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that tiny piece of his good opinion, he’d just made an enormous mistake.

Chapter Five
    The Dowager Lady Devereaux was to have the rose room, the second-best guest suite. The finest of the guest suites, Miranda had decided, must be provided for the duke and duchess, not only in deference to their rank but also due to the fact that those rooms were larger and, therefore, better accommodations for a family.
    The choice had seemed the best at the time, but as Miranda watched her mother-in-law’s traveling coach sweep up the drive, she felt a twinge of doubt. She had always stood in awe of Carter’s mother. She was a lady of the highest breeding, with impeccable taste and manners. The Dowager Lady Devereaux was the ideal hostess, a leader of society, who conducted herself at all times the way a viscountess should. She was everything Miranda could have aspired to be but knew she could never become.
    Suppose she disapproved of being placed in the second -best rooms? Or found fault with the menus Miranda and Mrs. Gillington had devised or with the very simple decorations assembled by the staff in honor of what had been expected to be a quiet holiday? There were a hundred other things that might go wrong over the weeks ahead. Miranda’s stomach twisted at the thought of it.
    I didn’t ask for this house party, and I had no time to prepare. It would be terribly unfair for them all to find fault with me if I prove— when I prove—less than perfect.
    She moved from the drawing room windows, away from the sight of her mother-in-law’s arrival. At least she’d known enough to receive the lady in the drawing room.
    “Appearances, Miranda,” the dowager had told her only a few weeks after Carter and she had married, “are everything.”
    Miranda took a fortifying breath, telling herself everything would be fine.
    “The Dowager Lady Devereaux,” Timms announced from the door of the drawing room.
    Miranda watched as her mother-in-law glided into the room. Other than a touch of gray in her hair, her ladyship hadn’t changed in the past three years. She still held herself with the air of a lady born to the aristocracy, confident in her place in life. She wore a modishly cut traveling habit in the shade of deep purple Miranda remembered had been a frequent part of her wardrobe.
    She surveyed the room quickly and appraisingly with an eye well trained to evaluate any and every situation. That had always made Miranda nervous, knowing her mother-in-law would spot any deficiency in an instant. The Dowager Lady Devereaux had only occasionally pointed out those deficiencies and always with a clear wish to guide and direct Miranda’s social education. She’d ever treated Miranda with patience and perhaps a touch of indifference. But for all of her lack of malice, the dowager was still an overwhelming presence.
    “Mother.” Carter greeted his mother with a kiss on the cheek.
    He greeted me with insults. The contrast was telling. No wonder, really, they had managed only a stiff politeness between them.
    “You look well, Carter.” Mother and son walked farther into the room. “I hope the staff is ready for this party. We mustn’t underestimate the influence Hartley has in—”
    The Dowager Lady Devereaux’s eyes settled on Miranda. The look of shock that passed over that lady’s face would have been comical if Miranda hadn’t been its recipient. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, and she took an instinctive step back. No anger entered the Dowager Lady Devereaux’s look, but the level of dismay in her eyes crushed any hopes Miranda had harbored for a smooth visit.
    “Miranda!”
    It was the closest she had ever seen her mother-in-law come to acting with anything less than total dignity. The lady’s face had gone instantly pale, her eyes wide, her mouth a little open.
    “Lady Devereaux.” Miranda curtsied, hoping she’d maintained her countenance. Her mother-in-law had told her many times during the brief few months Carter