The fact that this was Miranda and not another member of the family would only add to their shock. Her family considered her the quietest of the lot and the most reserved. She was the youngest and the others had long felt she needed their protection. It was a source of annoyance even if she had never said anything. It had always been so much easier to avoid confrontation than to exhibit outright defiance. John had recognized, and indeed admired, her strength of character, which was yet another reason why she had loved him.
“. . . given that it was her fortune, after all . . .”
Not that her family had any say in the matter, not really. Miranda was, after all, twenty-eight years of age, financially independent and had been a widow for nearly three years. She was used to making her own decisions now and make them she would. Besides, she enjoyed what she was doing. While she did appreciate her family’s advice—and as the youngest of seven children, advice was in abundance—she would follow her own path. A path that had begun innocently enough. Indeed, one could say she had taken the first step upon that path when she had first met her late husband.
“. . . and needless to say, at first, I was shocked by the mere thought . . .”
Miranda had met John Garret, younger brother of Viscount Garret, at a lecture on the influence of Palladio on English architecture. Miranda had been one of the few women present, but she had always had an interest in the design of buildings. Indeed, she had drawn houses—both practical and fanciful—for much of her life. So she had summoned her courage, enlisted the assistance of an elderly aunt as a chaperone and attended.
The lecture had been fascinating but not nearly as interesting as the dashing Mr. Garret. He was handsome and amusing and of good family. To her eyes, he was very nearly perfect. He encouraged her interest in architecture and a good portion of their courtship consisted of attending lectures and viewing exhibits. Years later he admitted his encouragement had as much to do with being in her company as anything else. He quite swept her off her feet and they married within a few months. Shortly after their marriage, John opened his own architectural firm, thanks in part to funding from an anonymous investor who wanted nothing more than repayment and his name as part of the business. Thus was born the firm of Garret and Tempest.
Miranda had a good eye and an innate grasp of design, and when John would bring home drawings she would make a suggestion here and point out a problem there. Before long, she was quietly working by his side. John was proud to admit she was much more creative than he, and during the six years of their marriage, he taught her everything he knew and she gradually took over most of the design work, whereas he was the public face of the firm.
“. . . could scarcely avoid the comparison as it was so annoyingly obvious . . .”
When John died in a construction accident, along with his construction supervisor, Mr. West, Miranda inherited the company, and its debts, and the firm continued with the projects already under way. Miranda hired Mr. West’s sister, Clara—who had a clever mind with figures—to assist Mr. Emmett Clarke, who had been John’s assistant. But the second year after John’s death Clara pointed out the firm would not survive without new business. For that they needed an architect. Upon reflection, Miranda still wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but there was a void in her life and doing the design work she had done with John filled that emptiness.
Now, Emmett was the liaison with clients, Clara ran the company and Miranda produced the designs. There were a handful of additional employees as well. Garret and Tempest had endured, and Miranda continued to make regular payments to Mr. Tempest’s financial representatives. While the firm was prospering, Miranda, Clara and Emmett knew if Miranda’s involvement became public knowledge, the company would not survive, no matter how good its reputation. But Miranda had an obligation to the people who had worked for John, and now worked for her, to avoid failure at all costs.
Keeping this a secret, even from her family, hadn’t been easy, especially when it came to Bianca. She wasn’t merely Miranda’s sister but her dearest friend. But Bianca hadn’t seemed to notice that Miranda was unusually busy these days and that the sisters were meeting more and more often here at the Ladies Tearoom at Fenwick and Sons, Booksellers. It was convenient to the Garret and Tempest office, was a favorite of Sebastian’s wife, Veronica and, more importantly to Bianca, had become quite the place for ladies of society to frequent.
“. . . and I thought, if she could, why couldn’t I? After all, it’s not . . .”
Miranda had just come from a meeting with Clara and Mr. Clarke about a lucrative new commission to redesign and rebuild a manor house that had been devastated by fire. While they couldn’t afford to pass on the job, taking it would be difficult. Fairborough Hall was a hour away from London by train and the work would require the presence of someone from the firm nearly every day during construction. But Emmett’s wife was with child and she was having difficulties. She had already had two previous miscarriages and her doctor was insisting she stay bedridden. Emmett did not want to be away from London should she have need of him. Miranda and Caroline could not fault him for that, although the two women acknowledged between themselves, if his employer had been male, his reluctance might not be tolerated. The three decided there was no choice but to have Miranda meet with Lord Stillwell and, should they get the commission, she would present the plans and represent the firm. They agreed there was no need to reveal the true architect.
“. . . which, of course, will prove difficult as I have not heard from him for more than a year now. Nor have I wished . . .”
Aside from the obvious difficulties, Miranda wasn’t at all sure she was up to the task of dealing with someone like Lord Stillwell. He had a reputation that could only be called, well, wicked. She’d never met the man, but she had seen him at one social event or another. He was quite handsome and dashing and reportedly most charming. He did seem to laugh a great deal and he inevitably had the most devilish glint in his eye. She thought he was around Sebastian’s age and had skated remarkably close to scandal in his youth. Of course, so had her brothers. And while, from what she had heard, he had reformed somewhat with maturity, one could not discount his history. Why, the man had been engaged three times and had never once made it to the altar. Surely toying with the hearts of not one but three women was the very definition of wicked. One failed engagement might not be his fault, but three?
“. . . will be scandal, no doubt. But it does seem to me, in these circumstances, scandal is the lesser . . .”
She’d never really met a man with quite as wicked a reputation, which did, in hindsight, seem rather a pity. Her brothers, of course, had all been enthusiastic in their younger days, but one did hesitate to think of one’s own brothers as wicked. John hadn’t been the least bit wicked. Now that he was gone, there had been moments, late in the night, when she had wondered what it might be like to be with a wicked man. In his arms, in his bed. She would never dare say it aloud, never admit it to anyone, but for Miranda Garret, wicked had a great deal of appeal. She was at once apprehensive and rather excited at the thought of meeting the wicked Lord Stillwell.
“Then you agree?”