Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever by Julia Quinn Page A

about reading it,” Miranda said, pressing even closer to the glass. “Is it not the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
    Olivia regarded her friend with a doubtful expression. “Er…no.”
    Miranda shook her head slightly and looked up at Olivia. “I suppose that’s what makes something art. What can send one person into raptures may fail to move another even the tiniest bit.”
    â€œMiranda, that’s a book .”
    â€œThat book,” Miranda decided firmly, “is a piece of art.”
    â€œIt looks rather old.”
    â€œI know.” Miranda sighed happily.
    â€œAre you going to buy it?”
    â€œIf I have enough money.”
    â€œI would think you must. You haven’t spent your pin money in years. You always put it in that porcelain vase Turner sent you for your birthday five years ago.”
    â€œSix.”
    Olivia blinked. “Six what?”
    â€œIt was six years ago.”
    â€œFive years ago, six years ago—what is the difference?” Olivia burst out, looking rather exasperated by Miranda’s exactitude. “The point is, you have quite a bit of money tucked away, and if you truly want that book, you should buy it to celebrate your twentieth birthday. You never buy anything for yourself.”
    Miranda turned back to the temptation in the window. The book had been set on a pedestal and opened to a page in the middle. A brightly colored illustration depicted Arthur and Guinevere. “It’s going to be expensive,” she said ruefully.
    Olivia gave her a little shove and said, “You’ll never know if you don’t go in and ask.”
    â€œYou’re right. I’ll do it!” Miranda flashed her a smile that hovered somewhere between excitement and nervousness and headed into the store. The cozy bookshop was decorated in rich, masculine tones, with overstuffed leather chairs strategically placed for those who might want to sit and leaf through a volume.
    â€œI don’t see the proprietor,” Olivia whispered in Miranda’s ear.
    â€œRight there.” Miranda gestured with her head toward a thin, balding man about the age of their parents. “See, he’s helping that man find a book. I’ll just wait until he is available. I don’t wish to be a bother.”
    The two ladies waited patiently for a few minutes while the bookseller was busy. Every so often, he shot them a scowling glance, which quite perplexed Miranda, as both she and Olivia were finely dressed and obviously able to afford most of his merchandise. Finally, he finished up his task and bustled toward them.
    â€œI was wondering, sir—” Miranda began.
    â€œThis is a gentlemen’s bookshop,” he said in a hostile voice.
    â€œOh.” Miranda drew back, rather put off by his attitude. But she desperately wanted the Malory book, so she swallowed her pride, smiled sweetly, and continued. “I apologize. I did not realize. But I was hoping I—”
    â€œI said this is a gentlemen’s shop.” His beady little eyes narrowed. “Kindly depart.”
    Kindly? She stared at him, her lips parting with astonishment. Kindly? With that sort of tone?
    â€œLet’s go, Miranda,” Olivia said, taking hold of her sleeve. “We should go.”
    Miranda clenched her teeth and did not budge. “I would like to purchase a book.”
    â€œI’m sure you would,” the bookseller said snidely. “And the ladies’ bookshop is only a quarter of a mile away.”
    â€œThe ladies’ bookshop doesn’t have what I want.”
    He smirked. “Then I’m sure you shouldn’t be reading it.”
    â€œI don’t believe it is your place to make that judgment, sir,” Miranda said coldly.
    â€œMiranda,” Olivia whispered, wide-eyed.
    â€œJust one moment,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the repulsive little man. “Sir, I can assure you