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.