Page 64 of Refining the Debutante
A soft knock at the door interrupted her melancholy thoughts.
“Come in,” Miranda said, not bothering to rise.
A maid entered, holding a missive for her.
Who would write to her? Miranda pulled herself up long enough to take it from her hands.
“Are you well, miss?” the servant asked.
Miranda sighed. “Well enough. Please tell Lady Callister I overslept, but I will be with her shortly.” Apparently, Miranda would get up after all. Yes, she would get up and plod through another day. But not yet.
She unfolded the letter, wondering again who would care enough to write to her. She dared hope it was from her father. She ached for his comforting presence.
No. The handwriting was feminine. Miranda’s eyes followed the words down to the bottom. Miss Georgina Withers desired a private visit with Miranda.
Miranda groaned. “Can’t she let me be miserable without boasting about her engagement and causing me further sorrow?”
Serve her.
What a silly thought. Lady Callister’s imagined advice was as practical as it was sensible. But why not? Sure, Miranda wanted to despise the woman, but Miss Withers was too sweet to hate. It would not kill Miranda to be more amiable. Perhaps another effort would purge the immense jealousy she felt. After all, desperation to shed this cloak of heartache called for some sort of action. Then she could finally move forward knowing that Mr. Roderick’s future marriage to Miss Withers was meant to be.
With a deep breath, Miranda went to her writing desk and penned a reply. An idea formed in her mind. Nothing big, since that would require more heart than she possessed, but one she would act on.
The next day, Miss Withers arrived at the precise moment she’d agreed to, and the two of them sat down across from each other in the sitting room.
“Tea?” Miranda asked after they finished their initial pleasantries.
“Yes, with sugar and cream, please.”
Miranda fixed the drink as Miss Withers helped herself to dessert from the tray.
“I gave your ball gown to the maid when I arrived. I thank you for lending it to me.”
“You’re welcome,” Miranda said, setting the teacup in front of her guest. She doubted the dress was the reason for Miss Withers’s visit.
“This lemon shortcake is delicious,” Miss Withers said, devouring a slice with a few quick bites. “I hope Lady Callister does not mind if we do not save her any.”
Miranda smiled tentatively. “She doesn’t know it is being served. I requested it after asking around and learning your preference for lemon.”
Miss Withers stared at Miranda with puzzled amazement. “And here I thought my visit might be unwelcome. My many thanks.”
Miranda ducked her head to hide her smile but felt the warm pleasure inside that she’d hoped would come. Sarah would be proud—and then she would pinch Miranda’s arm and say,“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Will Lady Callister be upset you are missing your Thursday rounds? I hear she is very dedicated to her tenants.”
“Her dedication is quite admirable,” Miranda said. “While she was curious about why you wanted to meet with me, she did not begrudge me the time. Perhaps she thinks you are a good influence on me.”
“Me?” Miss Withers laughed. “Everyone in the neighborhood seems to think me quite an angel.”
“Aren’t you?” Miranda asked, her tongue a mite loose for good taste.
“That’s the point, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter who I really am, as long as they think I am perfect.”
“I see.” Miranda eyed her warily.
Miss Withers looked at her teacup. “I refuse to let you be so kind when you and I both know that I have hated you from the moment you arrived.”
Miranda’s stomach tightened, and she shifted in her seat. This was not the admission she’d expected. The entire neighborhood seemed to be shunning her since Reverend Giles’s resounding rejection, so Miranda should hardly be surprised.
