"What were you doing out there?" Penny cried. "You should be with the guests, not hiding outside with the neighbour and Stevie."

"My apologies, mother," said Miranda, without her usual hostility, still placated by her encounter with Mr Preston. "We were simply lost in the excitement of the stars! I shall be on my best behaviour for the rest of the night." Her state of mind remained distracted, however, as she couldn't stop thinking of his hand holding hers, leaning into him almost in an embrace, the dark depths of his eyes...

Penny paused, unnerved at Miranda's easy acceptance of her scolding. "Yes, well, I'm glad you understand..." As if reading her mind, she interjected Miranda's thoughts. "I don't want to see you with Mr Preston again! Tonight is for le mingling. And where has was Mr Detorri got to? Please tell me you made a good impression."

Miranda swallowed hard. "Oh I think I treated him perfectly appropriately."

Penny rattled off a list of gents she was to dance with, and she dutifully complied without complaint. There was the heir to a sizeable fortune who was far too young, an exceedingly dull clergyman who kept treading on her toes, and many more, all of whom fell short in her eyes, but she endured them all the same. She and Mr Preston avoided each other for the remainder of the night, careful not to draw any further undue attention. Though once, when their eyes accidentally met across the room, a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine.

Between the dances she managed to sneak in a debrief with Stevie, who was eager for news.

"What happened before I got to the balcony?" she whispered.

"I offered to give him a waltz lesson. Under the stars Stevie! It was wonderful."

"He needed lessons from you?"

A swift glare from Miranda silenced Stevie, who then enthused, "Oh how romantic! I didn't know you had it in you. And the shawl?"

"Mother does not want to see him near me again. He'll have to find a way to return it to me now."

It wasn't until they were headed home in the carriage that she finally got a chance to speak with Tilly, whose hair and dress were a little worse for wear, but she was bright eyed and flushed with happiness.

"Oh Miranda, the people of Surrey are such a delight! Do you know, one gentleman asked me to bless his chickens! I don't know that I have ever enjoyed myself so much of an evening. Aunty Pen-Pen, you are a treasure! I may never want to go home," she cried, before falling asleep on Miranda's shoulder, her soft snores punctuating the happy silence.

The evening was declared a splendid success. Penny retired to bed, and Miranda lay in bed gazing at the moon outside her window, too alert to sleep, reliving a waltz in the cool night air over and over.

The next morning, the shawl did not reappear, much to Miranda's dismay. But no matter, Tilly declared that for the remainder of her stay, she should like to take a daily walk around the gardens each morning with Miranda, to further her education on the local flora and fauna, and partake in some more birdwatching. Charlie had readily agreed to serve as chaperone and guide.

Miranda was not thrilled with this prospect, but she bargained a deal to join them until they reached the gazebo at the edge of the grounds, near the orange vines, to which Charlie and Tilly did not object.

After a light luncheon of cucumber sandwiches and lemon syllabub, a letter arrived for Miranda. "Please tell me that's not another invoice from the dressmaker," her father complained, as she snatched up the brown envelope and ran upstairs. She tore it open and unfolded a letter written in an unfussy hand. It was from Mr Preston! But as she began to read, she was rendered speechless.

Dear Miss Hartford,

If I have misread your intentions, then please disregard this letter. But if I am correct, allow me to continue.

I must confess I was at a loss when I came into possession of your shawl on the evening of the ball. I trust you have been well since, as there was a bitter wind at the evening's end, and I feared you would catch a chill.

On returning home, I questioned your shawl repeatedly on what I was to do, but it was unyielding and decidedly loyal to its mistress. In vain I tried to coax my way into its good graces. I complimented it on its fine lacework and the softness of its wool. I asked how many dances it had seen, through where it had travelled, if any suitors had ever wrapped it lovingly around one's shoulders, but it remained stoic. Upon whispering it a secret though, the lace rippled with delight!

Such a headstrong garment! It is not unlike its owner, whose spirited nature enchants me so. If she'll have me, I will gladly relinquish the shawl in exchange for another dance.

Ever yours,

Mr G. Preston, esq.

Miranda sat down on her bed to steady herself, a flush rising in her cheeks.

Well.