“Allow me to set your mind at ease, Miss Woodmore,” he said, the boredom having returned as he glanced at the cluster of people behind her. “I will send instructions on the morrow with arrangements for you and your sister to move to Blackmont Hall until your brother returns.”

He would send instructions? With arrangements? She folded her lips together in an effort to keep from telling him exactly how she felt about being told what she would do and how and when—without any consultation on her part—and by a man she had fairly detested on sight. Even three years ago.

How kind of you, Lord Corvindale to at least apprise me of your intentions. Just like every other man in the world, including her brother, he had no regard for her opinion or feelings. It was as if she had the mind of a china doll. If they only realized how much she handled on a daily basis, how much she knew and comprehended about their world and its history.

She certainly had no intention of leaving her home at the drop of a pin to live at his, but Maia didn’t have the time or the desire to discuss the “arrangements” with him further, for the prickling lifting the hair on her arms indicated that her headstrong sister Angelica was about to get herself into some sort of improper situation.

Unlike her two younger sisters, Maia hadn’t been blessed with the Sight from their half-Gypsy grandmother. Yet, she possessed a keen intuition for brewing trouble that often manifested itself in a simple sort of knowing.

The Sight works in strange ways. Her Granny Grapes had said that, more than once when Maia expressed juvenile envy that her sisters seemed to have acquired the Sight, but she had not. That was when she was young and childish and didn’t realize what a terrible burden it was for Angelica and Sonia.