Free The Madcap Masquerade by Nadine Miller Page B

her waiting conveyance. A “lovers’ moon” he’d often heard it called. The irony of the term as applied to him at the moment brought a bitter smile to his lips.
    “Goodnight, my lord. It has been a most informative evening,” Miss Barrington said, and maneuvering the single step into his carriage without aid, settled herself on the seat facing forward. With a final curt nod in his direction, she tapped on the roof of the cab with her fan to signal the coachman she was ready to be driven home.
    Long after the carriage had disappeared down the drive, Theo stood alone at the foot of the steps leading to the entrance to Ravenswood. “A most informative evening” his betrothed had called it shortly after she’d castigated him for his lack of concern for his mistress’s feelings and informed him that he was of no more consequence to her than the beetle she’d squashed beneath her heel in her rush to quit his presence.
    And what had he done when the prickly little porcupine loosed her quills at him? Defended himself with all the brilliance and sophistication of a ten year old caught with his fingers in the jam jar, that’s what. But in all fairness, she had taken him unawares; proper young ladies did not normally concern themselves with the fate of their “fallen sisters.” He found himself wondering if, God forbid, he had allied himself with one of those radical Methodist ladies who devoted their energies to bringing sinners back into the fold.
    Whatever her reasoning might be, he couldn’t remember ever having spent a more unusual or a more frustrating evening than the one just past, thanks to the puzzling woman he had chosen as his future wife. Until a few hours ago he had believed that, despite his precarious financial position, he was conferring a unique honor on the plain little nobody by offering her his name and the ancient title that went with it. Now he was not so certain.
    Difficult as it was to comprehend, he was beginning to think this commonplace daughter of a humble country squire was not the least bit taken with the idea of becoming the next Countess of Lynley. Oddly enough, he found this more challenging than infuriating.
    It was imperative that he secure the Barrington money for Ravenswood; since the heiress was apparently not interested in his title, he would simply have to educate her concerning the other advantages that marriage to him offered.
    He smiled to himself. If the one kiss they had shared so far was any example, he would thoroughly enjoy his role of teacher.
     
    The morning after the ball dawned gray and chilly—more like autumn than spring. With Maeve’s first glance out her chamber window, she decided the likelihood of rain was much too strong to risk a walk. Instead, she stretched beneath the covers, put her hands behind her head and gave serious thought to the disaster she’d made of Meg’s betrothal ball.
    What had the squire instructed her to do to insure everyone would think she was Meg? “Keep your eyes down and your mouth shut.” Ten minutes into the wretched ball, she’d raised her eyes and looked at the earl, and nothing had gone right from that moment on.
    But how could she have been so foolish as to expect she could successfully impersonate a woman whose personality was the exact opposite of her own?
    She rolled onto her side, propped her head on her elbow and surveyed her twin’s tasteful bedchamber. Her gaze lighted on the shelf holding Meg’s collection of beautifully preserved, exquisitely dressed dolls. The only doll she’d ever owned had ended up in the dustbin, headless and sans one arm.
    A tambour frame holding an intricately embroidered runner stood in one corner, an easel supporting a partially completed watercolor in another. She’d never sewn a stitch nor painted a picture. The room was filled with the accouterments one would expect a proper lady to collect. By some miracle, despite her vulgar surroundings, Meg had apparently emerged that