Goodness, he was cantankerous and behaved more like her grandfather had, before his unexpected death nearly a year ago. Then again, Uncle Jonathan would be two and seventy, if he hadn’t died at the age of nine and twenty in 1769. Though, she supposed he was seventy-two, though he looked very young for his age.
“Why is the manor being invaded again?” he countered.
“As I’ve told you previously, my sister, Diana, is marrying Lord James Bryant, Earl of Somerton, and there is to be a week of wedding festivities.”
“Bloody hell,” Uncle Jonathan grumbled and turned to look out the window. “Can’t they do that at a church, or have the celebration at Somerton’s estate? I assume he owns one given his title.”
She shrugged as she had no answer, nor had she been consulted. “Why is it that you disappear for weeks and months on end?”
“Because I don’t like to be bothered.”
“I’ve not seen you in weeks so you must go somewhere.”
“Perhaps I can hear you coming,” he countered. “I leave so I won’t be badgered about my comings and goings.”
Miranda smirked.
It was likely he was here when she wasn’t. And perhaps he did avoid her, not that she cared. Besides, there was a journal she wished to read and if Uncle Jonathan knew that she’d found it hidden in the false bottom of a cabinet, he’d not be happy.
“I insist that you return to your former chamber at once.” He thrust a pointed finger toward the floor.
“I will not,” Miranda held her ground. Just because Uncle Jonathan was a ghost didn’t mean he scared her.
“You will do as I tell you,” he yelled.
“I will do no such thing. I have every right to sleep in that chamber.” She pointed to the adjoining room.
“Not when it’s attached to my quarters.”
“These aren’t captain’s quarters. We are in a manor. Not on a ship.”
“I’ll call my set of rooms whatever I damned well please,” he bellowed.
Miranda blew out a heavy sigh. It wasn’t worth arguing. “I promise that I shan’t bother you.”
“You already do,” he thundered.
“Oh, why don’t you move on. I’m quite certain you would be much happier.” Though, she’d miss him no matter how irritable he happened to be.
“I can’t,” he grumbled.
“Why not? What is holding you here?”
He glared at her for a moment, inhaled deeply then turned his back on Miranda. It was rather odd to watch him inhale, his shoulders raise, and chest expand, given there was no need for oxygen since Uncle Jonathan was, well, dead. Yet, she supposed spirits took habits and mannerisms into the afterlife. It was the only explanation.
Miranda relaxed and sipped her chocolate. She was not going to vacate the attic no matter how much he wished it.
A moment later he glanced over his shoulder and studied her.
Miranda quirked a brow. He’d not intimidate her no matter how much he tried.
“How old are you anyway?”
Miranda gasped. “That is a rather impertinent question.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not known for politeness or niceties. Now answer the question.”
She huffed. “I’m two and twenty.”
“Twenty-two!” he roared as he turned. “Why the blazes haven’t you married? You should have at least one brat clinging to your skirts by now.”
“It’s a wonder you never married.” Miranda snorted. “What woman could dare resist such charm?”
“I’ll have you know…” He wagged a finger at her but didn’t finish what he was going to say.
“You’ll have me know what?” Miranda taunted with a grin. Further, she’d like to know if the woman in his past had been named Hester. Not that Miranda could ask, because then Uncle Jonathan would know that she’d found his journal. She’d just started reading about their first encounter and was anxious to read more.
“Nothing!” Uncle Jonathan crossed his arms across his chest and turned his back on his great-niece to look out over the sea.
While he’d not been married, had he been betrothed? In love? At least it was more than she’d experienced. Though, she had fallen in love with Lord Epworth. Unfortunately, he did not share the same emotion since she’d not seen or heard from him since that glorious kiss—three months ago.
“If you must know, I’ve not met anyone who would suit,” Miranda finally answered. Though, she had hoped that Epworth was such a gentleman.
Uncle Jonathan turned from the window. “Of all the bachelors in London you could not find one that you liked?” he questioned in disbelief.
Miranda notched her chin with determination. “I have not.”