The ladies planned to take afternoon tea at the Assembly Rooms a few days later. The rooms on the high street were not the largest or most sophisticated (though Penny insisted otherwise), but Miranda preferred them to swankier establishments. They had wiled away many an hour there prior to Stevie's engagement, so Miranda welcomed the return of this tradition.
Before they left, Penny had dispensed her usual brand of advice. "Miranda, Viscount Richard Twistington of Sudbury is currently in town. A barouche and four thousand pounds a year! Make sure you get his attention!"
"Yes mother!" Miranda called out as she waltzed out the door, with no intention of doing any such thing.
The rooms were lively and humming with activity today. It was not unusual to see unfamiliar faces as travellers passed through town, and they overheard one gentleman deep in conversation with Clive, the barkeep. "This cake is delicious Mr Evans, but I venture a smaller portion would better suit the afternoon appetite. Wouldn't miniature cakes be charming?"
Miranda made a mental note of disagreement with this, as she objected to any downsizing of food, particularly cake.
Their usual seats were occupied by the aforementioned Viscount, a priggish man in livery surrounded by an equally ghastly entourage. As they walked past, she heard him snicker and make a distasteful comment on her height.
She suppressed a scowl and held her head high. "It's such a pity that the manners of some come up so very short," she said to Stevie.
"We cannot expect much from feeble minds," she replied with a smirk.
They were loud enough to have the desired effect, and he was shamed into silence thereafter.
"And to think mother would be thrilled to have him as a son-in-law!" Miranda exclaimed later. "She would marry me off to any living creature with a title if she could."
"Wealth is no indicator of true class," Stevie said sagely. "But it can lead one to overlook any flaws."
"If only she could be as wise as you."
"She's not always wrong though. It is advantageous to know how to attract a gentleman's attention."
"I can do that," she protested. "I certainly got the attention of Mr Twistyface."
Stevie rolled her eyes. "We'll disregard him. But being versed in the language of love is a useful skill for a lady." She produced two fans from her purse and handed one to Miranda. "A well-manoeuvred fan is terribly alluring. Norman could not resist my charms."
Miranda grimaced as she inspected the ornate wooden fan. "Has my mother put you up to this?" she asked. "I cannot understand why we must we communicate with these silly instruments anyway. I doubt any suitors interpreted your messages; it's all flirting to them." She fanned herself in a coquettish manner and batted her eyelashes. "What does this mean?"
Stevie gasped. "You just told Clive you're in love with him!"
Clive glanced in their direction and gave them a saucy wink. Miranda dropped the fan in horror.
"You're not even opening it correctly," Stevie said. "It's all in the wrist. Here, let me show you." With a graceful flick of her wrist, her fan unfolded elegantly into a half moon. She let it touch her cheek with a shy flutter.
Miranda tried to imitate her action without success. "This one is too stiff, if you'll excuse me." Exasperated, she flicked her wrist harder, causing the fan to slip out of her grasp and go flying through the air. By the time she realised what had happened, she could only watch as it sailed towards the bar, striking the gentleman speaking to Clive squarely in the back of the head.
Miranda froze as the fan clattered to the floor, still remarkably closed. The gentleman turned and frowned before examining the still-firmly closed fan at his feet. When he saw their shocked faces, his expression turned to one of mild amusement, and he began walking towards them while Clive stifled his laughter.
"He's coming to us!" Miranda whispered. "Hide!" She was slinked halfway down her chair in a dreadful panic when his voice startled her.
"Pardon me Miss, I believe you've –ahem– mishandled your fan," he said. He did not appear amused now. In fact, his countenance did not betray any emotion. Once she could see his features clearly, she was dismayed to find he was exceedingly handsome. He tried to avert her eyes at first, but upon meeting her gaze, his dark eyes were soft and kind, and she was surprised to detect a lingering sadness within them.
Her face turned scarlet. "I cannot apologise enough sir," she began. "It must have been a... a..." As she spoke, she tried to conjure up an excuse to no avail.
"A poltergeist!" Stevie blurted out.
Miranda shot her an incredulous look. "Yes... a poltergeist," she echoed.
His nonchalance broke at this. "A poltergeist?" he repeated slowly.
"The spirit world is quite unpredictable, sir. I'm certain it meant you no harm." What am I saying? she thought. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clive in hysterics, having given up all pretence of not listening.
"Well, I can only hope the poltergeist had a case of poor aim," the gentleman said cheerfully, before leaning in, close enough so only she could hear. "Although, if it was aiming for a better target," he murmured, glancing at the Viscount, "that could be arranged."
"Is that so?" she said, a little too eagerly, "I wouldn't dream of such a thing, of course…"
"Certainly not," he replied hastily. "Forgive me for the suggestion." He turned to leave and added a final remark. "It's all in the wrist," he said with a wink.
The gentleman rejoined Clive, leaving Miranda and Stevie mortified. Miranda spoke up first. "A poltergeist?" she hissed.
Stevie dismissed her with a wave. "He's only a visitor. Be thankful you won't see him again."
Miranda was thankful, but a part of her was disappointed to lose the well-humoured stranger.
