Miranda rolled her eyes. “Even the best gardeners in all of England could not have created such beauty.” They’d argued these points several times and no matter what she believed in her heart, Epworth found the possibility illogical.
“If you insist.”
Blast! He was humoring her again and she’d not have it. Oh, why couldn’t Epworth just once entertain the possibility that magic existed and not everything needed to be logical.
One of the many things Miranda admired about Epworth was his intelligence. If he wasn’t the heir to a dukedom, he would spend his days perhaps as a fellow or professor surrounded by books and taking in lectures at the Royal Society of London. At least, that is what he’d shared with her when they had discussed what they’d want if given a choice in life. But, other than attending the Season, Epworth was unable to spend as much time in London as he wished since he was required to be at Forester Hall, preparing for a life already chosen for him.
“It must be horrible for you,” Miranda said after a bit of thought.
He frowned as his eyebrows formed a V between those warm blue eyes.
“Not to see magic. Simply to accept that the world is as you see it, and what has been proven and disproven simply because a scholar has claimed it to be so.”
“I prefer to live in reality, not fantasy.”
Miranda pursed her lips and studied his handsome face. No matter how much they’d argued the possibilities, she could never understand how Epworth could be so blind to what was obvious to others. “Even after a week at the castle, you’ve not seen, heard or felt a ghost?” She’d been certain that in time, he’d experience something even though the ghosts were too stubborn to appear to her.
“Others insist they have. Of course, it’s the power of influence. Such as a chill in a room when it has nothing to do with an entity but the fact that it’s an ancient castle, made of stone.”
Of course, that was the logical answer. Miranda sighed with disappointment. Not only for him, but herself as well. Perhaps he was correct, but she’d heard so many stories. And Uncle Jonathan assured her that the castle was bursting with ghosts. Had he only been telling her tales?
“I’ll be honest,” she finally said. “I was hoping to encounter one ghost this week, but apparently it is not to be.”
“And you are here to wish for one?” A teasing light danced in his eyes.
At least he wasn’t laughing at her. They may disagree, but at least he accepted her, and it was one of the reasons that she loved him.
Miranda lifted her chin. “Yes, I am. I wish to prove to you that they are real.”
“I eagerly await to be proven wrong.” Epworth gave a slight bow.
“Very well.” Miranda held the lavender ribbon above the well. “I wish to encounter one ghost.” Then she let it drop into the abyss and dusted her hands as if it were done.
As much as she hoped for an encounter, Miranda wasn’t confident that the well could provide what she wished. But she’d rather live in a world of magical possibilities than like Epworth, who only believed what he could see.
Epworth stood still and glanced around, as did she.
Nothing.
Oh well, it was certainly worth the chance, though she’d given up a favorite ribbon for nothing.
“I’m sorry that you didn’t have the encounter that you wished,” Epworth said with sincerity.
“It was silly to hope.” She’d just need to be content with the one ghost she’d seen, even though it hadn’t occurred at Castle Keyvnor.
Maybe one day Epworth would believe, but the fact that he didn’t wasn’t cause enough to dismiss him entirely. After all, the world was full of things that couldn’t be explained, and if it hadn’t been for Uncle Jonathan, perhaps she wouldn’t believe in ghosts either, despite claims from her own family. After all, she was a reasonable adult.
“Shall we return to the others?” Epworth offered his arm.
Even if he didn’t believe, he could at least kiss her, but he hadn’t even attempted to once in all the time that they’d known one another. Maybe she should have wished for that instead.
Just as Miranda was giving up on the two things she’d hoped for since the beginning of the week, something pushed her to the side. As she caught herself on the edge of the well, the bricks