So Wild A Heart

“I know you do.” Her father beamed at her. “You’ve always been like a little mother to that child.” “But that doesn’t mean,” Miranda went on firmly, “that I am going to marry someone just because Elizabeth wants Veronica to make her debut in London society.”

“That’s not the only reason,” Joseph protested. “There’s a grand estate in Derbyshire. And a house—not a castle, grant you, but almost big enough to be one. Darkwater. Now there’s a name for you. Doesn’t it conjure up history? Romance? The Earl of Ravenscar. My God, girl, is your heart dead?”

“No, Papa, it is not. And I will be the first to admit that it’s a very romantic name—although, I might point out, a wee bit spooky.”

“All the better. There are probably ghosts.” Her father looked delighted at the thought.

“Happy thought.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Joseph Upshaw was immune to irony at the moment. His eyes sparkled and his face positively glowed as he began to talk about the house he had spent the evening before discussing with Lady Ravenscar. “The house was built by one of Henry VIII’s closest friends and supporters. He built the main hall during Henry’s reign. Then, when his son inherited and grew even more prosperous during Elizabeth’s rule, he added two wings onto it to form the classic E-shaped Elizabethan mansion. It’s grand, but it’s falling into complete ruin. Rot in the wood…tapestries in shreds…stone crumbling.” He related the problems of the house with zest, ending, “And we can restore it! Can you imagine the opportunity? The house, the grounds, the estate. We could rebuild it all.”

“It does sound delightful,” Miranda agreed truthfully.

Real estate was one of her primary interests. During her father’s years of dealing with John Jacob Astor, she had had many conversations with that shrewd gentleman, and she had wisely followed his advice and had invested much of her father’s profits in real estate in Manhattan. The risks had already paid off handsomely, and Miranda was sure they would provide even more income in the future. The speculation of buying land to sell at a future date for high profits was fun, but what she truly enjoyed was developing projects—buying land and building something on it that she could then rent to someone, or investing in another’s plan to build or expand or create.

So the thought of restoring a grand old house to its former glory did appeal to her, and she had lived with her father for too long not to have absorbed a great deal of interest in British history and architecture. But she did not want to renovate an estate so much that she was willing to marry to acquire it.

With the look of one delivering the coup de grace, her father went on proudly, “It even has a curse.”

Miranda raised her eyebrows. “A curse? That would be splendid, I’m sure.”

“Oh, it is indeed. ‘Tis a wonderful curse. There was a powerful abbey in Derbyshire, you see—Branton Abbey—and during the Dissolution, when Henry VIII seized all the monastic lands and goods, he took this abbey and gave it to his good friend Edward Aincourt. Well, the abbot at Branton was a tough old coot, and he didn’t go easily. As they dragged him out of the church, he cursed the king and he cursed Aincourt. He cursed the very stones of the abbey, saying that nothing would ever prosper there and ‘no one who lives within these stones shall ever know happiness.’”

He looked at her triumphantly.

“Well. That is an impressive curse,” Miranda admitted. She knew her father’s love of drama and romance too well to be surprised to think that he would find a ruined, cursed house the perfect spot for his beloved daughter to live. To Joseph Upshaw, such a place would be a treasure.

“Isn’t it? They say that Capability Brown did the original gardens. Miranda…how can you pass up an opportunity like this? It isn’t only the house and grounds that need restoring, you know. Apparently the whole estate is also a financial wreck. You could rebuild that, as well. It could be one of your projects.”

Miranda chuckled. “That all sounds very delightful, I’m sure, but there is still the fact that in order to get my hands on the house and the estate and all that, I would have to marry a complete stranger.”

“He wouldn’t have to be a stranger by the time you married him,” Joseph pointed out. “You could have a long engagement, if you wish. We could start to work on the house in the meantime.”

Miranda smiled at her father and shook her head. “I am not marrying, Papa, just because you are bored. Talk about wanting a project…”

“But this would be the project of a lifetime! And it’s not just because I’m bored since I sold out to Mr. Astor. You know I’ve wanted to get my hands on a grand old house like that for years.” He paused, considering her, then went on in a wheedling tone. “Anyway, Miranda, my love, I’m not asking that you marry the fellow tonight. All I want is for you to meet him. See what he’s like. Consider the possibilities.”

