No wonder he was unable to determine her heart. Miranda had shielded everything from everybody.

  “Diana was able to relax with each passing season and no longer feared that she’d be compared to Mother. I have been unable to do so.”

  “I’m sorry, Miranda.” Wesley took her hands in his. “Had I known, I would have assured you that it never occurred to me to liken you to her, even before we came to know one another.”

  She searched his eyes. “Are you certain?”

  “I would not lie to you,” he insisted. “Though I wish I would have known sooner.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wouldn’t have waited so long to do this.” He stepped forward and slipped a hand behind her head, then bent, placing his lips against hers.

  She sighed against his lips before her body relaxed and nearly melted into him.

  Wesley couldn’t help but smile because deep down, he feared she’d push him away, as she’d done earlier.

  Miranda pulled back. “Why are you smiling?”

  So, he told her. “I thought you were rejecting me in the attic or wished nothing further to do with me.”

  Her face heated. “That isn’t the reason at all.”

  “Then why?”

  “We were no longer alone.”

  Wesley stared into her grey eyes and as much as he wished she was teasing, Miranda was quite serious.

  Damn and blast. She was going to claim there had been a ghost. It was the only explanation because he knew for certain that they were very much alone.

  Chapter 14

  He wanted her. He kissed her. He cared, and Miranda was able to set her heart free. She’d kept herself guarded for so long that it grew tiring, but with Epworth, she no longer needed to fear that he’d think less of her.

  Though that didn’t mean he’d believe her either, which was a bother, and she’d need to decide how important it was to their future. Epworth believed ghosts illogical and he most certainly did not believe Endellion or King Merrik existed, but how important were either of those to their future happiness?

  “Who was with us, Miranda?” There was resignation in his tone.

  “Uncle Jonathan,” she admitted, knowing full well that Epworth would dismiss the possibility, but she’d not lie to him either.

  “You are saying that your great-uncle, the one who died in 1769, is haunting Hollybrook Park.”

  “Yes,” Miranda answered with a lift of her chin. “Further, your grandmother can see and hear him too. In fact, he visits her quite regularly.”

  For a moment he just stared at her, then closed his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. She knew the reaction well. One where he was trying to gather patience, which only irritated her.

  “If you don’t wish for my attention, Miranda, just tell me so. Though your rejection will be painful, I’d rather have the truth instead of an invention of ghosts interfering.”

  “I’ve not invented Uncle Jonathan, and I certainly never invented Barnaby,” Miranda insisted as she pulled away from him. “I’d not lie to you about anything and I resent you claiming that I have.”

  Would he ever be able to see beyond that which was in front of him, things to be seen, touched and heard? There was so much more to be experienced, and not simply other-worldly. Did she really wish to be attached to someone who couldn’t accept the possibility of a world beyond them?

  No.

  As much as Miranda loved Epworth, and she had for so long, to the depths of her soul, his refusal to accept what she’d seen and believed would one day pull them apart.

  “Good day, Lord Epworth.” Miranda departed, unable to be near him any longer.

  “Miranda, wait,” he called rushing after her.

  Oh, why wouldn’t he just go away, leave her be so that she could mend her heart. He’d never understand, or believe her, and she just couldn’t be with someone who didn’t trust her.

  “Please,” he called.

  The plead in his voice caused her to pause, and Miranda drew in a deep breath. “What more is there to discuss?”

  “Perhaps, I haven’t given the possibility enough thought,” he offered.

  Miranda hitched a brow and waited. Was he suddenly going to believe her? It was unlikely, though she hoped that he would.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts, pixies or a king of the merfolk.” He took a step forward. “But, that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe that you think you have encountered ghosts.”

  All Miranda could do was stare at him. This was his acceptance of her claims. “Do not condescend to me Lord Epworth. I didn’t think I spoke with and saw Uncle Jonathan and Barnaby. I did encounter them. Uncle Jonathan, several times, in fact, since I was five years old, and I resent the fact that you believe it is all in my imagination so that it is acceptable to you.”

  How dare he!

  To think she’d fallen in love with someone who was so utterly blind to possibilities was beyond comprehension.

  “I used to enjoy our conversation and I learned so much from you about sciences, mathematics, philosophy and all manner of subjects. And I’ll admit that sometimes I was intimidated by your intellect and feared you’d think me daft for not knowing as much as you. But you never treated me as such…except in this.” Miranda hated that her eyes began to water, but what was in her heart needed to be said. “While I readily believe what you’ve told me, trusting it to be the truth, you don’t show me the same consideration. I do not lie. I resent that you believe I have.” She paused and swiped away a tear that had managed to leak out of the corner of her eye. “Perhaps you won’t admit it, but you still believe me to be feather-brained.”

  He had pulled back as if shocked. “Miranda, I don’t believe you to be feather-brained. And I’ve learned much from you as well. But to believe in ghosts, pixies, sea gods and mermaids is simply illogical.”

  Oh, he was so frustrating. “Why does everything have to be logical. What of wonderment and discovery?” she demanded.

  “It exists and several examples can be found in scientific journals and writings.”

