Everything Forbidden (2 page)

Three years later
1817

“Mama,” Miranda Albright said with a sigh as she watched her mother hold up yet another silken gown to her younger sister Penelope. “Honestly, you should not have purchased these things without speaking to me first!”

Dorthea Albright turned her rotund form on her eldest daughter with a harsh frown. “This is
my
home, Miranda! I do not ask my children for permission for anything I do.”

Miranda shut her eyes and counted to ten in her head very slowly. The hesitation wasn’t nearly enough to keep her anger and frustration in check. Still, she somehow managed to maintain a calm tone when she replied.

“But, Mama, the cost of all these things!” she said through
tightly gritted teeth as she motioned to the pile of fabric and hats and…were those
jewels
stacked on the settee? “I have been managing the finances for six months and I know better what can fit into our budget and what cannot.”

Her mother snorted as her eyes rolled heavenward. “You know better. Ha! You know how to keep us in rags.”

Miranda gripped fists at her sides. “If you insist upon living beyond our means, at the very least speak to me so I can prepare for the additional cost. And perhaps together we can find ways to be more frugal. Our debts—”

Her mother held up a hand and waved off Miranda’s words. “You would be better served by finding a rich husband to solve our financial problems than to spend all your time fussing over ledgers! When your father was alive,
he
managed to give us all we wanted and needed and more! Why should that change simply because he has left this world?”

Her mother sniffled, and despite Miranda’s frustration, she felt a pang of empathy for the feelings etched across Dorthea’s lined face. Whatever her father’s faults, their family all loved and missed him terribly.

Penelope shot Miranda a brief, understanding look before she placed a hand on their mother’s arm. “Mama, you know Miranda is only looking out for us all. And I do not need
three
green gowns. Perhaps if we return two of them—”

“Green suits your eyes the best,” her mother interrupted. “They make it less obvious that they are too close together.”

Miranda flinched. Good Lord, their mother had no tact. She’d spent a lifetime being picked apart. She could hardly stand to see that well-intentioned venom being turned on her sister.

“Penelope’s eyes are perfectly spaced!”

Her mother glared at her. “She will need
all
the gowns when her Season begins. I won’t have anyone saying my daughters are poorly dressed! That is the final word on the matter.”

Dorthea gathered up the gowns and grasped Penelope’s hand, shooting Miranda a glare before she swept out of the room with all the pomp and circumstance of a queen.

Miranda let out a moan as the parlor door shut behind them. If her mother was queen, it was over a shabby kingdom, indeed. Their father may have given them all they “wanted, needed, and more,” but it had been at the expense of their financial stability. His gambling, coupled with a lifetime of poor investments and lavish living, had reduced their coffers to almost nothing. The upkeep of the house alone was putting them at the edge of ruin.

To make matters worse, as the third son of a not particularly wealthy Marquis, her father had no land to make up for their losses. All he had were bad habits, debts, and kind smiles.

“God rest his soul,” Miranda murmured as she looked at the line of ciphers a second time. Nothing had changed. She rested her head against the desk edge with a sigh.

What the hell were they going to do?

“Miranda?” came a voice from the settee beside the window.

Miranda jolted up straight in surprise. Her middle sister, Beatrice, was staring at her, arms folded. She’d almost forgotten the girl was in the room. A rare occurrence, since the spoilt child rarely allowed herself to be anything but the center of attention.

“What is it, Beatrice?” Miranda asked on another sigh.

“You cannot deny us Seasons!” Beatrice declared, her slip
pered foot beginning to tap beneath the hem of her extravagant morning gown. “Just because
you
are determined to be a spinster doesn’t mean the rest of us should be forced to follow in your footsteps.”

Miranda flinched. “I can hardly be considered a spinster at twenty, Beatrice. And your Season will not happen for at least another year, so I wouldn’t concern yourself yet.”

“Ha!” Beatrice moved toward her in three long steps. “How can I not concern myself? You are already denying Penelope gowns! If you get your way, I will neither be fashionable nor desirable by the time I step into Society!”

Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but Beatrice extended a finger into her face and waggled it.

“And a spinster is made by her actions, not her age,” Beatrice snapped. “You could have married a dozen wealthy men—”

“It was hardly a dozen,” Miranda muttered.

Her sister continued, unhindered by the interruption, “—and saved us from this trial in the first place, but you refused. You don’t want to be happy!” Beatrice’s lip began to quiver and her blue eyes filled with tears. “And you refuse to let any of the rest of us be happy, either!”

Miranda sighed as her sister gathered up her skirts and flew from the room, slamming the door behind her with a jarring bang. If Beatrice didn’t do the very same thing every other day, Miranda might have been moved, but today she was too tired to play her sister’s childish games.

She stared at the financial figures again. God, by the time Bea came out, they might not have enough money for food, let alone gowns.

The door clicked and it took everything in Miranda not to set her head back on the desk and sob. She couldn’t take one more tantrum. She simply could not.

But it was Penelope who stepped into the parlor, not Beatrice or their mother. The two girls exchanged a weary smile. At least Miranda could depend on Penelope. Her best friend and confidante…at least on
most
subjects. There was still one secret even Penelope didn’t know.

And if Miranda had her way, she never would.

“I have tried to convince Mama to return the dresses, but she refuses.” Penelope sank into the chair across from Miranda with a weary sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Miranda shook her head. “I never believed she would acquiesce. And
I
should be the one apologizing, not you.”

Penelope sat forward in surprise. “You? Apologize? Whatever for? Since Father died six months ago, you have been the only person keeping this family from being tossed out on the street as paupers. I realize that even if Mama and Beatrice do not. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Miranda pushed to her feet and paced to the window. She looked outside and bit back a curse as she watched three servants planting new rose bushes. When had
those
been ordered? Drat it all, that simply meant more money draining from their depleted resources for frivolous things that only her mother would dare call necessities. Her head began to pound.

“As Beatrice points out daily, I could have taken offers of marriage from several men who were all in the financial position to save this family from ruin. If only I had, our problems would not be as pressing now.” Miranda continued to stare outside, but
she hardly saw the gardens anymore. “Because of my decisions, your Season will not be what it should. And then there will be Beatrice, not to mention Winifred!”

Penelope got to her feet and came to wrap an arm around Miranda. She squeezed and Miranda was filled with comfort, albeit briefly.

“Ignore Beatrice. If you tell her the sky is blue, she argues it just to hear her own voice. And Winifred is only sixteen. She still has her head in the clouds. She isn’t even thinking of a Season yet. As for me, I certainly do not blame you for not taking those offers. For one thing, they were all made long before you knew of our…” She hesitated. “Our situation. And two of the gentlemen were quite awful. The other was, well, you didn’t love him. You want love.”

Miranda winced. No, she wanted
passion
. But she wasn’t about to tell her sister that. Nor was she going to tell her exactly how she knew so much about the subject of passion.

Erotic images began to invade her mind, as they did more and more often this time of year, but she pushed them aside. Not now!

“Women of our position cannot hope for love. I was selfish and now we are all paying the price.” Miranda sighed. “I simply didn’t realized how dire our situation had become until Papa died. By then I was already labeled as a woman who refused proposals. A spinster in training. I doubt I could obtain another offer even if I tried. Certainly not one from a man with the ability to help us.”

Penelope squeezed her arm. “How bad is it, Miranda? Tell me plainly.”

Miranda turned on her sister and frowned. She’d kept the bulk of the details from her siblings, but the weight of the truth was beginning to grate on her. And there would be no hiding it once she had to start altering the comfort of their everyday lives. Already she was beginning an inventory of items that could be sold without rousing her mother’s suspicion. Sadly, there wasn’t much left in the house that fit that description. Her father had done very well in clearing out those things, himself. If her mother realized just how much of her beloved jewelry was already paste…

“If we do not find a way to bring money into this family soon,” she whispered, “we could very well lose everything, including our home.”

