She climbed into bed and turned down the lamp on the table next to her.
For a time, she stared at the flames in the fireplace, but when sleep would not come, she got back up and walked over to the terrace doors that overlooked the valley below. She was fortunate to have a room that faced the lake beyond, rather than the quaint village.
She gathered her art supplies and moved the desk before the window. Although it was nighttime, she was blessed with a nearly full moon. With the snow helping to illuminate the countryside, it was the perfect way to begin with a magnificent, Christmas Eve setting. And that was when she knew she would write a holiday themed story. With a blank page of woven paper ready and waiting for her to create the art that her readers seemed to enjoy, she dipped her brush in the black pigment and after considering where she wanted to begin, she started to make a few strokes.
After a fashion, contentment settled over her. This was the only time that she could truly relax and allow the cares of her life to melt away. When she was painting, she could almost imagine herself transported inside the scenes she created. She was always enthusiastic to draw inspiration from other works of art and was eagerly looking forward for the Dulwich Picture Gallery to open to the public in London the following year. Of course, she had traveled to Paris after the war and visited the Louvre before most of the works inside were returned to their countries of origin, leaving only a few hundred left in France. But with famous pieces like the Mona Lisa, and the sculpture of Venus, it was no wonder she had found it fascinating. The connections she’d felt with these artists of the past were undeniable, and she vowed that one day, one of her books would be listed among the classics.
Miranda took care to make an appealing outline of her current painting, before she reluctantly washed her brush and left it to dry for the night, to be picked up again in the morning.
She glanced at the clock on the mantel and winced when it showed it was nearly half past two. Whether she felt as though she could sleep or not, she needed to try. She was due to meet Anthony in the lobby around nine o’clock. Then again, she was used to rising early. Although she lived in London, she chose not to keep town hours. Her mother had enjoyed rising with the sun, and after a time, Miranda had started to as well.
This time when she climbed into bed, she had no trouble falling asleep.
In her dream,Miranda frowned, because she wasn’t ready to rise, but that persistent noise in the background finally roused her. Her eyes opened slowly, but as soon as she realized that the sun was streaming through her window, she sat up quickly. She looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly ten.
Her mouth promptly fell open. She rarely overslept, and yet, she had done so today of all days.
As another brisk summons came from her door, she threw off the covers and grabbed her robe lying over a nearby chair. “I’m coming!” She quickly tied it about her waist, and with her hair flowing about her shoulders, she quickly opened the door.
She expected to see Elaine standing there, but when she spied Anthony, she froze.
His lips twitched as his gaze swept over her. “I’m either too early, or you’re late.”
She put a hand to her forehead, temporarily forgetting that she was in a state of undress. “Forgive me. I had trouble going to sleep last night, and so I started to paint and—” She offered a sheepish grin. “I fear time got away from me.”
“It has a way of doing that,” he agreed.
She felt foolish standing there and having this conversation it the hallway, where anyone might come upon them. She opened the door wider. “Please, do come in.”
He hesitated for a moment, and then walked inside. She shut the door behind him, and then realized she didn’t know what to do with him. She wasn’t generally in the habit of entertaining gentlemen in her bedchamber. This was a hotel with a modest sitting area and a privacy chamber blocked off for bathing, but otherwise, it was very much the same, as the unmade bed was clearly in plain sight.
Her cheeks warmed when she thought of their precarious situation, but he didn’t seem to mind as he walked over and grabbed the poker and stirred some of the smoldering ashes of the waning fire, bringing them back to life and adding some much needed warmth into the air.
When that was done, he turned to where she continued to stand, unsure of what to do next. He smiled, as if understanding her hesitation. “Why don’t you make yourself more presentable, while I order us some tea and perhaps a bit to eat? I’ll meet you downstairs.”
She quickly latched on to the invitation to gather herself. “Yes. That would be ideal. Thank you.”
He inclined his head and walked out the door. When he had closed the door behind him, she reached out and attempted to steady herself on the back of one of the chairs. She had to stop doing this. She couldn’t fall apart every time she encountered him.
Steeling herself, Miranda gathered her things and quickly made herself ready. Again, all she had was muted tones, but she donned a simple, dove gray dress and told herself she wasn’t there to impress Anthony. He was acting as a guide so that she could work on the paintings for her book.
After gathering her supplies in her valise, she patted her hair then walked out the door and headed downstairs.
She found Anthony sitting at a table for two. It also didn’t escape her notice that people around them were glancing at him and whispering. That made her bristle immediately, because she knew what he’d gone through to get those scars. He was a war hero, had fought valiantly and nearly given his life so that these people could sit here and eat their breakfast without concern.
She set her valise down with a decided thump. Anthony glanced at her with a twitch of his lips. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”
“No,” she stated firmly. “It just annoys me that some people can be so rude.”
“Ah.”
Her brows furrowed. “How can you be so placid about it? Doesn’t it bother you?”
He snorted. “I have been through more than anyone should have the right to bear. I’ve watched gallant men fall all around me, lost my vision in my right eye, and as well I shall carry a scar with me for the rest of my days from an enemy’s sword. What need do I have to worry about other people’s opinions?”
Miranda swallowed. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Gravehill. I just wish people wouldn’t be so judgmental when they see something they know nothing about.”
“I have learned to live with it,” he returned evenly. “It is in our human nature to peer at the unusual and extraordinary. What is the purpose of a freak show but to entertain with the oddities that certain people possess? It is intriguing to some people to try to understand the abnormalities of nature.”
