wish her well, but an irresponsible adventurer was not to be depended on in adversity.
Miranda sighed. She liked Mr. Daviot, and she was far more comfortable in his company than Lord Snell’s, but his lordship’s character was undeniably infinitely more admirable.
* * * *
That afternoon the gentlemen all went out about their own business or pleasure. Lady Wiston proposed to visit two or three of her charity families, and to drive on to Bond Street to the shops and Hookham’s Library. Miranda begged leave to stay at home to finish transcribing Mr. Daviot’s latest efforts.
Miranda saw her ladyship off. She was escorted by her abigail, a tall, grizzled woman silently and rather grimly devoted to her mistress, and by both footmen. Her stalwart coachman, Ted, was up on the box of the high-perch landau.
Undaunted by the climb into her carriage, Lady Wiston was no more cowed by the whistles and catcalls her vehicle invariably evoked from the vulgar in the less salubrious parts of town. However, before they set off, Miranda made a point of sternly forbidding Alfred to respond with his fists to such inevitable discourtesies.
Miranda retreated to the study, mended a pen, and set to work. As she wrote, now and then a smile flitted across her face when she came to a phrase or an anecdote she had discussed with Mr. Daviot.
Because of their debates, for the most part she puzzled out the complex insertions and changes without great difficulty, feeling almost as if she could read his mind. She had nearly finished when she came to a passage with so many arrows and asterisks she found herself at a loss.
Frowning over the tangle, she was beginning to make sense of it when the door opened and Lord Snell came in.
“Miss Carmichael, I—”
Miranda held up her hand. “Pray excuse me just a moment, sir.” Yes, that bit belonged there, which meant this word squeezed in must be canoe, not tattoo. She must write it all out while it was fresh in her mind.
She turned back to Lord Snell. To her dismay he looked offended. “I do beg your pardon, my lord, but I fear I must beg your indulgence for ten minutes or so. I promised Mr. Daviot to complete this transcription today. Afterwards I shall be entirely at your disposal.”
“By all means continue, ma’am,” he said with somewhat forced graciousness. “Your diligence and your fidelity to your word are estimable.”
He went over to the world map on the wall and stood there studying it. Miranda returned to her work. The temptation to hurry was near irresistible, but Lord Snell admired her trustworthiness and Mr. Daviot trusted her to write with her usual neatness.
At least, she supposed he did, though he had seemed to believe she meant to ignore his claims in favour of Lord Snell. With a sigh, she blotted the final line.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my lord. You wished to speak to me?”
“I find myself perplexed, Miss Carmichael. Rather than risk perturbing my aunt Wiston, I turn to you for answers.”
“I will answer what I can, sir.”
“Thank you.” He sat down. “Lady Wiston gave what I must endeavour to regard as an adequate reason for keeping her vicious animal. Perhaps you can explain why she employs as footman a guttersnipe who appears to have been recently dragged in off the street? Surely, especially in the summer, well-trained servants are not difficult to come by?”
“Alfred was recently rescued from the street, sir. All servants must begin their training somewhere, and Lady Wiston chooses to give unfortunates a chance to find a decent place.”
“I see. A pity the household must be inconvenienced by her charitable impulses. The Lascar is another charity case, no doubt, though there was some mention of his being my aunt’s teacher. What does he presume to—?”
The door burst open. Alfred appeared, breathless and wigless, on the threshold.
“Oi’m to warn you, miss,” he panted, “‘er la’ship’s nabbed a bung-nipper and tapped
Miranda sighed. She liked Mr. Daviot, and she was far more comfortable in his company than Lord Snell’s, but his lordship’s character was undeniably infinitely more admirable.
* * * *
That afternoon the gentlemen all went out about their own business or pleasure. Lady Wiston proposed to visit two or three of her charity families, and to drive on to Bond Street to the shops and Hookham’s Library. Miranda begged leave to stay at home to finish transcribing Mr. Daviot’s latest efforts.
Miranda saw her ladyship off. She was escorted by her abigail, a tall, grizzled woman silently and rather grimly devoted to her mistress, and by both footmen. Her stalwart coachman, Ted, was up on the box of the high-perch landau.
Undaunted by the climb into her carriage, Lady Wiston was no more cowed by the whistles and catcalls her vehicle invariably evoked from the vulgar in the less salubrious parts of town. However, before they set off, Miranda made a point of sternly forbidding Alfred to respond with his fists to such inevitable discourtesies.
Miranda retreated to the study, mended a pen, and set to work. As she wrote, now and then a smile flitted across her face when she came to a phrase or an anecdote she had discussed with Mr. Daviot.
Because of their debates, for the most part she puzzled out the complex insertions and changes without great difficulty, feeling almost as if she could read his mind. She had nearly finished when she came to a passage with so many arrows and asterisks she found herself at a loss.
Frowning over the tangle, she was beginning to make sense of it when the door opened and Lord Snell came in.
“Miss Carmichael, I—”
Miranda held up her hand. “Pray excuse me just a moment, sir.” Yes, that bit belonged there, which meant this word squeezed in must be canoe, not tattoo. She must write it all out while it was fresh in her mind.
She turned back to Lord Snell. To her dismay he looked offended. “I do beg your pardon, my lord, but I fear I must beg your indulgence for ten minutes or so. I promised Mr. Daviot to complete this transcription today. Afterwards I shall be entirely at your disposal.”
“By all means continue, ma’am,” he said with somewhat forced graciousness. “Your diligence and your fidelity to your word are estimable.”
He went over to the world map on the wall and stood there studying it. Miranda returned to her work. The temptation to hurry was near irresistible, but Lord Snell admired her trustworthiness and Mr. Daviot trusted her to write with her usual neatness.
At least, she supposed he did, though he had seemed to believe she meant to ignore his claims in favour of Lord Snell. With a sigh, she blotted the final line.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my lord. You wished to speak to me?”
“I find myself perplexed, Miss Carmichael. Rather than risk perturbing my aunt Wiston, I turn to you for answers.”
“I will answer what I can, sir.”
“Thank you.” He sat down. “Lady Wiston gave what I must endeavour to regard as an adequate reason for keeping her vicious animal. Perhaps you can explain why she employs as footman a guttersnipe who appears to have been recently dragged in off the street? Surely, especially in the summer, well-trained servants are not difficult to come by?”
“Alfred was recently rescued from the street, sir. All servants must begin their training somewhere, and Lady Wiston chooses to give unfortunates a chance to find a decent place.”
“I see. A pity the household must be inconvenienced by her charitable impulses. The Lascar is another charity case, no doubt, though there was some mention of his being my aunt’s teacher. What does he presume to—?”
The door burst open. Alfred appeared, breathless and wigless, on the threshold.
“Oi’m to warn you, miss,” he panted, “‘er la’ship’s nabbed a bung-nipper and tapped
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