Page 62
Epilogue
“Miles,” his mother called out as he walked around the ballroom ensuring everything was in place.
He turned to find his beautiful mother, Her Grace Arabella Johnstone, waving him to come to her.
“Mother, you have outdone yourself.” He kissed her cheek, and she waved her hands impatiently.
“Everything has been done, all that we need is to be ready as the first carriages arrive. I wish you to meet someone.”
“Mother.” He let out a long breath. “I warned you, no matchmaking.”
His mother’s right eyebrow lifted, a trait they shared when making a point. “Your father and I will have a grandchild before we die. Not just a grandchild, but an heir.”
“I am the heir,” Miles stated, lifting his arm to escort her to the front door. “You and Father could have had another son, who would ensure someone who could carry the title after me.”
His mother shook her head. “This delusion of yours not to marry will end. If you do not choose a bride soon, your father and I will.”
“I have told you. Once I reach forty, if I am not married, you can arrange a marriage. I do not care to whom. It will be a formality so that I can procreate your much-wanted heir.”
“Why are you so unyielding?” His mother gave him an incredulous look. “Did we do something that made you so hard-hearted against marriage?”
He couldn’t tell her that the one time he’d fallen in love, it had not only broken his heart but changed how he felt about marriage. He would never allow anyone to have that power over him.
Miles stood dutifully next to his parents to greet the people as the guests arrived. By the time the last people had arrived, he’d lost count of how many eager mothers had thrust their daughters in front of him, espousing the young women’s incredible and sometimes unbelievable virtues. If not for standing next to his father, who slid him warning looks every time one of these virtuous misses was presented, he would have burst into laughter several times.
“Come, darling.” His mother touched his arm. “I wish you to meet a delightful young woman.”
“I’ve already met all the delightful young women in the room,” Miles replied, not moving. “More than enough of them for the night.”
She threaded her arm through his. “Come with me.”
He allowed it as—never deterred—his mother guided them across the room just as the musicians began the first musical piece of the night.
She stopped in front of one of the overzealous mothers, next to who stood a reasonably attractive younger woman. “Zinnia,” his mother began. “I was just telling Miles he should dance with your beautiful Amelia.”
Her attention returned to Miles. “Son, this is Amelia Blair.”
The young woman, Amelia, stood so straight, he wondered if she could bend. Her nose held up, she scanned him from head to toe as if assessing whether or not he was worthy of a dance.
He had no choice but to appease his mother, at least with one dance. Miles bent at the waist. “Miss Amelia, would you do me the honor of this dance?”
Amelia held out a hand and he took it, placing it into the crook of his arm as he led her to the dance floor where they joined the other dancers.
The entire time he kept an eye on the door for when Grant and Wren arrived. He’d instructed the attendants that they should be announced with much fanfare.
Thankfully, just as the song ended, he noted Grant and his new bride entering. He extricated himself from Amelia. “The guests of honor have arrived.”
Somehow, she managed to hold her nose higher. “Oh yes. They are the reason for all of this. I had forgotten.”
Her comment reinforced that he would not dance with her again, nor ever seek her company.
Wren Murray was resplendent in a pale green ballgown, long gloves that covered her arms, and an elegant hairstyle. She dressed understatedly without frills or ruffles but somehow was much prettier than most of the women in the room. Once their announcement and introductions were done, his friend neared and shook Miles’ hand. “Again, I thank you so much for this.”
Miles nodded. “Take her to meet my parents; they are anxious to know what kind of woman can tame a rogue, so they can arm themselves to find a bride for me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Amelia headed toward him and he pretended not to see her. Hoping to take refuge behind a punchbowl, he hurried to it and rounded the table.
A squeal was followed by cold liquid splashing on his arm and whoever he’d run into. To his horror, a woman was slipping because of his own clumsiness and was about to lose her balance. He took a step toward her, and just as he caught her elbow, his foot slipped on the spilled punch and Miles lost the fight with gravity.
