“I think the most skeptical of us should undertake the investigation,” Mary added with a sly glance in Maud’s direction.
Maud gave a defiant tilt of her chin. “I think not. If this agency truly exists, I wouldn’t be caught within sneezing distance of a single one of those courtesans.”
Joan turned to Miranda with a wicked smile, the calling card extended from her fingers. “I suppose that leaves you. You’ve yet to take a lover since Lord Hughes, God rest his soul. Surely you do not intend to die an old, shriveled up widow?”
Miranda stared at the card, the printed letters and swirling scrolls swimming before her eyes. Of course it had occurred to her that widowhood meant independence. However, it was difficult to shrug off years of seminary school etiquette and the strictures of a society that kept young debutantes ignorant to the realities of intimacy and pleasure. She had been fortunate to have a husband who took the time to ensure she enjoyed the marriage bed, even if he neglected to give her his attention outside their chambers.
Despite having built a fulfilling life for herself—one in which she followed her own whims and found camaraderie with such dear friends—Miranda could not deny the needs she’d been ignoring. Marriage had awakened passions in her that now went unfulfilled. While she had been fond of Lord Hughes, the foundation of their union had been based mostly on their compatibility in bed. Having him warm and heavy on top of her … she missed that, more than she was willing to admit.
“No, of course not,” she replied, realizing the three women were silently awaiting her response. “I just … well, the opportunity to take a lover has not yet presented itself.”
“Ahem,” Joan mumbled, thrusting the calling card into her hands. “Seems to me that opportunity has just knocked on your door.”
“If anyone found out, she’d be ruined,” Maud stated.
“No one will find out,” Mary countered. “If other ladies of the ton can get away with it, then Miranda can, too. Besides, she doesn’t actually have to hire one of them if she doesn’t want. If nothing else, she can simply confirm whether the stories are true. What she does from there is entirely her business.”
Miranda scoffed. “You say that now, but the minute I inform you I’ve taken to keeping a man as my paramour, you’ll want all the details.”
“Only if you wish to divulge them,” Joan replied. The sly look on her face told Miranda she’d be hounded persistently until she told every scandalous detail.
Miranda studied the card with a sigh, excitement stealing over her. As a younger woman, she had never been daring. Her upbringing had made a perfect, polished lady out of her—assuring her future as the wife of a baron.
If ever there was a time for Miranda to shed the girlish notions imposed upon her in her youth, it was now.
Tucking the card neatly into her work-bag, she smiled. “Ladies, I think a visit to Madame Hershaw’s dress shop is in order. I have a need for something in red satin.”
“What do you mean my dowry is gone?”
Roger Thornton watched his younger sister transform from serene girl to vengeful hellion with the utterance of only a few words. Their elder brother, Lord Angus Thornton, held both hands defensively before him as if sensing Emily’s oncoming tirade. Roger could hardly blame her, as safeguarding the family fortune—including an impressive dowry for their only sister—had been one of the duties passed down along with the title of viscount. However, true to form, Angus had proved as abominable at this as he did just about everything else. His only recommendation was his striking looks, which in this situation proved of help to absolutely no one.
“Now, Emily,” Angus began, backing away as she advanced on him with fists clenched. “I can make it right; you just have to give me time.”
“Time?” she exploded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “There is no time! Lord Lovett has made it clear he intends to request my hand in marriage. Do you mean to tell him he’ll be receiving an impoverished bride once he does?”
“If he truly cares for you, he’ll want you without the dowry,” Angus said with a little shrug.
“The man needs an heiress, you dolt!” Emily screeched. “Of course he cares for me, but there is more than love to consider here! Lovett doesn’t have the luxury of thinking with his heart. Do you think he would have given me the time of day if he didn’t know I would come with a dowry large enough to get him out of debt?”
Angus opened his mouth to reply, but Roger came to his feet and the motion silenced his siblings. One would think he was the eldest, the way they both deferred to him. If only he truly was the firstborn; their lives would be so much easier.
“Tell her,” he commanded, slowly, succinctly.
Angus flinched as if Roger has struck him. “Such matters are not—”
“You owe her that much,” he interjected with a wave of one hand. “Explain yourself.”
Swearing under his breath, Angus paced away from them, hands on his hips. Emily looked to Roger with a furrowed brow, a silent question in her eyes. He shook his head to indicate he had no idea what their scapegrace brother had done with the money—though he could make a few guesses.
When Angus faced them again, he wore an expression they both knew well: one of apologetic shame. Roger clenched his teeth and awaited what would undoubtedly be a pitiful string of excuses.
“I was assured the venture was a sound one,” Angus rushed out in a single breath. “The money would be doubled, and I only wanted to improve our circumstances. I intended to return it with no one the wiser once I’d made it back.”
“You used my dowry to dabble in speculation?” Emily cried. “Angus, how could you?”
“I thought it was a sure thing.”
“There is no such thing in matters of speculation,” Roger snapped his ire beginning to rise. It should hardly surprise him that Angus had done such a thing, though he would have thought his brother above pilfering their sister’s dowry. Apparently, Roger would have been mistaken.
Emily sank into the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God. I’ll never make a match now … not with Lovett, not with anyone.”
Roger gave her shoulder a consoling squeeze while offering Angus a withering glare. “It isn’t so bad as all that.”
“It is,” Emily insisted. “Everything is absolutely ruined!”
Fits of female hysterics usually made Roger uncomfortable, but this was his baby sister. He more like a father to her as he did a sibling, considering he was twice her age. He had been eight and ten when Emily was born, and the death of their parents thrust him into the role of unofficial head of the family. It didn’t matter that Angus had inherited the title, or that he controlled their finances. Roger was the practical one, the one Angus and Emily came to when they needed advice. The loss of three stillborn babes between himself and Emily had left a wide gulf between them in years, though his affection for her created a powerful bond. To see her weep made his stomach twist itself in knots.
“I will mend it,” Roger declared, though he had no idea how he would achieve it. “Do you hear me, Em?”
Emily’s wide blue eyes filled with tears as she gazed up at him. “Oh, Roger, but how—”