is not above the age five and twenty and will remain so until destiny delivers his bride and then the immortality will be stripped away and he will be allowed to grow old with his wife by his side.
Miranda had always loved that story and wondered if King Merrik ever found his true bride. But what was shocking, was that Epworth, who only believed in logic and things he could see, had once believed in mermaids as well.
What had happened to him that he could no longer accept magic?
“I blame his tutor, who introduced him to science and mathematics, insisting that he must focus on what is real.”
Miranda could hear the disgust in the tone of Her Grace.
“Wesley still held tight to the possibility, until being sent off to Eton. There the boys teased him for believing in fairy tales, and they were not kind.”
The sadness in Her Grace’s tone made Miranda’s heart ache.
“When he returned home, he’d have no discussions of mermaids, Endellion and Atargatis and insisted that believing in such was for children. In the short time he was away, my dear grandson had closed his mind to anything that could not be seen and insisted that believing in mermaids, ghosts and whatnot was simply illogical. Now, he’s just well, dull and blind.”
Blind perhaps, but there was absolutely nothing dull about Lord Epworth. In fact, Miranda believed him to be quite fascinating when they weren’t discussing ghosts, that is.
“First of all, Hester, your grandson is not a boy,” Uncle Jonathan reminded her.
He most certainly was not, Miranda mentally agreed. A fully grown, handsome gentleman who kissed divinely.
“I suppose not, Jonathan,” Her Grace reluctantly agreed. “But something must be done. I fear he’ll miss out on the joys of life.”
Miranda knew it wasn’t well done of her to eavesdrop on the conversation, but she was not sorry that she’d done so. Her heart ached for what Epworth had lost, and if she could bring back believing in even the possibility of other-worldly creatures to him, she would. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to do so. Instead, she entered the parlor and greeted Her Grace. She then focused on her great-uncle.
“It wasn’t well done of you to have Princess cause such a mess.” Miranda indicated the broken pottery and dirt on the parquet floor.
“Princess!” Uncle Jonathan snarled. “Ridiculous name for a cat.”
“Take that up with Charlotte. The cat belongs to her.” Not that Uncle Jonathan could do so because apparently only Miranda and Her Grace could communicate with him. “She seems fond of you,” Miranda snorted. “The cat, that is.”
“Yes, well, cats are known to be of high intellect and discerning.” He straightened. “Though she’s not bothered to come around since you invaded my attic.”
The only thing that kept Miranda from rolling her eyes was the fact that Her Grace remained on the settee watching them.
“Quit bickering, you two,” the duchess chastised. “Jonathan, you shouldn’t have caused a mess, and I understand the sentiment, but I don’t believe anything will open Wesley’s mind.” Then she looked to Miranda. “How long did you stand there listening to us?”
Her face heated. She shouldn’t have chastised her uncle because now she’d given herself away.
“I apologize, Your Grace, but I can’t be sorry. At least I know at one time Lord Epworth at least believed in possibilities.”
“I understand, dear. If only we could make him open his mind, and not just his eyes.” She sighed. “Now, what is this about Miss Miranda invading your attic?” Her Grace asked Uncle Jonathan. “You’d not mentioned this before.”
“It’s where I live,” Uncle Jonathan answered with a glare to Miranda. “Where I’m comfortable when I can’t be near you.” His tone softened when he directed comments to the love of his life.
“I’ve given up my chamber for one of the guests and moved my belongings to a chamber in the attic.”
“That is very kind of you, Miranda. Though I’m certain guests can share chambers. It’s done all the time. If necessary, Lucinda can share with me.”
“No, she cannot,” Uncle Jonathan snapped before Miranda could respond.
“We’ve few opportunities to spend time together without fear of being overheard or seen. I’ll not have your granddaughter becoming yet another hindrance to our privacy.”
If Miranda didn’t love being up in the attic so much, she’d accept Her Grace’s offer simply to spite Uncle Jonathan.
“I prefer the attic rooms, Your Grace. It’s my favorite place in all of Hollybrook Park.”
“It’s my favorite place,” Uncle Jonathan argued. “In fact, it’s the only place