“Let’s go find somewhere quiet to sit,” Arthur continued, rather than explain what he’d just said.
The truth was that Miranda’s presence was beginning to upset Arthur more than he had expected. His headaches were worse than before, she seemed to beeverywhere, and it was pretty clear to him that she was trying to win his favour. It wasn’t hard to see why.
Miranda’s spectacular prospects had plummeted after her father’s death, and she was still unengaged. Arthur had expected every moment to read in theGazetteabout her marriage, but it seemed that after she ended their betrothal, nothing had gone right for the Sinclair family.
And now here he was, an earl, with money and land and power. Miranda was too accustomed to getting what she wanted, Arthur knew that. At one time, he’d found it endearing.
Now, it seemed callous, and mercenary.
The incident in the library worried him. Why corner him like that? Was she trying to put a dent in her own reputation? It was a risk to take.
Or perhaps not as great a risk as one might think,he thought, with a growing feeling of unease.A gentleman who ruined a lady’s reputation, even unintentionally, would feel himself obliged to marry her. No, surely not. Not evenMirandacould be so shocking.
Unconvinced and still unsettled, he led the way into his study. There, at least, he wouldn’t be disturbed.
“Tell Susie that if Miss Sinclair is violent or unpleasant towards her again, she must tell me immediately,” Arthur said, settling himself behind his desk. “I won’t have such behaviour towards my household in my own home. But don’t fret – I have a feeling that Miss Sinclair may not be staying with us for much longer.”
Chapter Nineteen
Miranda was in a vile mood. Not only had that stupid maid they’d given her not answered her bell, but her plan had been ruined. Stupid Arthur and his stupid valet.
Mrs. Langley – that rotten old interfering woman – had insisted she go up for a nap every day in the early afternoon. Miranda did not want a nap. She did not need one, but she was meant to be an invalid, and if she didn’t want to seem entirely recovered – and therefore free to be sent home – she had better seem properly frail and tired. And so, she was stuck here in her bedroom for at least an hour, maybe more, before she could venture downstairs and continue with her plan.
The altercation in the library had not gone as planned, but no matter. There would be other opportunities.
The well-plumped pillows and soft mattress held no allure for Miranda, so she flounced over to the writing-desk in the corner, took a piece of very nice notepaper, and began to write a letter.
Dear Mama, Carrie, and Matilda,
I am here, and it is very nice. I am well looked after, although treated like an invalid, which is a little infuriating. However, the plan we discussed before I left is well in place.
I do not think I am making much headway in Arthur’s affections, but I have great hopes. If his pride is too great to make me another offer – and I can only imagine that it is his pride, as I am by far the prettiest and most charming young woman here – then I have another scheme in mind.
Ah, scheme is such a nasty word!Intention, I should say.
But I digress.
Arthur is a fine gentleman and would never knowingly put a woman’s reputation in danger. In a place like this, one is never quite alone, unless one is looking for opportunities. I have been given a maid, but she does not chaperone me. It is my intention to organise a moment alone with Arthur. A shocking thing, I know, but I shall tell him the full truth of myfeelingsand hopefully we shall end our interview on the best of terms.
That is to say, engaged.
Mrs. Langley supports my plan, although of course she does know of it. She wants to see her son married, as any woman would, and I know I have her blessing to secure an engagement. Lucy Langley does not approve of me, but that matters not at all, since she is a silly old spinster, whose opinion counts for nothing. I scarcely talk to her.
I have one worry to talk to you all about. Miss Felicity Thornhill. She has a substantial dowry, I understand, and is notentirelyunpleasant. She is a bluestocking, but that does not seem to disgust Arthur as it should. I worry that he is too interested in her. She is Lucy Langley’s close friend, which no doubt makes him think better of her. I wish she would leave but can think of no scheme to get her away.
But that is by and by. I do not consider this woman a threat, but as we discussed, my marriage to Arthur is imperative. I took it upon myself to drop a word in Miss Thornhill’s ear, just hinting to her that Arthur and I are exceptionally close, and have a great bond, and that we are likely to be soon engaged. Just a little hint, a sign for her to set her sights elsewhere. I’m sure she has taken my hints to heart, as I made myself quite clear. Do not fret, Mama, and my sisters. I will not fail you. I will not leave this house until I am engaged, and perhaps not even then – I may summon you, Mama, and the girls.
Keep your hopes up, and I shall keep you informed of my progress.
All my love,
Your Sister and Loving Daughter,
Miranda
Miranda sat back in the chair to inspect her letter. It was hastily written, not using the careful calligraphy she liked to employ when writing to gentlemen and people of importance. This was a family letter, and they would surely be waiting eagerly for it. She would get Mrs. Langley to send it off for her, in the assurance that the woman would not snoop. Perhaps she was laying out her plan a little too baldly in her letter, but then, itwaswritten to her family.
If one could not be honest and open with family, when could one be honest and open?
