Miranda slept little after Derek brought her home from the masquerade. They had driven the entire way in a hackney carriage although Miranda suspected that Derek had paid in advance for the man with the boat to ferry them back across the river. He had not spoken to her at all after threatening to go to her father. Miranda had resented his silence since it furnished no outlet for her anger.
She was later than usual and grim at the thought of facing her mother over breakfast. The headache she had feigned the night before pounded in earnest behind her temples. She did not know if she could face a morning of callers.
"Good morning, Mama," she said politely, helping herself to a smattering of items from the sideboard.
"How"s the headache?"
Miranda poured herself a cup of tea. "No better."