Penelope paled. “Oh my. I knew it was bad, but I had hoped we were in a slightly better position than that.” She paced away a few steps as she lifted a fist to her heart. “Oh, Papa…how could you be so foolish?”

Miranda nodded in silent agreement, ignoring the pain of loss that still troubled her when she thought of her father. Her feelings about the man were mixed, at best. Anger and grief, warmth and pain combined.

“What can we do?” Penelope’s soft voice interrupted her musings.

Miranda rubbed her eyes. “A good marriage may be the only way.”

“My
good marriage, you mean,” Penelope whispered.

“Yes, I’m afraid that is true.” Miranda sighed. “I have failed, but there is still hope for you before the whole world learns of our troubles and our name is blackened. You need a Season. A
spectacular Season. And I must find a way to provide it. Actually, I’ve been thinking about that lately and I believe I may have found a solution.”

Penelope tilted her head in surprise. “Whatever do you mean?”

Miranda shook her head. “No. Don’t you worry about that. Just go and try on those gowns and make Mama happy. If she is happy, she won’t notice I’m gone.”

“Gone?” Penelope’s surprise turned to alarm. “Where are you going?”

Miranda flinched. That was one question she couldn’t answer. “I-I have something to do.”

Penelope gnawed her lip as she regarded Miranda with concern. But then she shrugged. “Very well. But be careful.”

Miranda patted her sister’s hand and slipped from the room. But as she gathered up her things, she couldn’t suppress a shiver. The thing she was about to do could either help her or completely ruin her. It was the thing she feared and longed for most.

She was about to offer a bargain to the man who had taught her everything she knew about desire and passion. The man who’d never known he was her tutor.

Ethan Hamon, Earl of Rothschild, took a long sip of sherry, savoring the flavor. God, it was good to be home. Despite the life he enjoyed in London, the few months he spent here at Hamon House were what he looked forward to all year. He had his sport, he had his friends coming and going all summer…and normally he had a lover, a new one every year.

Except this one. No woman had struck his fancy enough to
make him bring them to his summer estate for long days and nights of decadent pleasure.

Truth be told, he was beginning to bore of the game. The flirting, mincing women. The pretended reluctance. The ultimate acquiescence. The manufactured passion. He wanted something…
different
this year.

Not that he knew what
different
meant. Perhaps he would recognize it when he saw it.

“My lord?”

Ethan turned to his butler with an arched brow. “Yes, Winston?”

“You have a caller, my lord. I told her you were not in residence, but she is insistent. She seemed to be very aware of your schedule.”

The butler sniffed his disapproval of Ethan’s lifestyle, but Ethan ignored that. He’d grown used to Winston’s airs, and since he was a perfect butler in all other accounts, it was worth enduring the subtle censure and side glances.

“She
? Hmmm, very interesting.” Ethan set his glass down. “Do I know the lady?”

Winston’s mouth thinned. “She has been here before, sir, if that is what you mean. She is Miss Miranda Albright, the daughter of your late neighbor, Mr. Thomas Albright.”

Ethan’s brow wrinkled. Miranda Albright was here?

“Is her mother with her?” he asked with a shiver. Dorthea Albright was his worst nightmare and he made every attempt to avoid her at all costs.

“No, sir.” The butler wrinkled his nose before he said, “Miss Albright is
alone
.”

At that, Ethan straightened up. Miranda was alone? He didn’t think he’d ever been alone with the lady. Mostly because she was just that…a
lady
. She didn’t go anywhere without a gaggle of chaperones to scrutinize her every move.

Despite that nauseating fact, Ethan had still noticed her. He was careful about the women he chose to pursue, of course, but that didn’t mean he was immune to the charms of the ones who were out of reach. And there was no harm in looking.

So look, he did. Miranda Albright was a beauty. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes. And she was tall, with willowy limbs he had imagined wrapped around him quite a few times.

All those things drew him in, but it was something else that made her memorable. As was proper for a lady of her station, she hardly ever looked directly at him, but when she did, he always had the sense that she knew something secret about him. Something no one else was privy to.