could blame it if it had?
I had very nearly forgotten that I existed.
She shook off that thought, forcing her mind back to the most important question of all.
What of all the many hard-won years of demure, circumspect caution? Could she risk all of that now?
She had guarded her respectability as if it would keep her company during the long days of her widowhood, a chill but self-righteous companion.
Just like Constance.
“Fine!” She threw her hands wide. “Mr. Pollux Worthington, I choose you!”
Poll looked sincerely flattered, but a glance at his brother had him shrugging in regret. “I’m sorry, Miranda, but I cannot accept your decision so quickly. In order for this to be a fair fight for your affections, you must give Cas a reasonable period of acquaintance.”
He smiled at her so warmly that the back of her neck started to tickle.
“But I thank you for the honor of your preference.” He shot a triumphant glance at his twin.
For his part, Castor looked irritated and a bit … hurt? Blast it, she was going to end up hurting someone, couldn’t they see that?
Didn’t they care that someone was going to get their heart broken in this mad scheme?
It might be me.…
She brushed that thought away. She had no intention of falling in love. What a ridiculous notion. She’d known several gentlemen in her life and she’d never been the slightest bit tempted to fall in love with any of them. Ergo, she did not have the disposition to fall in love.
She could not give a heart to be broken if she couldn’t give her heart.
Entirely simple. Or at least, it ought to be.
Unsure, she frowned at her two tormentors. “I must allow both of you to call—forever? Or until one of you becomes bored? Are there some parameters to this odd arrangement?” Then a horrible thought struck her. “Have you done this before?”
“No!” Poll assured her—
“Well, yes, actually,” Cas interjected.
Poll turned to his brother. “We have not!”
“Remember when Mama forced us to that dancing master—?”
“Yes, the one with the single hair wound seventy times about his pate—”
“And there were one too many fellows—”
“And we had to—oh, right.” Poll turned back to Miranda. “We have done this before, once, when we shared the attentions of one Miss Leticia Montgomery.”
“A porcelain beauty, with hair as black as night,” Cas murmured. “She loved the attention.”
Poll’s smile became slightly fixed as he looked sheepishly at Miranda. “Yes, well … that was rather long ago.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes at him. “How long ago?”
Poll turned back to Cas. “When was that? There was—”
“—that long winter when we—”
“—couldn’t leave the house for the ice—”
“—and it was the year after that—”
Poll turned back to Miranda, who was fast losing patience with their strange method of conversing.
He smiled apologetically. “Eleven.”
Eleven years ago. They would have been about nineteen or twenty, wouldn’t they? Old enough to know better. Shocking. Miranda closed her eyes briefly. “Eleven years ago?”
“Eleven years of age.” That was Cas’s voice, arrogant and amused.
She opened her eyes. Oh.
Heavens, I’ll wager they were adorable. I’ll wager even more that they were terrors. Little raven-haired Miss Leticia Montgomery in dancing class hadn’t stood a chance against them.
As the smile twisted the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to remain cool and regal, Miranda was beginning to fear that she herself stood very little chance as well.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
Chapter Nine
Miranda answered her own door the next afternoon, positive that Mr. Poll Worthington would be standing on her step and not wishing to miss a moment of his presence. His brother she did not look forward to seeing again. At all.
Instead, there stood a skinny little girl of perhaps twelve years.
“Ah. Hello.” Miranda cast a glance about the street for any sign
I had very nearly forgotten that I existed.
She shook off that thought, forcing her mind back to the most important question of all.
What of all the many hard-won years of demure, circumspect caution? Could she risk all of that now?
She had guarded her respectability as if it would keep her company during the long days of her widowhood, a chill but self-righteous companion.
Just like Constance.
“Fine!” She threw her hands wide. “Mr. Pollux Worthington, I choose you!”
Poll looked sincerely flattered, but a glance at his brother had him shrugging in regret. “I’m sorry, Miranda, but I cannot accept your decision so quickly. In order for this to be a fair fight for your affections, you must give Cas a reasonable period of acquaintance.”
He smiled at her so warmly that the back of her neck started to tickle.
“But I thank you for the honor of your preference.” He shot a triumphant glance at his twin.
For his part, Castor looked irritated and a bit … hurt? Blast it, she was going to end up hurting someone, couldn’t they see that?
Didn’t they care that someone was going to get their heart broken in this mad scheme?
It might be me.…
She brushed that thought away. She had no intention of falling in love. What a ridiculous notion. She’d known several gentlemen in her life and she’d never been the slightest bit tempted to fall in love with any of them. Ergo, she did not have the disposition to fall in love.
She could not give a heart to be broken if she couldn’t give her heart.
Entirely simple. Or at least, it ought to be.
Unsure, she frowned at her two tormentors. “I must allow both of you to call—forever? Or until one of you becomes bored? Are there some parameters to this odd arrangement?” Then a horrible thought struck her. “Have you done this before?”
“No!” Poll assured her—
“Well, yes, actually,” Cas interjected.
Poll turned to his brother. “We have not!”
“Remember when Mama forced us to that dancing master—?”
“Yes, the one with the single hair wound seventy times about his pate—”
“And there were one too many fellows—”
“And we had to—oh, right.” Poll turned back to Miranda. “We have done this before, once, when we shared the attentions of one Miss Leticia Montgomery.”
“A porcelain beauty, with hair as black as night,” Cas murmured. “She loved the attention.”
Poll’s smile became slightly fixed as he looked sheepishly at Miranda. “Yes, well … that was rather long ago.”
Miranda narrowed her eyes at him. “How long ago?”
Poll turned back to Cas. “When was that? There was—”
“—that long winter when we—”
“—couldn’t leave the house for the ice—”
“—and it was the year after that—”
Poll turned back to Miranda, who was fast losing patience with their strange method of conversing.
He smiled apologetically. “Eleven.”
Eleven years ago. They would have been about nineteen or twenty, wouldn’t they? Old enough to know better. Shocking. Miranda closed her eyes briefly. “Eleven years ago?”
“Eleven years of age.” That was Cas’s voice, arrogant and amused.
She opened her eyes. Oh.
Heavens, I’ll wager they were adorable. I’ll wager even more that they were terrors. Little raven-haired Miss Leticia Montgomery in dancing class hadn’t stood a chance against them.
As the smile twisted the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to remain cool and regal, Miranda was beginning to fear that she herself stood very little chance as well.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
Chapter Nine
Miranda answered her own door the next afternoon, positive that Mr. Poll Worthington would be standing on her step and not wishing to miss a moment of his presence. His brother she did not look forward to seeing again. At all.
Instead, there stood a skinny little girl of perhaps twelve years.
“Ah. Hello.” Miranda cast a glance about the street for any sign
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