CHAPTER SIXThe Earl sat in his bedroom and looked aimlessly into the middle distance. Having taken off his riding habit, he was now wearing his silk dressing gown.
Monkhouse had taken his dinner jacket away for pressing, so he passed the time in idle contemplation.
He was thinking constantly of Miranda and her soft fair hair, her smiling grey eyes –
He was so impressed that she was equally at home with her hands in the earth or composed in her father’s drawing room.
There was something so very unaffected about her.
‘And she was in London for the Season earlier this year!’ he marvelled, believing that every debutante was prone to excesses of affectation and social one-upmanship.
‘I can hardly believe that she is the same little girl who rescued me single-handed from a deep snowdrift!’
