The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

He watched her indulgently. She was such a loyal little thing. He had no doubt she'd take a bullet for Olivia if the need ever arose. It was a good thing she was here. Aside from whatever calming tendencies she had on his sister- and he rather suspected the entire Bevelstoke family owed her an enormous debt of gratitude for that- Miranda was, he was fairly certain, the only thing that was going to make his time in London bearable. God knew he hadn't wanted to come. The last thing he needed just then were women angling for position, attempting to fill Leticia's miserable little shoes. But with Miranda about, at least he was assured of some decent conversation.

'Of course Olivia is intelligent,' he said in a placating voice. 'Allow me to restate myself. I personally would not find her intriguing.'

She pursed her lips, and the governess was back. 'Well, that's your prerogative, I suppose.'

He smiled and leaned in, just a hint. 'I think I'd be far more likely to make my way to your side.'

'Don't be silly,' she mumbled.

'I'm not,' he assured her. 'But then again, I am older than most of those fools with my sister. Perhaps my tastes have mellowed. But the point is moot, I suppose, because I'm not a young buck, and I'm not nosing around this year's crop of debutantes.'

'And you're not looking for a wife.' It was a statement, not a question.

'God, no,' he blurted out. 'What on earth would I do with a wife?'

2 June 1819

Lady Rudland announced at breakfast that last night's ball was a smashing success. I could not help but smile over her choice of words- I do not think anyone refused her invitation, and I vow the room was as crowded as any I have ever experienced. I certainly felt smashed up against all sorts of perfect strangers. I do believe I must be a country girl at heart because I am not so certain that I wish to ever again be quite so intimate with my fellow man.

I said so at breakfast, and Turner spit his coffee. Lady Rudland sent him a murderous glare, but I cannot imagine she is that enamored of her table linens.

Turner intends to remain in town for only a week or two, he is staying with us at Rudland House, which is lovely and terrible, all at once.

Lady Rudland reported that some crotchety old dowager (her words, not mine, and she would not reveal her identity in any case) said that I was acting Too Familiar with Turner and that people might get the Wrong Idea.

She said that she told the c.o.d. (cod! how apt!) that Turner and I are practically brother and sister, and that it is only natural that I would rely upon him at my debut ball, and that there are no Wrong Ideas to be had.

I am wondering if there is ever a Right Idea in London.

Chapter 5

A week or so later, the sun was shining so brightly that Miranda and Olivia, missing their frequent sojourns in the country, decided to spend the morning exploring London. At Olivia's insistence, they began in the shopping district.

'I certainly don't need another dress,' Miranda said as they strolled down the street, their maids a respectful distance behind them.

'Neither do I, but it's always great fun to look, and besides, we might find a trinket or such to buy with our pin money. Your birthday will be here before we know it. You should purchase yourself a treat.'

'Perhaps.'

They wandered through dress shops, milliners, jewelers, and sweet shops before Miranda found what she hadn't even known she'd been looking for.

'Look at that, Olivia,' she breathed. 'Isn't it magnificent?'

'Isn't what magnificent?' Olivia replied, peering into the elegantly dressed window of the bookshop.

'That.' Miranda pointed her finger toward an exquisitely bound copy of Le Morte d'Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory. It looked rich and lovely, and Miranda wanted nothing more than to lean right through the window and inhale the air that wafted around it.

For the first time in her life, she saw something that she simply had to have. Forget economy. Forget practicality. She sighed- a deep, soulful, needy breath, and said, 'I think I finally understand what you mean about shoes.'

'Shoes?' Olivia echoed, looking down at her feet. 'Shoes?'

Miranda didn't bother to explain further. She was too busy tilting her head so that she could peer at the gold leaf that edged the pages.

'And we've read that already,' Olivia continued. 'I believe it was two years ago- when Miss Lacey was hired on as our governess. Don't you recall? She was all aghast that we hadn't got to it yet.'

'It's not about reading it,' Miranda said, pressing even closer to the glass. 'Is it not the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?'

Olivia regarded her friend with a doubtful expression. 'Er…no.'

Miranda shook her head slightly and looked up at Olivia. 'I suppose that's what makes something art. What can send one person into raptures may fail to move another even the tiniest bit.'

'Miranda, that's a book.'

'That book,' Miranda decided firmly, 'is a piece of art.'

'It looks rather old.'

'I know.' Miranda sighed happily.

'Are you going to buy it?'

'If I have enough money.'

'I would think you must. You haven't spent your pin money in years. You always put it in that porcelain vase Turner sent you for your birthday five years ago.'

'Six.'

Olivia blinked. 'Six what?'

'It was six years ago.'

'Five years ago, six years ago- what is the difference?' Olivia burst out, looking rather exasperated by Miranda's exactitude. 'The point is, you have quite a bit of money tucked away, and if you truly want that book, you should buy it to celebrate your twentieth birthday. You never buy anything for yourself.'

Miranda turned back to the temptation in the window. The book had been set on a pedestal and opened to a page in the middle. A brightly colored illustration depicted Arthur and Guinevere. 'It's going to be expensive,' she said ruefully.

Olivia gave her a little shove and said, 'You'll never know if you don't go in and ask.'

'You're right. I'll do it!' Miranda flashed her a smile that hovered somewhere between excitement and nervousness and headed into the store. The cozy bookshop was decorated in rich, masculine tones, with overstuffed leather chairs strategically placed for those who might want to sit and leaf through a volume.

'I don't see the proprietor,' Olivia whispered in Miranda's ear.

'Right there.' Miranda gestured with her head toward a thin, balding man about the age of their parents. 'See, he's helping that man find a book. I'll just wait until he is available. I don't wish to be a bother.'

The two ladies waited patiently for a few minutes while the bookseller was busy. Every so often, he shot them a scowling glance, which quite perplexed Miranda, as both she and Olivia were finely dressed and obviously able to afford most of his merchandise. Finally, he finished up his task and bustled toward them.

'I was wondering, sir- ' Miranda began.

'This is a gentlemen's bookshop,' he said in a hostile voice.

'Oh.' Miranda drew back, rather put off by his attitude. But she desperately wanted the Malory book, so she swallowed her pride, smiled sweetly, and continued. 'I apologize. I did not realize. But I was hoping I- '

'I said this is a gentlemen's shop.' His beady little eyes narrowed. 'Kindly depart.'