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offered his arm and she took hold of him.
    “That seems sensible. I am sure Sylvia will appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
    Garrett gritted his teeth and said nothing. What could he say? He’d promised to be a part of this evening—to allow Mia to dictate the game. He had no one to blame for the situation but himself.
    The ride to Mrs. Custiss’s house passed in pleasant comments about the day. Garrett still wanted to know what Mia was up to with her late-night excursion several nights ago, but he didn’t want to ruin the few minutes of peace they would enjoy before Mrs. Custiss joined them.
    When they arrived at the house, Garrett drew a deep breath and alighted the carriage in a spirit of hesitancy. Why did I agree to this? I should have remained at home and refused to take part in Mia’s schemes. He reached up to help Mia descend the steps.
    “I have a rather bad feeling about this.”
    Mia only laughed. “You always have a bad feeling about meeting new people.”
    “Only new women, and only when I know you’ve intended them to become my wife.”
    “You are such a goose, Mr. Wilson. You truly should be grateful I spend time looking after you at all.”
    A sour-faced butler opened the door to Garrett’s knock. “May I help you?”
    Garrett handed him a card. “I am Mr. Wilson and this is Miss Stanley. I believe Mrs. Custiss is expecting me—us.”
    “Ah, yes. Please come in.”
    Garrett walked into the opulent vestibule and felt an immediate sense of the extravagant. There was no shortage of gilded mirrors and candelabra, and on a black marble pedestal in the center of the room stood a white marble bust of a man. The room did not appeal to Garrett’s taste, but he knew there was no accounting for such things.
    “If you will please follow me,” the butler directed.
    Garrett felt as though he were being led to his execution, while Mia appeared entirely happy. She had a spring to her step that Garrett had seen before when all was going her way. He sighed.
    “Whatever is wrong?” Mia whispered after the butler deposited them in a lavish drawing room.
    “ This is wrong. I do not wish to have you play matchmaker for me.”
    “Why did you not say so before now?” She asked, her eyes wide and her expression one of innocent confusion.
    Garrett laughed, almost having bought into her act. Mia immediately smiled and gave his arm a pat. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
    “I wonder if this overindulgent room is Mrs. Custiss’s doing or something she inherited from her late husband.”
    Mia shrugged. “It is a bit . . . well . . . much.”
    He thought that an understatement. There were dozens of gold-framed paintings, both landscapes and portraits, hanging on the wall. Ionic columns in white Italian marble lined the doorway and entrance into yet another room. An étagère graced each corner of the room in three-tiered splendor. Done in what appeared to be bronze and granite, each shelf held a copious collection of bric-a-brac, easily recognizable as expensive and no doubt one of a kind. Along with this were several pieces of furniture covered in red and gold, while crystal and porcelain figurines decorated a white marble mantel above the fireplace.
    The door they’d come through finally opened to reveal a petite woman. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting overmuch.” She swept into the room gowned in a heavy plum-colored satin. She turned to Mia. “This does seem rather awkward, for I barely know you, and have never even met Mr. Wilson.”
    “Which we shall remedy immediately,” Mia said, appearing not in the leastwise bothered by the woman’s frank statement.
    “Mrs. Custiss, may I present my dearest friend, Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson, this is Mrs. Custiss.”
    Garrett gave a little bow while Mrs. Custiss curtsied. She neither offered him her hand, nor did he attempt to take it. She smiled in a demure way as she raised her flushed face to meet his gaze.
    “I’m pleased to make your