"Mira is putting on airs," the other children said. "She thinks she's better than us because she doesn't talk like us."
And they wouldn't let her play.
When Miss Pearson found her sprawled on the grass, sobbing, she'd sat down beside her with a sigh. "I know it's hard," she'd said. "But one day, child, you will thank me for this."
Mira stared blindly at her teacup.
Miss Pearson had been right.
She thanked the heavens now for all that Miss Pearson had taught her, however useless she'd thought it all to be at the time. She must have had some kind of uncanny premonition that Mira would one day find herself in such a situation. If it hadn't been for Miss Pearson, she wouldn't have known how to behave at all now.
Mira's stomach rumbled, but she dared not eat the tiny triangle of a cucumber sandwich that lay before her on a plate.
Her courage was failing her miserably.
The problem was not that she did not trust herself to do so in a ladylike manner.
The problem was that everyone in the room was looking at her.
She straightened her skirt and brushed an invisible crumb from her lap.
She took the napkin from her lap, inadvertently used it to rub the top of the mahogany table as she was wont to do when polishing the tabletop, then caught herself and dropped it as if it were a piece of glowing ember.
For heaven's sake, she was a lady, not a maid!
It was better to do nothing at all.
So for the next few minutes, she stared intently at the Greek vase on the small side table beside her.
She dared to raise her eyes and came to the momentous conclusion that she was definitely not imagining things.
They were all watching her.
The Duke of Aldingbourne, a terrifyingly austere-looking creature, sat morosely in a corner, arms and legs crossed, looking at her broodingly.
A blonde-haired gentleman with a German aristocratic name she'd already forgotten, looking like a fallen Apollo with a decadent kind of beauty, sprawled in an armchair nearby. He studied her, the tip of his finger tracing his full upper lip thoughtfully, as if she were some sort of puzzle. She tore her eyes away from him with a flush.
Then there was Princess Florentina, sitting across from her, observing her with unbridled amusement. Did she just wink at her?
Maybe I have a crumb stuck on my lips, Mira thought, and licked her lips, only to remember that that couldn't be the case, as she hadn't eaten anything.
Miss Cullpepper looked at her helplessly, with her usual timid demeanour. Surely, she too was out of her depth in this elevated society.
Mira hoped that Miss Cullpepper would faint so that she would have an excuse to leave the room. But when it came down to it, her condition remained vexatiously sturdy.
The most perplexing stare was that of Lady Evangeline, the Duke of Aldingbourne's sister. She sat next to Mira, rather close, uncomfortably close, and she kept edging even closer.
Mira wanted to move away, but if she moved an inch to the right, she'd fall off the chaise longue.
Lady Evangeline leaned into her and pushed her face up to hers, with eyes that seemed too big in her narrow elfin face and a mouth that was too wide.
Mira leaned back as far as she could, gripping the edge of the chaise longue to keep from falling off.
Lady Evangeline grinned, revealing a set of charmingly crooked teeth.
Zounds! They knew she was a fraud.
The aristocracy couldn't be deceived. They knew she was a mere housemaid. They could sense it. It was in their blood. Any time, any one of them would call her a hoax and pounce on her, and then she'd be dragged off to Newgate.
