father. Michael was barely needed at Crestor Grove, though he was supposed to be lord and master of it.
Before Michael could answer, Miranda looked at Stone with damp eyes. “Such a worthy gentleman deserves the very best, wouldn’t you agree, Stone?”
“Yes, my lady,” Stone agreed without hesitation.
“He could hardly be expected to maintain London fashions while so dedicated to matters in the country, could he?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“We cannot allow him to be pitied and dismissed by Society simply because matters of even greater import than his apparel have consumed his mind, can we?”
“No, my lady.”
Miranda placed a hand to her chest, beaming up at Stone. “I knew you would agree, Stone. I knew that you were a man of great principle as well as vision and talent.”
Stone blushed like a young girl receiving her first flirtation. “Well, my lady…”
“Now,” Miranda said with a much firmer voice, somehow losing none of her flattery despite the change in tone, “I would ask that you pull the best things from Mr. Demaris’ collection and try them on Mr. Sandford. They are of close enough size to give us a fair assessment. Hugh, you will take copious notes of everything Stone and I suggest and hand it over at the end of this gathering. At which time, Michael dear, you and I will be going to Bond Street to have you perfectly fitted and tailored before your next appearance anywhere.”
“Miranda,” Lord Sterling protested.
“Really, Miranda,” Hugh tried.
“I daresay, Miranda,” Tyrone blustered.
Michael said nothing, and only stared at Miranda while Stone gleefully obeyed her command.
Miranda raised a brow at him. “Well, Michael?”
“I cannot agree to this,” he told her, not caring that the others would hear. “I have stable finances, Mrs. Sterling, but to waste them on this frippery…”
“Personal grooming is not a waste,” Miranda overrode with some insistence. “Nor is it frippery. And it does not matter what your finances are, this is my gift to you.”
“What?” every gentleman in the room cried in near unison.
She looked around at them all calmly, as though she were merely surveying houseplants. “Hmm. Jealousy mingled with disbelief over here, while this one only has shock. That confirms my decision if nothing else does.” She winked at Michael and gestured for him to remove his coat. “Don’t argue with me, dear, it will only make things worse. And while I adore the family I have married into, kindly call me Miranda. Neither Georgie nor Elinor would enjoy being confused for me, though I daresay we all appear of an age.”
Lord Sterling coughed a laugh that he smothered with further attempts at coughing, which only resulted in choking sounds.
Miranda sniffed once. “Francis, my love, do kindly remember who keeps your mother-in-law from descending upon you more than once a quarter.”
Hugh cackled mercilessly from his perch and snapped his book shut. “For that alone, Miranda, I will take notes on anything and everything you wish.”
Tyrone poured a glass of Madeira and handed it to Miranda. “I’m not sure if I should be defending Aunt Hetty or applauding the dart, Miranda, so I’ll
