"The gentlemen will join us shortly, then we can inform Lindenstein of his inevitable fate of teaching you the waltz," Princess Florentina said.
Mira stood up. "If I may be excused? I left my embroidery in the library."
"Be sure to rejoin us shortly," Princess Florentina said.
Mira curtsied and left, intending to lose herself in the house all afternoon and then claim to be unwell in the evening to avoid dinner. It was a shame that she would miss the dancing lessons, for she loved to dance. But there was nothing she could do about it.
She needed to stay out of everyone's way.
She walked along the corridor, crossed the foyer, and heard swift footsteps descending the stairs above her. The stairs made a clockwise turn before coming to rest directly in front of her.
"My word, Atherton, we need to discuss this hunting tactic of yours in greater detail … "
Mira was heading for a head-on collision with the marquess and his male guests as they headed for the drawing room.
She froze. Then she panicked.
She looked around wildly, saw an inconspicuous panelled door under the stairs and dove for it. Just as the door closed behind her, she heard the men crossing the foyer.
With her heart pounding, Mira turned to find herself in the servants' staircase, which led on one side to the kitchen below and on the other to the stairs above. She decided to climb up, and after carefully opening the door, she stepped out and found herself in the great gallery.
It was a magnificent room, all pistachio green, with light streaming in from tall windows framed by brocade curtains on one side of the room, while on the other wall hung life-size portraits and oil paintings of landscapes.
Mira had never seen anything like it.
She was completely alone in the gallery.
She needed solitude. She needed to think about Kit, about what it meant that he was here. About his inability to send a message all those years. How it all made no sense at all...
She walked along the gallery, marvelling at the splendour that surrounded her. She did not know much about art, but she sensed that the works hanging here were priceless. The one she liked best was a winter scene in the Netherlands, with ice skaters on a lake.
What was it like, she wondered, to live in a place like that? Not as a maid, but as its owner. How long would one be able to appreciate the beauty of the place? Did one, after a while, take it all for granted as one developed a sense of entitlement to such riches? How long would it take to become jaded and indifferent to such worldly splendour?
Mira wandered from portrait to portrait, studying the ladies and gentlemen in Elizabethan and Baroque dresses and wigs. She found that most of them looked rather bored and jaded. There was one elderly gentleman who had a decidedly unpleasant air about him. He had a gaunt face and a cruel line around his mouth. He wore a wig and a baroque coat.
George William De Lacey, 11th Marquess of Atherton.
Surely, this couldn't be the present marquess. Atherton wasn't that old, was he? He must be the predecessor. He looked like he had been an unpleasant sort of fellow.
Mira shivered and was glad she would never have to meet him.
She walked on, stopping in front of a small, inconspicuous landscape painting at the end of the gallery. It was easy to overlook.
It showed a deep blue sea and waves crashing against the shore. In the distance was a picturesque little harbour town.
She would recognise her hometown anywhere.
Tears welled up in her eyes. How accurate, how lovingly painted this picture was! She could almost hear the seagulls, feel the sun kissing her skin, the smell of the sea.
But how strange.
Mira's eyes wandered over the portraits in the gallery again. Most of them were heavy oils.
Then this small, insignificant painting of her Fowey.
Why of all the harbour towns... Fowey?
She stared at the gnarled yew on the cliff. It was her tree. Hers and Kit's. It was at the centre of the picture. This was where they had spent countless afternoons together. This was where he'd proposed. He'd carved their initials into the bark. No one knew the significance of the tree... except for her and Kit.
