And Then Comes Marriage by Celeste Bradley Page A

of a governess, nurse, or mother. Goodness, the poor little thing was all on her own! “Do you need help, little one?”
    “I’m not little. I’m twelve and three quarters.” The girl strode into Miranda’s house without invitation. Once in the entrance hall, she stood with her arms crossed, sharp green eyes taking in every detail of the house.
    Miranda frowned at her little intruder. “Is there something I can do for you?” Although she would wager that this self-assured little person did not require anyone’s help.
    The girl turned to her. “I’m Atalanta Worthington.”
    “Oh!” Miranda smiled. “I should have known it by your lovely green eyes. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance!” The little girl shot her a sour glance. Miranda tried again. “I’ve heard a great deal about you!”
    Mr. Poll Worthington had perhaps mentioned that he occasionally feared for the life of anyone who made an enemy of Attie Worthington—but Miranda couldn’t see how that was possible. She was just a wee little thing! Not very tall, and as thin as a straw. She looked as though she might break in a strong wind!
    Miranda held out a hand, gesturing welcome. “Please, come and sit with me. I’ll ring for some tea and cakes, shall I?”
    Little Atalanta settled on the sofa with her gawky ankles askew beneath her slightly too long dress and her hair quite frankly a mess under that many-times-crushed bonnet. Miranda had to wonder who had the care of the child. To not only let her wander the streets of London, but to send her out in such a state as well!
    Miranda’s untapped maternal instinct bubbled up and she found her fingers absolutely twitching to take a hairbrush to the girl’s untidy mop of amber-red curls.
    “Have you any interesting news to tell of your family, Miss Atalanta? I’ve heard so many tales now, I feel as if I know you all.”
    Attie glared at her with such ferocity, Miranda fought the urge to scan the room for weaponry that might be used against her. She dealt with the children from the home often enough to know a sad, bereft child when she saw one, no matter how furious or frightening they might think they appeared to others.
    Miranda wanted Attie to like her—she didn’t dare ask herself why—but she sat opposite the child without the slightest notion how to get through to her.
    *   *   *
     
    Attie sat across from her enemy. She was quite horrible looking … in a pretty sort of way. The ladylike way she sat reminded Attie of Ellie when she was on her best behavior, which made Attie want to sit straighter and move more gracefully. Which urge, of course, made her want to squat like a frog and screech like a chimpanzee.
    Callie said she was incorrigible. Orion said she was developing a large bump of antiauthoritarianism.
    Orion was terribly smart, but he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know what lived inside Attie’s mind. He couldn’t know that she was frightened that her family might be ever so slightly broken and that Attie had no idea how to fix it.
    He didn’t know that inside she wasn’t fierce or strong or dangerous, like they all thought. He didn’t know she was really terrified. No one could.
    “I recall being your age. I think I spent a great deal of time being quite frightened,” Miranda Talbot said softly. “I know how lonely life can be, even in a house full of people.”
    Oh, no, you don’t! Attie scrunched up her face and prepared to put a hex of hate upon Miranda’s shining dark head.
    It would be worth it, Attie thought, as she wondered what terrible thing was about to happen. Except when the roof falls down, I’ll probably be under it.
    Then Miranda’s prune-faced butler came in with a tea tray filled with iced cakes and cream and early summer raspberries in a bowl—
    Well, perhaps I’ll hex her later, after tea.
    *   *   *
     
    Atalanta Worthington wasn’t normally one to dawdle when it came time for action, which was why she astonished herself