Lord of Ice by Gaelen Foley Page B

thunderous Brocklehurst watching her every move, Miranda walked upstairs and into the dormitory, guarding her expression as she exchanged a glance with Amy. The child’s blue eyes were wide with worry. The other girls looked on anxiously. Miranda kept her mouth shut as she folded her few belongings and placed them in her large calfskin satchel. She did not dare produce her theater costume from beneath her straw pallet. She would have to get it later when she returned for Amy.
    “If you please, Miss Brocklehurst,” Amy asked, unable to hold her tongue, “why must Miranda pack her things?”
    “Because, Perkins, she is leaving Yardley today,” the woman replied in smug satisfaction.
    “Because of the Wedgwood doggy?” Amy cried, aghast.
    “No, Perkins. FitzHubert’s guardian has come to collect her.”
    Amy looked at Miranda in panic. “Your Uncle Jason’s come at last?”
    “No. He’s dead. It’s somebody else,” Miranda said tautly, then slid Amy a firm, bolstering look. “Come, Amy. We must be brave and meet our futures without trembling.”
    “Dead? Oh, Miranda—but you can’t leave me!”
    “That is quite enough, Perkins.”
    “Sorry, Miss Brocklehurst.” Amy stifled her anxious questions, but hovered by Miranda’s elbow as she put on her ragged mantle and bonnet and slung the satchel over her shoulder.
    “Come along, ladies,” the headmistress said. “You may say good-bye to FitzHubert downstairs.”
    With Brocklehurst in the lead, the girls paraded sadly down the stairs, Jane and Sally following behind Miranda and Amy.
    In the stairwell, Miranda put her arm around Amy and bent her head to the child’s ear. “I am coming back for you tonight,” she whispered quickly. “Don’t go to sleep—and whatever you do, don’t cross paths with Mr. Reed. You take my meaning?”
    Amy nodded gravely.
    “I’ll throw a pebble at the window when I come; then you must use my knotted rope to climb down.”
    “Where will we go?” Amy asked, wide-eyed.
    “We’ll catch up to Mr. Chipping’s players in Leicester and join the circuit.”
    Amy gasped. “Do you mean it? Am I to be an actress, too?”
    “Shh!” Miranda glanced over her shoulder to make sure the others hadn’t heard. “I’m sure Mr. Chipping can find you a small part every now and then. Are you game?”
    “Am I?” she exclaimed. “Yes! Oh, Miranda, I can’t wait to get out of here! You are the best, dearest—”
    “Hush! I know you’re excited, but you mustn’t let it show. If Reed or the head witch find out, we’re doomed. When I come, don’t forget my costume and slippers. I left them under my cot so Brocklehurst wouldn’t see.”
    Amy nodded somberly, then noticed Lord Winterley standing below and let out a gasp. “Is that your new guardian? Oh, I think I shall swoon! He’s divine!”
    Miranda rolled her eyes and went ahead, pulling on her gloves. Damien’s shoulders looked even wider now that he had put on his caped greatcoat. As she came to the bottom of the steps and joined him in the entrance hall, his steely gaze assessed her, impersonal as a commander’s inspecting his troops. He took her satchel from her.
    “I’ve asked Mr. Reed to have the rest of your things sent to Knight House on Green Park, where you will be staying.”
    “This is all I have,” she retorted, blushing at her poverty, but she lifted her chin as her bravado returned in full force.
    “I see.” He turned away, appearing a trifle nonplussed. “This way, then. Unfortunately, we’ve missed the London coach from Birmingham. The whole trip is about a hundred miles, but we might as well take a small bite out of it today.”
    She followed him outside, but upon stepping out into the bleak, snowy courtyard, she stopped. There was no carriage to be seen, only a large white steed that pawed the ground and snorted steam and appeared every bit as haughty and intimidating as Lord Winterley himself.
    “We’ll have to share my horse until we reach