“Yes, but then you’ll be asking me about how I feel and ‘couldn’t you just give the man another chance’ and wanting me to go to this Darkwater place to see it, and…”

Her father put on a shocked face. “Miranda! You do say the most terrible things about me. As if I would badger you…”

Miranda quirked an eyebrow at him, and Joseph had the grace to smile. “Well, all right, I do badger you sometimes. I admit it. But not this time—I promise. Just meet the man. It will be nothing but going to an elegant dinner party and making polite conversation and taking a little look-see at him. Couldn’t you do that much for Elizabeth and me?”

Miranda sighed. “Oh, all right. I guess I can meet the man. But I’m not promising anything. You understand?”

“Of course, of course!” Joseph agreed happily, coming over to his daughter and enveloping her in a bear hug.

“Oh, my,” said a soft voice from the doorway. “What joyous thing has occurred?”

The two of them turned at the sound of Mrs. Upshaw’s voice. Miranda smiled at her stepmother, and Joseph beamed. Elizabeth Upshaw was a short blond woman who fluttered whenever she walked—hands, hair, ribbons, laces, the ends of her shawl. When Joseph had met her, she had been a pretty young woman, but over the years, time and inactivity had taken their toll on her, blurring the lines of her face and figure with fat. With a matronly cap on her head and wrapped in shawls as she always was, she looked several years older than her actual age. Though only ten years separated them, there were many who assumed upon meeting them that Elizabeth was Miranda’s mother.

“Elizabeth!” Joseph exclaimed, going to take his wife’s elbow and escort her to the sofa as if she were too weak to walk. Elizabeth had long suffered from a variety of real and imaginary illnesses, and her husband entered happily into her presentation of herself as a fragile woman. Miranda could not quite understand why Elizabeth enjoyed spending her life reclining on couches and beds, bearing her ills with a gentle smile, but if that was the way Elizabeth chose to live, it didn’t bother her. She was quite fond of her stepmother, whose kind heart more than made up for her litany of gentle complaints.

“The grandest thing has happened,” Joseph went on, settling his wife on the couch and making sure her shawl, an afghan and several pillows were settled around her. “I didn’t want to wake you this morning to tell you, not as poorly as you’ve been feeling from crossing the Channel.”

“I know. I’ve always been sadly affected by mal de mer,” Elizabeth Upshaw agreed in a die-away voice. “I dread returning to New York because of it.”

“Perhaps you won’t have to,” Joseph said happily. “Or at least, not for some time.”

“Why? Whatever do you mean?”

“Miranda just may marry an earl.”

“An earl!” Elizabeth exclaimed, sitting up so straight in her interest that her shawl slid down from her shoulders unnoticed.

“Papa!” Miranda said in exasperation, putting her hands on her hips. “There you go. I told you I would meet the man. I have no intention of marrying him.”

“But an earl!” her stepmother breathed, one hand going to her chest as though the news were too much for her heart. She looked wide-eyed at Miranda. “You would be a countess. Oh, Miranda, that is more than I ever hoped for.”

Miranda sighed inwardly, wishing that she had not let her father wheedle her into agreeing to meet this nobleman. Joseph would not have to badger her; after this news, her stepmother would take care of that for him.

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, and her face was lit with an animation unusual for her. “Just think—the parties, the wedding—” A thought struck her, and she turned toward her husband. “Do they have a house in Town?”

“No, the Countess told me last night that her husband had to sell it. I believe her son, the Earl, keeps a small bachelor house, but she has to lease a home during the Season. It sounded to be a sore trial to her.”

Elizabeth nodded sagely. “It would be. Having to give up one’s no doubt magnificent home and make do with a rented house every summer. Knowing that everyone knows it…It’s too bad not to be able to have the wedding party in a grand house.” She brightened. “But you can buy one, dear. I mean, we will have to have a house in London if we are to stay here any length of time, and—”

“Elizabeth, please,” Miranda put in gently. “I’m not planning to marry the Earl of Ravenscar. I just said—”

“What?” Her stepmother stared at Miranda, her face suddenly pale and her eyes wide. “What did you say? Who?”

“The Earl of Ravenscar,” Joseph put in. “That’s the fellow we’re talking about Miranda’s marrying—er, that is, meeting. Devin Aincourt’s his name.”

“Oh, my God.” Elizabeth rose to her feet, her hands clenching together. “You cannot marry him. The man is a devil!”

