February 4, 1889 Morning
London, England
Nearly Eleven Years Later
The sun bled through a thin gap of curtain, spread across the floor, and sent a beam of light onto Mira’s face. She blinked and turned over as the last vestiges of a dream left her. The details were hazy and fading quickly, but she was left with a warmth in her chest.
The light caught on Clarisse’s golden hair, the little girl still fast asleep. She’d wandered into Mira’s room early in the evening, not wanting to sleep alone in a new place.
Trying not to jostle the bed, Mira slid from the covers and wrapped up in her dressing gown.
Her feet were cold on the wooden floor as she moved to the window.
Nero jumped from his perch on a chair, giving a soft meow and padding over to her.
She picked him up and ducked between the curtains, careful not to let too much light in.
She sat in the window seat, her breath fogging up the cool glass as she stroked the cat’s soft fur.
It had been three days since she and her family had left Paris.
A day since they had arrived in London and began the tedious process of settling into Swan Walk.
While there were enough rooms for everyone, the house definitely felt full.
Filled to the brim, as it were. It was good to be home, but Mira wasn’t exactly certain where she fit anymore.
Perhaps it was just that the house was still in a state of transition.
The house and their lives. Everything was in upheaval.
After all, it had been less than a month since her Uncle Cyrus and Loretta were married. Less than a month since Emilie had died. Less than two since Professor Burke and the bridge and Durant and Circe . . .
The family was still reeling from all the changes. All the memories.
Mira’s mind had been better about staying in the present, at least in the few weeks since she had told Byron the truth about her memories and the nightmares.
But there was a thread of anxiety not knowing if or when something might trigger an impromptu trip to the past. Could she walk through Kensington Gardens without seeing the ghost of Alexander Durant there?
Would she catch a glimpse of Professor Burke standing in the parlor?
She shivered and pushed the thoughts away. Maybe it would be best to find a distraction before her mind carried itself too far into the past. Mira deposited Nero on the windowsill, ignoring his meows of protest, and pulled a copy of Persuasion from the shelf, returning to her seat again.
“Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his—”
Sir Elliot rather reminded her of the mannerisms of her uncle.
He’d always been focused on status and propriety, even when he couldn’t live up to his own expectations.
As recently as October he’d been blustering about social status and whether or not she and Walker would ever marry.
Now, here he was, married himself and with a decidedly different demeanor and a revised view of the world.
Mira had known that things would change for her after Cyrus and Loretta were married.
The family dynamic, their living arrangements, and her future all took a drastic turn.
She had expected that. But her emotions were not part of that expectation and she wasn’t prepared for how much the sensation resembled the feeling of being left behind.
Cyrus had a new family, and while Mira was technically a part of it, she still felt as if she were on the outside. A niece, not a daughter.
But was it unfair to think that way? Cyrus had done the best that he could in raising her and her brother.
But seeing him with Loretta’s children she could see a new side of him, one he had rarely shown to her or Walker.
It hurt to see him acting so fatherly to the Lavigne children, when it took almost twenty years for him to act that way with her and Walker.
He’d been too detached, caught up in his own grief about their mother’s death, to even be a proper guardian for them.
And then there was Loretta.
The general air of the household had shifted since Loretta came.
And it wasn’t just because there were more voices filling the air and more footsteps running through the corridors.
There was a change in energy, in purpose, in care.
And Mira wished it didn’t hurt so much to see what it would have been like to have a mother.
She’d never imagined that Cyrus would ever marry. When she was younger, she gravitated more towards daydreaming what her relationship might be with her future husband’s family. With his parents and his mother especially.
A loud crash sounded from one of the lower landings, startling Mira from her musings and the cat from her side. She pushed the curtains aside, meeting Clarisse’s wide, blue eyes.
“What was that?” Clarisse asked, pulling the covers tight to her chest.
Mira moved to her, holding out a hand. “Shall we find out?”
They found Jean-Marie and Georges apologizing profusely to Landon on the landing just below Cyrus and Loretta’s room.
