interest?”
“Who can guess?” Peter grunted sourly.
“I shall send Baxter to dress her hair,” Lady Wiston decided.
“Don’t do that, ma’am! Er...Lord Snell might suppose her to be making a dead set at him.”
“You are right, that would never do. She is quite pretty enough to catch him without artifice, is she not?”
“No doubt,” he reluctantly agreed.
Maybe Godfrey Snell had been suddenly struck by Miss Carmichael’s unquestionable charms. But Peter, proceeding to his own chamber to change for dinner, had an uneasy feeling that his lordship was involved in a darker, deeper, more devious plot than ever his amiable aunt had contemplated.
Chapter 9
“And close with ‘your affectionate aunt,’ dear,” Lady Wiston dictated. “It is such a shame Frederick and Aurelia are so rarely able to come up to Town.”
Seated at the small writing table in the green sitting room, Miranda blotted the letter and presented it to her ladyship to be signed. “Do you wish to write to Lady Garston now, ma’am?” she asked. “If so, I must first make a new pen.”
“I’ll make it for you,” offered Mr. Daviot, turning from the window where he stood in conversation with Mr. Bassett.
“Not before dinner, Miranda dear. I fear your hand will grow cramped from so much writing. Besides, I have just time enough for my exercises before I change, and you know how I have to concentrate. I cannot dictate at the same time.”
Lady Wiston lowered herself to the carpet as Miranda returned to the desk to fold, seal and direct the letter. Mr. Daviot was already sharpening a new quill for her future use.
“Do you get cramps in your hand?” he asked in a low voice. “I’ve no wish to cause any such discomfort.”
“No, I cannot claim to suffer. Mr. Sagaranathu suggested some exercises for the hand which I daresay have helped.”
“You must show me. And you must tell me if I work you too hard!”
Miranda smiled at him. “I shall, but you know I enjoy it. Now watch. It is quite simple.”
Intrigued, Mr. Bassett came to join them, and soon they were all three stretching and clenching their hands, circling their wrists, pretending to play upon an imaginary piano. They were inured by now to Lady Wiston’s yoga, only speaking softly so as not to distract her.
“Good Lord, ma’am!” Lord Snell’s voice rang out in the quiet room. “What are you about?”
Miranda and Mr. Daviot exchanged a brief glance of dismay. His lordship would never understand, Miranda thought, turning towards him, her finger to her lips. Lady Wiston, upside down in a perfect Candle, smiled an upside-down smile but said nothing.
“Her ladyship is concentrating on her breathing,” Miranda explained, crossing swiftly to Lord Snell. “Pray do not interrupt, sir, or she may lose her balance and hurt herself.”
She ventured to put a hand on his arm and urge him over towards the others. Looking grave, he complied.
“My aunt is an enterprising lady, is she not, Snell?” said Mr. Daviot. “Never fear, she knows what she is about.”
“Is she not amazing?” Mr. Bassett put in eagerly. “Elderly ladies in general don’t have much opportunity to benefit from vigorous exercise, but Lady Wiston makes her own.”
“Her ladyship already feels the benefit,” Miranda assured Lord Snell, “though she has been practising yoga only a fortnight or three weeks.”
He continued to look grave. “I am sure she has convinced you, Miss Carmichael, of the benefit, or else you would have made every effort to dissuade her from such extraordinary and undignified behaviour. What can have put the notion into her head?”
“This is what Mr. Sagaranathu teaches her. You recall asking me the other day? I had no chance at the time to explain.”
“Ah. I was certain the fellow was taking advantage of her in some fashion. No doubt he pockets exorbitant fees for teaching this nonsense. The charlatan has bamboozled her.”
Miranda was again impressed
“Who can guess?” Peter grunted sourly.
“I shall send Baxter to dress her hair,” Lady Wiston decided.
“Don’t do that, ma’am! Er...Lord Snell might suppose her to be making a dead set at him.”
“You are right, that would never do. She is quite pretty enough to catch him without artifice, is she not?”
“No doubt,” he reluctantly agreed.
Maybe Godfrey Snell had been suddenly struck by Miss Carmichael’s unquestionable charms. But Peter, proceeding to his own chamber to change for dinner, had an uneasy feeling that his lordship was involved in a darker, deeper, more devious plot than ever his amiable aunt had contemplated.
Chapter 9
“And close with ‘your affectionate aunt,’ dear,” Lady Wiston dictated. “It is such a shame Frederick and Aurelia are so rarely able to come up to Town.”
Seated at the small writing table in the green sitting room, Miranda blotted the letter and presented it to her ladyship to be signed. “Do you wish to write to Lady Garston now, ma’am?” she asked. “If so, I must first make a new pen.”
“I’ll make it for you,” offered Mr. Daviot, turning from the window where he stood in conversation with Mr. Bassett.
“Not before dinner, Miranda dear. I fear your hand will grow cramped from so much writing. Besides, I have just time enough for my exercises before I change, and you know how I have to concentrate. I cannot dictate at the same time.”
Lady Wiston lowered herself to the carpet as Miranda returned to the desk to fold, seal and direct the letter. Mr. Daviot was already sharpening a new quill for her future use.
“Do you get cramps in your hand?” he asked in a low voice. “I’ve no wish to cause any such discomfort.”
“No, I cannot claim to suffer. Mr. Sagaranathu suggested some exercises for the hand which I daresay have helped.”
“You must show me. And you must tell me if I work you too hard!”
Miranda smiled at him. “I shall, but you know I enjoy it. Now watch. It is quite simple.”
Intrigued, Mr. Bassett came to join them, and soon they were all three stretching and clenching their hands, circling their wrists, pretending to play upon an imaginary piano. They were inured by now to Lady Wiston’s yoga, only speaking softly so as not to distract her.
“Good Lord, ma’am!” Lord Snell’s voice rang out in the quiet room. “What are you about?”
Miranda and Mr. Daviot exchanged a brief glance of dismay. His lordship would never understand, Miranda thought, turning towards him, her finger to her lips. Lady Wiston, upside down in a perfect Candle, smiled an upside-down smile but said nothing.
“Her ladyship is concentrating on her breathing,” Miranda explained, crossing swiftly to Lord Snell. “Pray do not interrupt, sir, or she may lose her balance and hurt herself.”
She ventured to put a hand on his arm and urge him over towards the others. Looking grave, he complied.
“My aunt is an enterprising lady, is she not, Snell?” said Mr. Daviot. “Never fear, she knows what she is about.”
“Is she not amazing?” Mr. Bassett put in eagerly. “Elderly ladies in general don’t have much opportunity to benefit from vigorous exercise, but Lady Wiston makes her own.”
“Her ladyship already feels the benefit,” Miranda assured Lord Snell, “though she has been practising yoga only a fortnight or three weeks.”
He continued to look grave. “I am sure she has convinced you, Miss Carmichael, of the benefit, or else you would have made every effort to dissuade her from such extraordinary and undignified behaviour. What can have put the notion into her head?”
“This is what Mr. Sagaranathu teaches her. You recall asking me the other day? I had no chance at the time to explain.”
“Ah. I was certain the fellow was taking advantage of her in some fashion. No doubt he pockets exorbitant fees for teaching this nonsense. The charlatan has bamboozled her.”
Miranda was again impressed
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