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.Mira sat down in a brocaded chair and picked up a cup of tea, her eyes lingeringon the well-tended landscaping visible through the spotless windows.Though thesunlight would eventually fade the rich colors of the carpet and furniture, Rosalieinsisted on letting the sun into every room she frequented.It was a habit of hers thatMira remembered from their days in the chateau in France.Most people preferredthe restful dimness of heavily draped windows, yet Rosalie was not one who wouldallow her tastes to be dictated by others.So Alec had designed Berkeley Hall, Mira mused, intensely curious to see the restof it.Knowing him, she was not surprised at the touches of whimsy that graced thelittle that she had seen of the house& like the griffins in the main hall, and theconcealed closets in this room, decorated with Chinese birds, and the bits of mirrorglass lining the edges of the windows.She smiled slightly at the irony of the situation.In trying to escape him, she had managed to find refuge in a place that hehad created.She knew exactly why Alec made Rosalie uneasy, even if Rosalie herself couldnot explain it.Rosalie was used to straightforward men like Rand Berkeley, not oneswho were adept at saying one thing while meaning another.Alec would be too mucha man of extremes to make Rosalie feel at ease in his company& he was toohandsome, too unpredictable, too perceptive.Any woman who loved him would bean absolute idiot, Mira thought.As she berated herself silently, a tear rolled down hercheek and dropped into her tea, and as another followed, she set the cup down andhunted for a handkerchief."No more tears allowed after today," a voice camefromthe door, and Mira looked up to see Rosalie's eyes warm with sympathy."You're finished so soon?" she asked huskily, leaving off her search for ahandkerchief."I managed to postpone the minor problems for later.I explained to the servantsthat we have a very special guest who will be staying here indefinitely and that shemust be treated like royalty.""I am the last person in England who should be treated like royalty," Mira saidbitterly, spooning more sugar into her tea and stirring nervously even after it wasdissolved."You don't know who I am, or what ""I do know," Rosalie said gently.Their eyes met and the agitated movement ofMira's spoon stopped abruptly."Guillaume told Rand many things five years ago inFrance before& before we were separated.I know about your mother.I knowabout your upbringing, and your background.""You do?" Mira froze in astonishment."You know and yet you've asked me tostay with you?""Oh, Mireille& " Rosalie sat down in the chair close by, arranging her skirtsautomatically and folding her hands in her lap.Her expression was pitying andaffectionate, and vaguely amused."From the day I was born, I thought I was thedaughter of a confectioner and a governess& I was a housemaid.Although I waseducated, I had to work with my hands sometimes& I polished and scrubbed& Iknew what it was like to have to pick up after someone else& I knew what it waslike to want things that I thought I could never have.But when I was your age, Ifound out that I was the product of a secret love affair between a noblewoman andthe most notorious dandy in the world ""Beau Brummell?""Yes, Brummell." Rosalie's smile became wistful."He is my father.But Idiscovered that the dandy's daughter was no different, no better, than theconfec-tioner's daughter.It made no difference who my parents were I was still thesame woman.Now people think of me as Lady Berkeley, and some of them scrapeand bow, and some whisper about my shadowed past, but most of them wouldnever believe that I had once run up and down the stairs lugging buckets of coal forthe fire, afraid I would get my ears boxed for being slow.And if things could change so drastically for me, they can for you.""But a confectioner's daughter is one thing& I am something else entirely."I am" Mira's face whitened as she forced out the words "the daughter of a prostitute."She had never said the word out loud before."That makes me lower than ""Don't." Rosalie's blue eyes flashed, and suddenly her face seemed chiseled outof brittle ivory.She spoke with a meaningful slowness."I don't want you to say thatever again.Not to me, not to Rand, not to anyone.Your future depends on it, doyou understand?" Mira shook her head, transfixed by the sternness that hadtransformed Rosalie's expression."No, I'm afraid I don't understand.I don't havethe kind of future that ""You have a wonderful future," Rosalie corrected determinedly."I intend to makeit so." She continued in a softer tone as she witnessed Mira's increasingbewilderment."I will take care of everything.We'll be very clever& we'll be verydiscreet.Believe me, I am England's foremost authority on how to survive a scandal.For the first two years that Rand and I were married& well, that's a story in itself.The next several months you will rest here quietly while the gossip about you andSackville recedes " "It won't.""It will.Gossip is only enjoyable when it's new.It will fade eventually.And whenit does, and you have been forgotten about, I will bring you out as a differentwoman.""Sang de Dieu, what are you saying?" Mira demanded, horrified."Youcan't do that!""I certainly can.We will make you Rand's ward.Mireille Germain& a timidyoung woman brought up by a fine, very old, very respectable French family,transferred to the Berkeleys' safekeeping along with her very attractive dowry.""I have no dowry.""Of course you do I'll supply it.""I won't accept it.And besides, there are hundreds thousands of ways thatpeople will poke holes in my story.""But I still remember what a superb actress you are.You'll be so convincing thatmost people won't think of disbelieving what's in front of their eyes.""What about everyone who saw me at Sackville Manor?" Mira asked desperately."They'll remember me, and they all know I'm not from some respectable Frenchfamily
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