Nothing.
It was very irritating to be so naive.
Yet she didn’t want to become jaded either. She simply wanted . . .
“We spoke with Mrs. Keyes, who mentioned three gentlemen of note. Miranda and I wish to inquire your opinion, my lord,” Liliah said, turning to Viscount Kilpatrick.
Miranda’s eyes cut over to him, watching for any change in his demeanor or facial expression.
He cleared his throat after taking a sip of tea. “Who are the gentlemen she mentioned?”
There was no change, no hint that he might be distressed by her seeking a suitor. Nothing that would give her hope that the five kisses meant something . . . anything.
Liliah continued. “The Honorable Matthew Sarose, Lord Marrion, and,” she paused, her lips twisting as she frowned in thought, “Lord Winter’s son, the Baron of something or another.” She flicked her wrist.
“Chester Farthingham, Baron Gant,” the viscount supplied.
“Yes. That is his name,” Liliah replied with animation. “Thank you. Now, do you have any opinion about who might be best suited for my sister?”
Miranda wanted to crawl into a hole. What had she been thinking, allowing her sister to ask such personal and humiliating questions of the viscount? She hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. Yet it was so clear now, she should have seen this outcome; yet she was oblivious, all she could think was that he would not appreciate such an inquiry and, in that, it would display his affection for her.
But there was no affection displayed.
And he seemed to have no qualms about such an inquiry.
It was utterly insulting.
Who kissed a lady, then, the next day, plotted whom she should marry?
Were all the men in her life to be so easily dismissive of her?
It felt that way.
Her father.
The viscount.
One thing was for certain: She made a resolution at that very moment.
Whoever she married would not dismiss her so easily.
He’d . . . well, he’d fight for her.
He’d think she was important, vital, and necessary.
Not something to be pawned off, as her father had thought.
Not something to be used, as the viscount clearly had done.
No.
It would be more, it would be . . .everything.
Because in that moment, she knew what she wanted more than anything.
She wanted to be not only relevant but necessary.
Someone’s air, someone’s song, simply . . . more.
More than she had ever been to anyone.