Teacups and tray were strewn about, the china in pieces and the carpet stained.
Each of the occupants of the landing were covered in the remains of eggs, sausage, toast, and crimson jam.
The bedroom door opened just as Mira and Clarisse arrived. Cyrus poked his head out, asking the obvious question.
“What happened?”
“A little accident, sir,” Landon said, stacking the detritus on the tray. “I thought you might want breakfast in your room this morning.”
Cyrus glanced at the mess. “A good thought, but considering the circumstances, why don’t we all adjourn to the dining room?”
“Yes, sir. I was thinking the same thing.”
“We didn’t mean to.” Jean-Marie rushed through his words.
“There is always a risk to running inside the house,” Landon said, his voice warm but stern. Mira had heard this tone many times as a child, although usually it was directed at Walker. The butler stood, balancing the tray in one hand.
“I’ll send one of the parlor maids up to finish cleaning straightaway. In the meantime,” he said, spying Mira and Clarisse’s bare feet. “I do believe shoes are in order.”
***
Breakfast was much louder than Swan Walk had ever seen it.
Even at its full length, the table was crowded with people, splayed out elbows, and dropped silverware.
That isn’t to say that Mira’s cousins had poor manners, but in such close quarters, it was difficult to stay within one’s own space; and with so many conversations happening at once, it was difficult to know what anyone was saying.
Mira had a sneaking suspicion that Landon had foreseen the difficulty and had hoped to avoid it by serving breakfast to her aunt and uncle separately.
“We’ll want to leave the house by six-thirty at the latest if we’re walking,” Cyrus said. “I want to be there a bit early. It wouldn’t do to be late to dinner with the Renaldis.”
“Why can’t I come?” Clarisse asked.
“This is a more grown-up party, my love,” Loretta said, buttering her toast. “It wouldn’t be much fun for you, I promise.”
This dinner party had been planned over several weeks of correspondence. Liza was anxious to spend more time with Walker and wanted her parents to have a better understanding of the family she could possibly marry into.
“But Georges is coming,” Jean-Marie said.
“I would rather not,” Georges said sinking in his chair.
“It will be good for you,” Loretta said to her eldest. She turned to Jean-Marie. “You’ll be old enough in a year or two.”
“It isn’t fair,” Jean-Marie said, more of a statement than petulance.
“No, it isn’t,” Loretta said. “But I’m afraid that’s how it is. Mrs. Pringle and Landon will look after the two of you tonight. So please be good for them.”
“Yes, Maman.” Clarisse pouted.
The conversation turned to other things, but Mira couldn’t shake her nerves.
The Renaldis were an older family and set a high standard as a result.
Not that Mira’s family wasn’t respectable, but their fortune was fairly new.
They had always had enough money, always been in the upper middle class.
Yet, as much as Cyrus blustered about status and chided them about what was proper, he himself didn’t always live up to the standard.
Cyrus had a great desire to appear correct in all social norms but was the first generation of the family expected to do so.
Elias Griffon, his father and Mira’s grandfather, brought the family from poverty into wealth, but couldn’t provide the necessary skills to help them thrive in the new society.
Cyrus compensated by traveling the world and continuing to build up the fortune.
He didn’t prioritize his social standing until he was given guardianship of Mira and Walker.
Suddenly, he had expectations to live up to, children to raise, and a society to fit into—and he no idea of how to go about it.
He’d started by purchasing a copy of the peerage and keeping up with the news of the court.
It had seemed the sensible thing to do, though it didn’t give him the practical knowledge he needed.
He hadn’t recognized the necessity of hiring a governess for her or a tutor for Walker.
While he had sense enough to ensure a good education for her brother by sending him to boarding school, he only sent Mira to finishing school as an afterthought.
Thank goodness he had, otherwise she’d be lacking in all the social graces.
And then, once they were grown, Cyrus had forgotten about the need for chaperones entirely and had been easily persuaded to allow Mira live on her own.