2

This pronouncement had the effect of rendering her audience speechless, as Miranda and her father stared at Elizabeth. Under their gaze, Elizabeth colored a little self-consciously and sat back down.

“That is, well, I mean, I don’t think that it would be a good idea for Miranda to marry him. He is, well, he has a…an unsavory reputation.”

“Do you know him, dear?” her husband asked.

“Oh, no. He was far above my touch, of course. But…I had heard of him. Everyone had heard of him. He had a scandalous reputation. That was before he was the earl, of course. His father was Ravenscar then.”

“What was wrong with him?” Miranda asked curiously. “What did he do?”

“Oh, the usual things that young noblemen do, I imagine,” Elizabeth replied vaguely. “Not the sort of thing suitable for your ears.”

Miranda grimaced. “Oh, Elizabeth, don’t be stuffy. I am twenty-five years old and not a bit fainthearted. I am not going to collapse in shock.”

“Yes, what did he do, Elizabeth?” Joseph prodded.

“Well, he gambled and…consorted with unsuitable types.”

The other two waited expectantly, and when she said nothing more, Miranda asked disappointedly, “Is that all?”

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. “He was, they say—” her voice dropped “—a womanizer. He seduced young women, led them astray.”

She colored at speaking so plainly and began to ply her fan.

“Ha!” Joseph let out a short bark of laughter. “I’d like to see him try anything with my Miranda. Besides, if he’s marrying her, you can scarcely worry about him ruining her reputation.”

“I suspect she is worried more about his faithlessness, Papa,” Miranda pointed out wryly.

“Faithless? To you?” Joseph’s brows rushed together, and he said again, “I’d like to see him try! Trust me, my dear, I’ll make sure he knows what’s expected of him.”

“Nothing is expected of him,” Miranda stuck in pointedly. “I’m not marrying him.”

“Of course, dear, not unless you want to,” Joseph replied easily. He turned to Elizabeth. “Besides, Lizzie, that was years ago. He was just a boy then. Lots of men are wild in their salad years, but they straighten out as they get older.”

“Yes, I know.” Elizabeth agreed, but her forehead remained creased with worry.

“Besides, we would make sure it was all wrapped up right and tight before she married him. You know we would not allow a wastrel to endanger Miranda’s fortune.”

“It wasn’t her fortune I was thinking of,” Elizabeth retorted with an unusual touch of asperity. “It was her happiness.”

“I know.” Touched by her stepmother’s putting Miranda’s happiness over her own desire for her to marry a peer of the realm, Miranda went to Elizabeth and sat down beside her, taking her hand. “And I appreciate that. Truly.”

“Miranda can hold her own with any man,” Joseph said confidently.

“Yes, I can,” Miranda replied with a grin. “And that includes you…so don’t go thinking that you’ve won me over.” She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “I only agreed to meet this earl, and I have no intention of marrying him, I assure you.”

Her stepmother retained her worried expression. “But you haven’t seen him yet. He’s, well, the sort who can change anyone’s mind.”

“Handsome, is he?” Joseph asked. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it, Miranda?”

“And charming—or so I understand,” Elizabeth added.

“That was fourteen years ago,” Miranda pointed out. “Fourteen years of dissipated living can do a lot to change one’s looks.”

“That’s true.” Elizabeth brightened a little.

“Anyway, I am not about to be swayed by a pretty face. You must realize that. Remember how angelic looking that Italian count was? And I wasn’t the least tempted to accept his offer.”

Elizabeth did not look entirely reassured, but she smiled faintly at Miranda. “I know. I can still see the shock on his face when you turned him down.”

“And this one will look the same,” Miranda told her confidently. “You’ll see.”

Devin could not get the idea of the American heiress out of his mind after his relatives left. Finally he picked up his hat and left the house. He walked, hoping that the air would clear his still-aching and foggy head, but when he arrived a few minutes later at Stuart’s apartment, he felt little better. Stuart’s valet answered the door and looked a trifle shocked when Devin suggested he awaken his master.

With an impatient noise, Devin pushed past him and took the stairs two at a time up to Stuart’s room, the valet running at his heels, squawking anxiously. The noise awakened Stuart, and he was sitting up in his bed, sleeping cap slipping to the side, looking both annoyed and befuddled, when Devin opened the door and stepped into the room.

