Arthur saw the drawing. It was a smudged, blocky square that seemed to be a house, lopsided, with a swathes of what might have been meant to be the garden, only it rather looked like a cabbage patch. He had to look away, biting his lip to keep back a chuckle.
“A poor effort, Felicity,” Mrs. Thornhill said, voice like ice. Felicity dropped her head, and Arthur flinched. “You haven’t even started to paint in the sunrise, and now you’ve lost the light. It’s full day now, and the sunrise is almost gone.
“Sorry, Mama.”
“The fault is mine, Mrs. Thornhill,” Arthur said hastily. “I didn’t realise that Miss Thornhill was sketching here, and I interrupted her. She was telling me about some of her herbal remedies, and…”
That was the wrong thing to say. Mrs. Thornhill’s head jerked back, and she shot a furious glare at her daughter.
“Did she really? Well, we shall trespass no further on your time, Lord Lanwood. Felicity, come along at once. You may tear up that drawing when we get inside.”
Miss Thornhill got to her feet, dropping a lopsided curtsey to Arthur without looking at him, and scurried away. As they went, he could clearly hear Mrs. Thornhill scolding her daughter.
“What did I say about boring gentlemen with your wretched plants? Nobody wants to hear about that, Felicity! This drawing is a disgrace. I can’t display this.Youare a disgrace!”
That left a bad taste in his mouth. Getting to his feet, Arthur turned and headed back to the house.
Chapter Twelve
Miranda Sinclair, Diamond of her first Season and toast of London since her come-out years ago, woke up feeling exceptionally pleased with herself.
Rolling over in bed, stretched her arms out, letting her joints crack.
Last night had been, if she said so herself, an unmitigated success. She hadn’tspokenmuch to Arthur herself, but that was fine. Small steps were needed here. She’d have to employ all her charm and tread carefully, but she was up to the challenge, no doubt.
Today was the maid’s day off, meaning that the Sinclairs would have to get their own breakfasts and dress themselves. It was infuriating that the wretched woman had started demanding a full day off a week, but it wasn’t as if they were in position to argue. She was doing all the work at the moment – acting as cook, maid, housekeeper, and ladies’ maid all in one – and they couldn’t afford to pay her anything more.
As soon as I am Lady Lanwood and rich as I please,Miranda thought spitefully,I shall sack her without notice or reference. See how she likes all her time offthen.
Rolling out of bed, Miranda cast a complacent look at her reflection and dressed quickly. There was no social event today, which was probably just as well, without the maid to style her hair. Tomorrow, though, there was a picnic by the lake. An excellent opportunity to speak to Arthur. Mrs. Langley already approved of the match. That sour-faced spinster, the daughter of the late earl, clearly did not like her, but that didn’t matter at all.
The Sinclairs – consisting of the three daughters and Mrs. Sinclair herself – lived in an embarrassingly modest set of apartments well out of the fashionable area of town. It was the largest they could afford, now that Mr. Sinclair was dead and his estate all entailed away to some distant cousin. Every now and then, Miranda thought bitterly of her father, who’d always encouraged his daughters to marry as highly as they could and throw away any gentlemen who did not fit the bill, and not let anything as foolish assentimentcloud their clear thinking.
Well, now none of them were married, and they were obliged to live poorly inrentedaccommodations.
Stop thinking about it,Miranda advised herself. Once dressed, she hurried downstairs. The rest of them were already in the dining room, eating. She eyed the meal of rubbery eggs and burnt toast with distaste.
The wretched maid wouldn’t even cook them breakfast before she left.
“Morning, darling,” Mrs. Sinclair chirped. “I hope you got enough sleep last night. Beauty sleep is important, at your age.”
Ignoring the back-handed insult, Miranda slipped into her seat.
“Thank you, Mama. Yes, I did sleep well. Have we money for a new dress, by the way?”
“No, but you can repurpose one of your sisters’ old dresses. Carrie’s pink satin, perhaps.”
Carrie, who was two years younger than Miranda and a little on the plumply plain side, set up a hue and cry, which was sharply cut off.
“Don’t complain, Carrie. Miranda is closer than any of you to making a good match. She needs to secure Lord Lanwood if we’re to improve our style of living.”
“Lord Lanwood? Who is he?” asked Matilda, who was the youngest and at sixteen was set to be a beauty who would rival her eldest sister.
She was Miranda’s least favourite family member.
“Arthur Langley, as was,” Miranda responded shortly.
Matilda sucked in a breath. “You wereengagedto him. I thought you broke it off because he was so ugly. You said you couldn’t bear to look at him after what happened.”
