The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

'I am here to see Miss Cheever,' Turner said in clipped tones.

The butler looked disdainfully at Turner's rumpled clothing. 'She is not in.'

'Is that so?' Turner's tone implied that he did not believe him. He wouldn't be surprised if she had given his description to the entire household and instructed them to bar his entrance.

'You will have to return at a later time. I should be happy, however, to convey a message if- '

'I'll wait.' Turner pushed right past him into a small salon off the main hall.

'Now see here, sir!' the butler protested.

Turner whipped out one of his cards and handed it to him. The butler looked at his name, looked at him, and then looked at his name again. He obviously didn't expect a viscount to look so disheveled. Turner smiled wryly. There were times a title could be damned convenient.

'If you would like to wait, my lord,' the butler said in a more subdued tone, 'I shall have a maid bring in some tea.'

'Please do.'

As the butler slipped out the door, Turner began to wander through the room, slowly examining his surroundings. Miranda's grandparents had obvious good taste. The furnishings were understated and of a classic style, one that would never seem gauche or hopelessly out of date. As he idly examined a landscape painting, he pondered, as he had done a thousand times since leaving London, what he was going to say to Miranda. The butler hadn't called the guard as soon as he knew his name. That was a good sign, he supposed.

Tea arrived a few minutes later, and when Miranda didn't show up soon thereafter, Turner decided that the butler had not been lying about her whereabouts. No matter. He would wait as long as it took. He'd get his way in the end- of that he had no doubt.

Miranda was a sensible girl. She knew that the world was a cold and unfriendly place to illegitimate children. And their mothers. No matter how angry she was with him- and she would be, of that he had no doubt- she would not wish to consign her child to such a difficult life.

It was his child, too. It deserved the protection of his name. As did Miranda. He really didn't like the thought of her remaining much longer on her own, even if her grandparents had agreed to take her in during this awkward time.

Turner sat with his tea for half an hour, plowing through at least six of the scones that had been brought with them. It had been a long trip from London, and he had not stopped often for food. He was marveling at how much better these tasted than anything he'd ever had in England when he heard the front door open.

'MacDownes!'

Miranda's voice. Turner stood up, a half-eaten scone still dangling from his fingers. Footsteps sounded in the hall, presumably belonging to the butler.

'Could you relieve me of some of these bundles? I know I should have just had them sent home, but I was too impatient.'

Turner heard the sound of packages changing hands, followed by the butler's voice. 'Miss Cheever, I must inform you that you have a visitor waiting for you in the salon.'

'A visitor? Me? How odd. It must be one of the Macleans. I have always been friendly with them while in Scotland, and they must have heard I was in town.'

'I do not believe he is of Scottish origin, miss.'

'Really, then who…'

Turner almost smiled as her voice trailed off in shock. He could just see her mouth dropping open.

'He was most insistent, miss,' MacDownes continued. 'I have his card right here.'

There was a long silence until Miranda finally said, 'Please tell him that I am not available.' Her voice quavered on the last word, and then she dashed up the stairs.

Turner strode out into the hall just in time to crash into MacDownes, who was probably relishing the idea of tossing him out.

'She doesn't want to see you, my lord,' the butler intoned, not without the barest hint of a smile.

Turner pushed past him. 'She damned well will.'

'I don't think so, my lord.' MacDownes caught hold of his coat.

'Look, my man,' Turner said, trying to sound icily congenial, if such a thing was possible. 'I am not averse to hitting you.'

'And I am not averse to hitting you.'

Turner surveyed the older man with disdain. 'Get out of my way.'

The butler crossed his arms and stood his ground.

Turner scowled at him and yanked his coat free, striding to the bottom of the stairs. 'Miranda!' he yelled out. 'Get down here right now! Right now! We have things to dis- '

Thwack!

Good God, the butler had punched him in the jaw. Stunned, Turner stroked his tender flesh. 'Are you mad?'

'Not at all, my lord. I take great pride in my work.'

The butler had assumed a fighting position with the ease and grace of a professional. Leave it to Miranda to hire a pugilist as a butler.

'Look,' Turner said in a conciliatory tone. 'I need to speak with her immediately. It's of the utmost importance. The lady's honor is at stake.'

Thwack! Turner reeled from a second blow.

'That, my lord, is for implying that Miss Cheever is anything less than honorable.'

Turner narrowed his eyes menacingly but decided that he wouldn't have a chance against Miranda's mad butler, not when he'd already been on the receiving end of two disorienting blows. 'Tell Miss Cheever,' he said scathingly, 'that I will be back, and she bloody well had better receive me.' He strode furiously out of the house and down the front steps.

Utterly enraged that the chit would completely refuse to see him, he turned back to look at the house. She was standing at an open upstairs window, her fingers nervously covering her mouth. Turner scowled at her and then realized that he was still holding his half-eaten scone.

He lobbed it hard through the window, where it caught her square on the chest.

There was some satisfaction in that.

24 August 1819

Oh, dear.

I never sent the letter, of course. I spent an entire day composing it, and then just when I had it ready to post, it became unnecessary.

I did not know whether to weep or rejoice.

And now Turner is here. He must have beat the truth- or rather, what used to be the truth- out of Olivia. She would never have betrayed me otherwise. Poor Livvy. He can be terrifying when he is furious.

Which, apparently, he still is. He threw a scone at me. A scone! It is difficult to fathom.

Chapter 14

Two hours later, Turner made another appearance. This time, Miranda was waiting for him.

She wrenched the front door open before he could even knock. He didn't so much as stumble, however, just stood there with his perfect posture, his arm halfway up, his hand fisted and ready to connect with the door.

'Oh, for goodness' sake,' she said in an irritated tone. 'Come in.'

Turner raised his brows. 'Were you watching for me?'

'Of course.'

And because she knew she could not put this off any longer, she marched to the sitting room without a backward glance.