Miranda beamed at her father's praise. "Thank you. I shall let you know when I run out of space and need another."
"All right, then. Good night, dear." He turned back to his papers.
Miranda hugged the notebook to her chest and ran up the stairs to her bedroom. She took out a pot of ink and a quill and opened the book to the first page. She wrote the date, and then, after considerable thought, wrote a single sentence. It was all that seemed necessary.
2 March 1810
Today I fell in love.
Chapter 1
Nigel Bevelstoke, better known as Turner to all who cared to court his favor, knew a great many things.
He knew how to read Latin and Greek, and he knew how to seduce a woman in French and Italian.
He knew how to shoot a moving target while atop a moving horse, and he knew exactly how much he could drink before surrendering his dignity.
He could throw a punch or fence with a master, and he could do them both while reciting Shakespeare or Donne.
In short, he knew everything a gentleman ought to know, and, by all accounts, he'd excelled in every area.
People looked at him.
People looked up to him.
But nothing- not one second of his prominent and privileged life- had prepared him for this moment. And never had he felt the weight of watchful eyes so much as now, as he stepped forward and tossed a clump of dirt on the coffin of his wife.
I'm so sorry, people kept saying. I'm so sorry. We're so sorry.
And all the while, Turner could not help but wonder if God might smite him down, because all he could think was-
I'm not.
Ah, Leticia. He had quite a lot to thank her for.
Let's see, where to start? There was the loss of his reputation, of course. The devil only knew how many people were aware that he'd been cuckolded.