Miranda did not mind. In fact, she was grateful for the company. Her own home was far too quiet these days. Her beloved mother had passed away nearly a year earlier, and Miranda had been left alone with her father. In his grief, he had closeted himself away with his precious manuscripts, leaving his daughter to fend for herself. Miranda had turned to the Bevelstokes for love and friendship, and they welcomed her with open arms. Olivia even wore black for three weeks in honor of Lady Cheever.

"If one of my first cousins died, I'd be forced to do the same," Olivia had said at the funeral. "And I certainly loved your mama better than any of my cousins."

"Olivia!" Miranda was touched, but nonetheless, she thought she ought to be shocked.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Have you met my cousins?"

And she'd laughed. At her own mother's funeral, Miranda had laughed. It was, she'd later realized, the most precious gift her friend could have offered.

"I love you, Livvy," she said.

Olivia took her hand. "I know you do," she said softly. "And I, you." Then she squared her shoulders and assumed her usual stance. "I should be quite incorrigible without you, you know. My mother often says you are the only reason I have not committed some irredeemable offense."

It was probably for that reason, Miranda reflected, that Lady Rudland had offered to sponsor her for a season in London. Upon receiving the invitation, her father had sighed with relief and quickly forwarded the necessary funds. Sir Rupert Cheever was not an exceptionally wealthy man, but he had enough to cover a season in London for his only daughter. What he did not possess was the necessary patience- or, to be frank, the interest- to take her himself.