  He’d never understand. He was too blinded by intellect and there was nothing further she could say that would change his mind.

  “Goodbye, Lord Epworth. Thank you for the friendship, but I don’t see how there can be anything further between us.”

  Miranda turned on her heel and marched back to the manor and entered a side door to the private family sitting room. She was not in a state to entertain guests and might never be.

  Wesley kicked a stone off the path. That certainly hadn’t gone well.

  Miranda honestly believed she’d encountered two ghosts. Either her imagination was so great that she could accept it as reality, or she continued to lie to him.

  Except, she was insistent that she’d not lied, which meant, she truly believed she’d encountered two ghosts. Even though it pained him, greatly, he had to finally admit that they would not suit.

  If it were just him, Wesley might be able to look past this concern, but one day they’d have children. What kind of mother would she be with always making up stories about magical creatures as if they were real? What if she eventually slipped into madness? What if the condition was inherited?

  These were concerns that Wesley never thought he’d need to consider when taking a bride, but it would be in the forefront of his mind whenever he considered any other miss. If he ever considered someone else, because it was unlikely he’d love anyone the way he loved Miranda.

  Sadness engulfed him. Not only had he lost the woman he loved, but his best friend as well. It’s not often a person is lucky enough to have such a companion in their life, but he was happy to have found her even if their friendship had lasted only a few short years.

  With a heavy sigh, he trudged back to the manor to enter into the family sitting room with every intention of grabbing the bottle of brandy and a glass and retiring to his chamber until the wedding was to take place. He’d grant Miranda’s wish by not being seen again, and he’d work on healing his heart in the process.

  “Are you telling me that the two of you could not come to an agreement?” his grandmother demanded as he stepped into the sitting room.

  Even though the Vails had earlier vacated the premises after their meeting, Lynwood, along with Miranda and her younger sisters, the Misses Cordelia and Adriana, were now visiting with Grandmother.

  “Your grandson cannot accept that I have been threatened by a ghost named Barnaby and that I’ve regularly seen and had conversation with Uncle Jonathan since I was five. He thinks it’s all in my imagination.”

  “Uncle Jonathan?” Lynwood asked in surprise.

  “Yes, Uncle Jonathan,” Miranda snapped. “I tried to tell everyone when I was a child that he lived in the attic, but nobody believed me.”

  “You were just a child,” he defended.

  “And the reason I stopped mentioning my visits with him,” Miranda informed him. “However, Uncle Jonathan is still here. Further, I’m not the only one who can see and speak with him, but Her Grace does as well.”

  Lynwood turned to Grandmother. It was bad enough that she carried on so, but he didn’t wish for everyone to know that her mind was slipping.

  “Grandmother?” Wesley asked as he followed Miranda into the sitting room. “I’m certain Miranda is mistaken and that you only talk to Captain Vail as a comfort. You don’t really see him.”

  “Oh, Wesley,” she sighed. “Jonathan has been a companion since your grandfather died. I never told you because I knew you would never believe me.”

  He still didn’t.

  “I’m sorry, Miranda. We should have believed you, but we honestly thought that because of the haunting of Castle Keyvnor you imagined a ghost living at Hollybrook Park,” Lynwood offered.

  Wesley couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then again, Lynwood had lived here his entire life and since there wasn’t a resident that didn’t believe in ghosts, he should have assumed the viscount would as well.

  Had they all been conditioned since birth to simply accept these things as real, without questioning the absurdity of ghosts, witches, pixies and mermaids?

  Could he really judge the residents of Bocka Morrow for believing in such nonsense since they were raised to believe that it was all true.

  “Does this mean that the two of you cannot come to an agreement to marry?” his grandmother asked.

  “I am sorry, Your Grace, but a match between me and Lord Epworth is impossible.” Miranda glared at him. “How can I be married to a man who thinks I lie or invent stories. If he cannot trust me when I say that I’ve encountered a ghost, how do I know that he will trust me in any other matter in the future?”

  “Wesley,” Grandmother chastised. “I’m disappointed in you. Miss Miranda wouldn’t lie about something so important and I can assure you that she has seen and spoken with Jonathan. In fact, the three of us visited yesterday.”

  He wanted to believe with all of his heart that his grandmother was simply orchestrating a large prank and in the end they’d all laugh about believing in ghosts, but knew that was not the case, and it pained him that she’d slipped so far from reality, and that Miranda had as well.

  “Well, if not you two, then who?” Lynwood asked.

  “Send for your other grandsons, Your Grace,” Miranda offered. “I’m certain that one of them will suit Cordelia or Adriana.”

  To that, both of Miranda’s younger sisters gasped.

  “You aren’t going to arrange a marriage for me to a gentleman I might not have ever met,” Miss Cordelia exclaimed in outrage.

  “Me neither.” Miss Adriana stomped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Well then, I suppose we must come up with another solution.” Grandmother stood. “I’ll think on it while I rest. This has been trying, but I’m certain we…or I will come up with a solution.”

  Bloody hell, she was going to discuss it with her dead, non-existent first love.

  Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache developed. Either they were all Bedlam bound, or perhaps only him. All Wesley knew was that if he was in this corner of Cornwall much longer, his sanity might leave.

  Chapter 15

  Miranda did her best to avoid Epworth for the rest of the evening, often disappearing to her attic chamber to cry. She wasn’t fit to be in the company of their guests, nor did she wish to pretend all was well.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Miranda,” Uncle Jonathan announced as he appeared before her. “A Vail always sees to the good of the community. Our family has supported and seen to the care of Bocka Morrow for centuries.”

  She was rather taken aback. Her great-uncle had never lectured before.

  “We take care of the community. We provide the caves for the smuggling. We make certain that everyone in Bocka Morrow can take part if they wish. We are responsible for the village.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Miranda finally asked.

  “There will be war unless you marry Epworth.”

  She blinked at him. Surely, he wasn’t serious.

  “Do you think the Woodfords are going to stop? They’ve been itching for a fight since I was in short pants and that family will never change. Only a Vail making the sacrifice will appease them. If you don’t, they will attack a Laswell ship, then Endellion will make them pay the price. But they won’t blame themselves, they will blame you. There is always a price for breaking the covenant with Endellion, Miranda. Always.”

  A chill slid down her spine. “Uncle Jonathan, the treaty warns of a price to be paid. Laswell paid that price.” She turned to him. “Did you pay a price as well?” It was something that hadn’t occurred to her until now and she was almost afraid to know his answer.

  “I’m dead, aren’t I.”

  “Yes, but it could be a coincidence,” she suggested hopefully.

  “Miranda, I’ve sailed through much fiercer storms and emerged unscathed. I was foolish to believe that since Hester and I were to be wed, an agreement signed, that there’d be no punishment.”

  Her heart ached for him. “Does Her Grace…?”

  He shook his head before she could finish the question. “I didn’t want her to know. I didn’t want her to carry the guilt.”

  “Guilt?”

  “Questioning decisions, such as if she’d stayed here. Or, if we’d only taken a carriage. I didn’t want her to suffer a lifetime of wondering that if she would have done something different then I’d be alive.”

  Miranda nodded. As much as she’d like to believe that the wreck of Uncle Jonathan’s ship was a coincidence, she knew it was not. Endellion had punished him, robbing Uncle Jonathan of what should have been a lifetime of happiness.

  “One day she’ll know.” He then looked out the window. “The sea churns more violent each day.”

  “But Laswell has already paid the price. I don’t understand why.”

  “I can only assume that it is because Woodford has put plans of revenge into motion.”

  She studied the waves cresting, the white caps, the ever-rising waters. “That’s because they don’t know.”

  “Know what?” her uncle asked.

  “The Woodfords. They don’t know that Laswell has already been punished. I need to tell them.”

  Her uncle snorted. “And how are you going to do that?” He gestured to the sea again.

  It wasn’t possible that she could sail to Bocka Morrow and survive. Her boat could not handle waves of that magnitude.

  “I’ll walk.” As the words left her, panic settled into her gut.

  “You are not walking to Bocka Morrow. Have you lost your mind?”

  Miranda ignored him and rushed to her chamber to retrieve her hat and gloves. She could do this. She must. It was the only way to appease Endellion. All Woodford needed to do was stop making plans and the seas would calm. All would be well again. There was no need for marriage.

  Thankfully Uncle Jonathan had disappeared once she exited her chamber, and Miranda hurried down the stairs and out of the house. She could do this. She must do this. It was the only answer.

  Just as she was about to reach the drive, the doors leading to the garden from the family sitting room swung open and Uncle Jonathan appeared before her again.

  “You are not seriously contemplating traveling onto Keyvnor land?” Uncle Jonathan appeared before her.

  “Fears must be faced.”

  “And fools seldom return unscathed by ill-advised ventures.”

  “I need to do this. I can’t live in fear.”

  “You need to prove to Epworth to see beyond his narrow view of his surroundings,” Uncle Jonathan countered.

  “Perhaps,” Miranda reluctantly agreed, though it was unlikely he’d ever know either way as she was doing this on her own. “I need to do this for myself. How do I know that Barnaby just threatens and can’t really do any harm?”

  Uncle Jonathan just arched an eyebrow.

  “I need to do this myself.” No matter how foolish, she knew that it had to be her and nobody else. There was more at stake than the villages of Bocka Morrow and Laswell. She needed to face her fears.

  “You don’t need to do anything,” he roared.

  “I’ve let Barnaby keep me from Keyvnor for three months. Yes, he gave me a warning, but that doesn’t mean he’ll really harm me. And it’s quite possible he may have forgotten me.”

  Her great-uncle frowned.

  “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life having to sail anywhere or be bound to Hollybrook Park for the rest of my days, which could happen if Endellion is not appeased.”

  “He will remember you, Miranda,” Uncle Jonathan warned gravely.

  “You don’t know that for certain.”

  “It’s not something I wish to test.”

  Miranda notched her chin. “I will be fine.” She prayed with all of her might that her words were true.