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monsters circled like vultures. “Yes, I have news as well,” she said as brightly as she could.
    He left the footman to hand her out, and followed her up the steps. Northcott led them through to the salon. He took Miranda’s cloak, poured brandy for Lord Kelton and a small glass of sherry for Miranda, and left the room.
    Miranda clutched the tiny glass in her hand and wished it was a tumbler filled to the brim with whisky, or hot rum punch. She looked at the fire, banked for the evening, and wondered if she should poke it into life, bring heat and light and warmth into the room, but she didn’t think it would help. She forced herself to smile, and filled the dreadfully icy silence with chatter.
    â€œGrandfather anticipates there will be nearly three hundred people at the Christmas Ball this year, and of course there’s the wedding,” she began. “You will so enjoy the holidays at the castle. Everyone will be there, even Phineas and Isobel. It’s been years since he’s been home, and that alone will make it very special—” His expression had not warmed or changed. She broke off and gulped at the sherry as she cast a surreptitious look at the clock. Where on earth was Marianne? She probably thought she doing a kindness, giving a shy courting couple time, space for kisses and whispered endearments.
    Miranda might have laughed, but the creatures in her stomach wouldn’t allow it.
    â€œWe won’t be going to Carrington Castle for Christmas,” Kelton said flatly.
    Miranda felt her jaw drop. She set the sherry down so she wouldn’t spill it. “What do you mean? The wedding is set for the day after Christmas! Even with bad weather, we can leave a day or two earlier, and—”
    He looked at her as if she were simple. “I meant that we won’t be going at all. I have decided that we will marry here in London on Tuesday next and travel down to Kelton Grange at once. My mother wrote to tell me that her companion has resigned her post. She is ill, and alone.
    Miranda rose to her feet. Her knees felt like rubber, and she clutched the back of the settee to hold her. “But surely she can hire another companion, or have a relative stay with her! Or she could join us at Carrington Castle—” She felt tears sting her eyes as desperation crowded the butterflies, warred with them.
    He regarded her coldly. “Why should she hire another companion when I will have a wife?”
    Her head started to buzz. “What?” There was no regret, no compassion in his face. He looked—she swallowed, and rubbed a hand across her eyes, but the expression was still there— he looked smug, as if he enjoyed imparting the news, inflicting disappointment and pain.
    She shook her head. He did not understand, surely, how much it meant to her to marry at Carrington. Surely something could be done, arranged, fixed — “Please,” she began, but he sighed and got to his feet, crossed the room to refill his glass.
    â€œI hope you did not assume I would allow you to be the kind of wife your sister is. Westlake allows her far too much freedom. She needs discipline, in my opinion. I will not put up with that from you. You will be a proper wife and do as I say.”
    She stared at him. Was he daring to insult Marianne and Adam while he stood in their salon, drinking Westlake’s brandy?
    â€œThe Archers are notorious for scandal,” he continued. “In fact, your family’s reputation almost kept me from offering for you at all” He walked toward her. He didn’t look handsome now. He looked cold and cruel and hateful. She raised her chin as he approached.
    â€œThen why did you?” she asked.
    â€œYou are the female foil to my masculine perfection, if you’re fishing for compliments. You were the most beautiful debutante on offer, and no one else would do. You have money, pedigree, and you are young enough that I can teach