“Hallo, Stuart.”

“Good Gawd, Ravenscar,” his friend replied without any noticeable appreciation of his visit. “What the devil are you doing here? What time is it?”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, sir,” the valet put in, wringing his hands. “I beg your pardon, sir, I could not keep him out.”

“Oh, give over.” Stuart waved the nervous man out of the room. “I’m not blaming you. No one can keep Ravenscar out if he decides to come in. Just go fetch me some tea. No, make that coffee. Very strong.”

“Very good, sir.” The man backed subserviently out of the room.

“When did you get him?” Devin asked, strolling over to a chair and flopping down in it. “Nervous sort.”

“Yes. I know. Afraid I’ll let him go. I will, too,” Stuart went on meditatively, “if he don’t stop messing up my ascots. I miss Rickman. Damn that Holingbroke for stealing him away from me.”

“Hardly stealing,” Devin pointed out mildly. “I believe he offered to actually pay the man.”

Stuart grimaced, muttering, “No loyalty.” He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Damn, Dev, what are you doing here? I have the most ferocious headache.”

“Mmm. Not feeling too well myself. But my mother and sister visited me an hour ago.”

“No excuse to inflict yourself on me,” his friend pointed out reasonably.

“Lady Ravenscar wants me to marry.”

Stuart’s eyebrows rose. “Anyone in particular?”

“An American heiress. Fur trader’s daughter or some such thing.”

“An heiress, eh? Some people have all the luck. What’s her name?”

“I have no idea. I have no intention of marrying her.”

“Good Gawd, why not? You’re on your last legs. All of London knows it.”

“I’m not done in yet,” Devin protested.

Stuart snorted. “You owe at least three gentlemen of our acquaintance gambling debts, and you know your name will be blackened if you don’t pay them soon. Last night we had to leave by your back door, if you’ll remember, because that damned bill collector was hanging about out front. No need to pay a tradesman, of course—won’t ruin your name. But it’s a damned nuisance, tripping over those fellows all the time.”

Devin sighed. “I know. It’s worse than it was that time Father cut me off. At least then everyone knew I had an inheritance coming when he died. Between gambling and putting people off, I did all right.”

“Not the same now, though. There’s no blunt lying in your future. I’ve experienced it for years—younger son, they know I won’t inherit, never give me an inch. It’s bloody unfair, but there you have it. Tailors are the worst. As if it don’t bring them plenty of other business, my wearing their suits.”

Devin smiled faintly at his friend’s logic. “That’s true. It’s terribly selfish of them to want to get paid.”

“That’s what I told that Goldman chap, but he just kept chattering about payment. Finally had to give him a few guineas to shut him up.” He brightened a little. “Mayhap I’ll pay him off, now that I won that pot.” He stopped, frowning. “But no, there’s that gold-handled cane I saw yesterday—rather spend it on that. What’s the use of paying for something you already have?”

“Good point. I am sure Goldman will understand.”

“Oh, no.” Stuart, not given to sarcasm, especially upon waking, shook his head. “He’ll squawk. I may have to start going to another chap. Pity. Fellow knows how to make the shoulders of my coats exactly as I like them.”

“Padded?”

Stuart rolled his eyes. “Why did you say you came here?”

“The American heiress.”

“Oh, yes. Are you saying you’re thinking of not jumping on the offer?”

“The last thing I want is a wife.”

“Yes. Damned nuisances, usually. Still…hard to argue with having coins in your pocket. What else are you going to do, anyway? You’ve run through your entire fortune. Told me so yourself.”

“Such as it was. The earls of Ravenscar have been improvident for years. Even my father, holy soldier that he was, spent money like water.”

“There you have it. Have to do something to recoup the family fortunes. It’s your duty as an Aincourt and all that. That’s the good thing about being a younger son. Don’t have to worry about family duty much. Usually involves doing something boring, duty does.”

“Yes.” Dev was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “What about your sister?”

“Leona?” Stuart looked at him uncomprehendingly. “What does it have to do with her?”

Dev raised an eyebrow and looked at him pointedly.

