for navy ships. Given her family had made their wealth in smuggling, they’d have been quite diligent in watching the waters, though they no longer did so from high above the manor.
And for a short time, the attic was Miranda’s to enjoy, and at such a perfect time of the year with cerulean sky and trees adorned with red, golden and orange leaves. Such a breathtaking sight to behold as she looked toward the Celtic Sea.
Besides the sleeping chamber, this attic also had a delightful study once used by her great-uncle. Oddly, she hadn’t seen Uncle Jonathan in weeks and often wondered where he had disappeared to. In fact, many times she wondered if he’d moved on but when she’d finally come to that conclusion, he returned.
Uncle Jonathan had been the only ghost she’d ever seen, and why she wanted to see another so badly in London and then at Castle Keyvnor.
Miranda shivered at the reminder of the smoking entity that had nearly killed her. She’d learned his name was Barnaby after she’d returned to Hollybrook Park and Uncle Jonathan informed her that the peasant had been burned practicing witchcraft when he hadn’t been a warlock at all.
She shook the memory away. Today was too beautiful to think about Barnaby, burning stakes or witches and with a sigh, she pulled on her wrapper and found her slippers, hopeful that the maid had left her the chocolate she had requested.
Further, she’d not think on what else had occurred that day at Castle Keyvnor, as it was too painful.
Had the kiss meant nothing to Epworth?
If he’d been interested at all, or even concerned when she’d not shown for the ball, he would have called on her. It wasn’t as if Hollybrook Park was so far away from Castle Keyvnor. It was a neighboring estate! Yet, she hadn’t seen him after leaving him at the well.
Did he even wonder why she hadn’t attended the ball? Was he grateful that she hadn’t been there? Was he sorry that he’d kissed her?
These questions had plagued her for three months and Miranda knew that she’d get no answers. At least, not until she returned to London. But even then Epworth might not seek her out as he’d done in the past and it was very disheartening.
“You!” A voice barked as she opened the door.
She blinked. “You’re back.”
“What the blazes are you doing up here…in…in…” he gestured to her person. “Dressed like that. Have you no shame?”
Miranda glanced down at the wrapper covering her nightshift. She was certainly modestly clothed, even if inappropriate for receiving guests. Except, Uncle Jonathan wasn’t a guest.
“Well? Are you going to answer me?” Then he gestured to his desk and bookshelves. “What have you done to my personal belongings?”
He was still cantankerous, but Miranda didn’t mind. He’d been much the same since she’d first discovered him looking through his spy glass. She’d only been five at the time and he’d been just as surprised at her being able to see him. Except, when she was little, he’d been kinder. It was only after she’d grown that he became short with her and didn’t like his privacy invaded.
“I had it cleaned,” she answered. “Would you rather I let your belongings remain covered in dust only to decay from lack of proper care?” Many of the papers that had been left out after his demise needed to be tossed years ago, but the books, journals and rolled maps were only a bit yellowed and Miranda wanted to preserve his belongings for as long as possible.
He scowled. “Why are you traipsing around not propery attired?”
“If you must know, the room beyond is now my sleeping chamber,” she answered with confidence as she walked to the table where the maid had left her a pot of chocolate.
Uncle Jonathan pulled back as if shocked. “They relegated you to the attic! What did you do to warrant such punishment?”
She laughed. “Nothing. The manor will soon be near to overflowing with guests as it had been at Christmas. As I did then, I’ve taken up residence here until they are gone.” Or permanently if she could talk Adam into letting her stay.
“I remember,” he grumbled. “Too many damned people in my home.”
Miranda knew very well that Uncle Jonathan hated to be disturbed, but it wasn’t as if she had planned the week of festivities or invited anyone to visit.
“Where do you go?” It was something she’d often wondered when he disappeared without word or warning.
“None of your business,” he