Page 41 of Refining the Debutante
Should she mention the possible hazard of catching something on fire? Miranda decided it was better not to say anything more.
“I employ plenty of servants. I have need of a companion.”
Before, Miranda had always relied on her beauty and money to secure her happiness. Mrs. Guttridge and now Lady Callister had illustrated her uselessness with ease. Miranda thought she might be sick on the woman’s oriental rug, but then she’d probably be asked to clean up the mess. And that she could do. She had Gray House to thank for that.
“Mr. Roderick, I am not sure Miss Bartley and I will be a good match.”
“I think you have misjudged Miss Bartley.” Ethan gave Lady Callister a calming smile. Miranda did not think his charms would work here, but he continued. “Her humility is a credit to her. She is an amiable young woman, and I would not have brought her here if I did not believe her capable of assisting you. She has a unique ability to make others smile. Any loneliness that might afflict you will be lost forever with her around.”
Miranda’s lips parted in surprise. Her gaze connected with Ethan’s, and Miranda felt her cheeks warm. She could melt into a happy puddle with this sort of attention. He seemed sincere, but could she trust it? Was he so desperate to be rid of her that he would cast aside his honesty?
“I trust Mr. Roderick’s opinion. Miss Bartley, you can stay.” Then Lady Callister added, “On a trial basis.”
Ethan nodded and stood. He bowed and said, “We appreciate your generosity. I will bring Miss Bartley tomorrow morning with her things.”
Miranda stood and crossed to Lady Callister. She wanted to retract all the things Ethan had said, but she wanted to believe them even more. “Thank you for giving me this position. I hope you will be frank if there is anything I do that does not suit you.”
“I am nothing but frank.” Lady Callister’s shrewd stare unnerved Miranda. “There is something about you I find refreshing. Come tomorrow, and we’ll see if we can’t mesh our lives together.”
Miranda curtsied and left with Ethan. They found Hannah waiting outside for them. She had wanted to get out of the house, but Ethan had refused to let her join their meeting, saying it wasn’t her place to participate in Miranda’s interview.
“Well?” Hannah asked.
“I am to return tomorrow,” Miranda said.
Hannah resembled a sad puppy with the way her bottom lip protruded. “I want to be happy for you.”
“That is the worst happy face I have ever seen,” Ethan said, handing Hannah into the carriage. Then he turned to help Miranda up.
It was like going back through time. Suddenly they were back at Gunter’s eating their ices. His touch on her gloved hand still turned her legs immobile. She held on a moment longer than necessary.
“Miss Bartley?” Ethan’s voice revealed the awkwardness of the moment and snapped Miranda back to the present.
“She saw a snail,” Hannah said for her. “You know how she adores them.”
Ethan eyed them warily but seemed appeased enough by Hannah’s explanation.
Miranda let herself be helped to her seat, and Hannah gave her a knowing look. She seemed to understand more about what had just happened than Miranda did.
Chapter 18
Lady Callister’s home smelled likean old person—slightly floral and musty. Oh, the servants did clean—Miranda noticed that right off. However, the smell remained and hovered mostly about Lady Callister herself. It wasn’t just the adjustment to her new surroundings that bothered Miranda; she doubted her ability to please her new employer too. She had never learned to appreciate her elders. They repeated themselves, talked as if they knew everything, and were entirely too bold in their opinions. It did not bode well to drop Miranda, outspoken as she was, into the mix with Lady Callister.
“You must begin every morning with an hour on the pianoforte,” Lady Callister said.
“But—” Miranda sputtered.
“No buts. You must prepare yourself to be presented into our society here.”
“I have already experienced a London Season, and I was a smashing success, if I do say so myself, and without any musical talents to recommend me. Not that any of that matters now.”
“Yes, well, success is a matter of opinion. The London set has apparently lowered its standards. Here you must practice.”
Miranda sighed, weighing her options. “If it pleases you, then I will.” Her life was no longer her own, and she must remember that. She was in service now. If she was paid to practice the pianoforte, then she would be thankful for it. Anything was better than Gray House.
“Good. After you practice, you will take exactly three turns about the garden with me. Each morning, we will either entertain visitors or make visits, except on Thursdays. Thursdays we take around charity baskets. In the evenings, you will read to me. My eyes are not what they used to be, and since you mentioned you are not well-read, we will attempt to eradicate such a weakness from your character.”
Miranda’s eyes bulged. “Reading is important to my character?”
