interesting,” she countered. When one was contemplating spending their life with another, it was important to be careful in that choosing, even if Uncle Jonathan perceived it as being finicky.
“What of that bloke who followed you around Keyvnor in June?”
Miranda sat forward. How did he know about Epworth?
Uncle Jonathan eyed her as if waiting for an explanation.
“He’s not a bloke and he didn’t follow me.”
Her uncle snorted.
“How would you know anything? You weren’t even there.”
“You don’t think I have connections?” He laughed. “There are a few charming maids, dead long before me, who love to gossip.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” Miranda insisted and flopped back against the settee, nearly spilling her chocolate. Epworth’s rejection was painful enough. She couldn’t endure to be humiliated by her great-uncle as well.
“What’s his name?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t the charming maids tell you?”
“It didn’t seem important at the time,” he shrugged. “Who is he and why haven’t you married him?”
Miranda blew out a sigh. “Wesley Claxton, the Marquess of Epworth, and we will not suit.” Much to her disappointment.
He pulled back in surprise.
“Do you know him?” She chuckled. It wasn’t possible that he did, of that she was certain.
“I’m familiar with the family name,” he grumbled. “What of this wedding? Will there be bachelors in attendance? By chance has any of them caught your eye?”
It was a question she’d not answer with complete honesty. “I’m unaware of all who are on the guest list, as I’ve little interest.” Though she’d like to know if Epworth was invited, as he was a friend of Somerton’s. She just wasn’t certain how she felt about seeing him again.
“Hopefully there is at least one bachelor who shows an interest because something must be done with you.”
Miranda blew out a breath. “Nothing need be done with me; I can assure you.”
“I beg to differ.” He began to fade.
“Where are you going now?”
“To find you a husband,” Uncle Jonathan answered after he’d disappeared from her sight.
Husband! How the blazes was he, a ghost, going to manage such a feat?
Forester Hall, Cornwall, September, 1812
Wesley neared the rose parlor where he intended to take tea with his grandmother but stopped short when he heard her talking.
At one time he would have assumed that she was entertaining a guest. That was no longer a supposition and Wesley grew worried as to his grandmother’s state of mind. More and more of late she’d been talking to herself. Not the normal mumblings one might do on occasion but carried on actual conversations as if someone were with her. She’d speak then wait, as if listening, before she spoke again. Whenever Wesley entered the room, however, she ceased doing so, as if she knew that it wasn’t right to carry on so, but then she’d giggle for no apparent reason.
The behavior had begun ten years ago, right after his grandfather died and Wesley had often wondered if it was because she loved Grandfather so much, and the loss was so devastating, that it caused her slip from reality.
If Grandmother did suffer from senility or a demented state, there wasn’t anything he could do, and he’d never resort to sending the old gel to a horrific place like Bedlam. He’d simply keep her here, in the care of her family and make certain that a maid or caretaker was her constant companion. It was the latest recommendation of the Royal Society and those who were knowledgeable about such conditions. This past spring he’d met with many physicians and scholars who had studied the subject, in hopes of a cure, but none was to be had.
“She’s always been a favorite of yours, Jonathan.”
Who was Jonathan? Did his grandmother have an invisible friend such as a child invented? Had she slipped so far from reality?
“Yes, yes, you are correct. But what to do?”
Do about what?
“That is an excellent idea,” she exclaimed.
Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was he the only one in the family who was concerned with his grandmother’s grasp on reality? Her son certainly wasn’t. Father was too busy running the estate and analyzing investments to bring further wealth into the family.
Maybe Grandmother needed her friends to visit. Living at Forester Hall must be lonely for her. One of the recommendations by the learned physicians was that conversation and engagement of the mind might help stave off the disease, although not permanently, but any slow in the progression was helpful.
Wesley brightened. Yes, he’d send for Ladies Priscilla, Joanna and Esther Tilson, maiden sisters who had at one