“Oh, that. Well, it makes no difference if you’re married, does it? Leona’s shackled to Vesey. Been that way this whole time, hasn’t she? Why shouldn’t you be married, too? This fur trapper’s daughter won’t change anything. Get an heir on her and pack her off to Darkwater and enjoy her money.” He looked up as the door opened and his valet entered with a tray. “Ah, there you are. Set it on the table and fetch my dressing gown. Dev, be a good chap and look in that cabinet. There should be some Irish whiskey in it. Make the coffee palatable.”

“Of course.” Devin went over to the small Oriental cabinet and rummaged about in it until he found a small bottle of whiskey. He didn’t know why he worried about such things, he thought as he pulled out the bottle and added liberal splashes of alcohol to the cups of coffee the valet had poured for them. Stuart, and nearly everyone else he knew, would not give a moment’s thought to marrying this woman. And if they did hesitate, it would be only at the thought of mingling their blue blood with her common sort. Once they were married, he would, of course, have control of her money, and there would be nothing to stop him from leaving her at Darkwater as Stuart suggested, while he went back to his life in London—with Leona. Nor would he be technically disloyal to Leona. She was married, after all. And one could hardly expect him to let the line of Aincourts fail just because he loved a married woman.

It was foolish of him to balk, he told himself. It was scarcely as if he lived the life of an honorable man. He lived, as his father had pointed out many times, among the dregs of polite society, consorting with cardsharps, drunkards and bawdy women. It seemed absurd to hesitate about taking a wife because of his mistress—or because he would undoubtedly make this rustic heiress miserable.

“You’re right, no doubt,” he told Stuart, taking a sip of the liberally laced coffee. His stomach shuddered a little when the strong mixture hit it, but then it calmed, and the rest went down smoothly.

“’Course I am. You going to offer for her?”

“I’m not sure. I told Mother I would meet her. Dinner at Lady Ravenscar’s tonight.”

“Grim.” Stuart made a face at the thought. “Much better go with us. Boly and I are visiting Madame Valencia’s.”

“I am sure a brothel would be more entertaining,” Devin agreed. “But I ought to meet this chit, I suppose.”

“Well, if you don’t offer for her, give me her name,” Stuart told him, grinning. “I’ll take her—squint, bow legs, spotty skin and all. I’m always short of the ready.”

“I shall keep you in mind,” Devin told him gravely, and they settled down to the far more enjoyable business of drinking and discussing a curricle race they had attended the week before.

Miranda leaned closer to her father and whispered in his ear, “I believe this little dinner to meet Lord Ravenscar might have been more of a success if Lord Ravenscar had actually attended it.”

“Now, Miranda, my love,” Joseph said ingratiatingly, “he might still come. It’s only—” he sneaked a glance at his pocket watch “—ten-thirty.”

“The invitation was for nine,” Miranda reminded him. The party had waited for Lord Ravenscar for almost thirty minutes before they went in to eat. But the elaborate, multicourse dinner had now drawn to a close, and the company had retired to the music room, where one of the guests, a blond, rather toothy woman, was butchering Mozart.

“Unless the man was run over by a wagon or something of equal severity,” Miranda went on in a whisper, “he is at the very least excessively rude. Personally, I am putting my money on his not showing at all.”

The female pianist stopped, and everyone applauded graciously. Fortunately, she did not offer to play another piece. Lady Westhampton turned in her seat so that she was facing Miranda and smiled. “Miss Upshaw, I am so sorry,” she said sweetly. “I must apologize for my brother. I cannot imagine what has detained him.”

“From what I have heard about him, I imagine it was a game of cards,” Miranda replied crisply.

“Miranda!” Joseph turned to Rachel. “I beg your pardon, Lady Westhampton. My daughter is not usually so…so…”

“Truthful?” Miranda put in helpfully. “No, I’m afraid that I am, Papa. But I am sorry, Lady Westhampton, if I offended you. I like you a great deal. You are by far the nicest member of the Ton that I have met.”

Rachel smiled. “Thank you, Miss Upshaw. And I have to admit that I understand perfectly your feelings at the moment toward my brother. It is terribly impolite of Devin to be this late.” She looked pained. “You are probably thinking that he will not make an appearance at all, and you may be right. You can see that he needs someone to take him in hand.”

“No doubt he does. However, I am not looking for a husband, let alone one who must be schooled like a child. I came here only because my father was eager for me to meet Lord Ravenscar, and I feel that I have done enough to satisfy my obligation to him. Papa?” She turned to Joseph. “I am ready to take our leave now.”