At dusk, the snow flickered over the city of Bridlebugh.
The streets were empty, apart from the carriage that rolled through the snow with a creaking sound.
When it passed through the gates of the city, heading towards the huge building that settled on the west of the capital, a few more lines formed across the lady's face who settled quietly inside.
It would have been a lie if she said she was not looking forward to that marriage.
However, everything was replaying itself like a play.
"Miss, we're here." A voice said.
Someone rushed over to open the door of the carriage and she picked up the ends of her gown as she slowly stepped out, letting her gown fall as soon after.
She wore an emerald gown with white shoes, wore her white hair as pretty and as noble.
She looked spectacular, fit for the part.
It would be ridiculous to say she was not, after all, she was noble.
Her skin was pale, very pale.
Her eyes were a deep set of black, shiny and full of grief. It wasn't like before.
Before... they were innocent. They were very pure.
But the House ruined her.
She took the first step on the line of stairs, ascending them until she made it to the House of Herschel.
It was her turn to break him.
"Miss Everard, welcome." A young maiden approached her with curtsey. "My Lord ordered me to show you to your chamber."
Miranda smiled softly, trying not to scare the maiden away. "Then, you may lead the way."
Miranda followed the young maiden through the grand halls of the House of Herschel, she couldn't help but notice the subtle glances and whispers she received from the workers.
Typical.
They were sizing her up, wondering what kind of mistress she would make.
Miranda's smile never wavered, she knew exactly what they were thinking.
The maiden stopped in front of a large wooden door and pushed it open, revealing a lavishly decorated chamber.
"This is your room, Miss Everard. My Lord has instructed us to make sure you have everything you need."
Miranda's gaze swept over the room, taking in the plush furnishings and the large four-poster bed. She nodded graciously. "Thank you, it's lovely. You may leave me now."
The maiden curtsied and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Miranda's smile faltered for a moment, and she let out a deep breath.
It was her time now, she was never going to let anything get on his way ever again.
She walked over to the window and gazed out at the snow covered gardens below.
Her thoughts were a thousand miles away, consumed by the man she was about to marry.
Maverick De Montfort.
Commonly known with his tittle, Lord Herschel.
The man who had ruined her family's reputation and destroyed her innocence. She clenched her fists, her eyes burning with hate.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her.
Miranda's gaze snapped back to the door as she turned "Enter," she said, composing herself.
The door opened, and a middle-aged woman with a kind face and a crisp white apron entered the room.
She remembered her.
"Miss Everard, I'm Mrs. Jenkins, the housekeeper. I've brought some refreshments for you."
Miranda's eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Mrs. Jenkins arrange a tea set and some delicate pastries on a nearby table.
"Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins," Miranda said, trying to sound gracious. "You've gone to great trouble."
Mrs. Jenkins smiled warmly. "It's no trouble at all, Miss Everard. We're all excited to have you here. My Lord has been looking forward to your arrival."
To use me and strip me off my dignity.
She smiled, not wanting to reveal her true feelings to the housekeeper. "I'm sure he has," she said, her voice neutral.
Another knock came in and Mrs. Jenkins turned to smile curtsey towards Miranda. "Then, I'll be on my way."
Miranda nodded, Mrs. Jenkins walked out just as a the same young maiden from earlier walked in.
"How can I help you?" Miranda asked standing up.
"My Lord has ordered me to deliver a message."She breathed out. "There's a ball at the main house, to celebrate your arrival to Bridlebugh. The Lord has told me to get you ready for it, that's where you'll get to meet him and the rest of his family."
Miranda scoffed.
He was always a jerk.
"What should I wear to this ball?" She asked.
"Please call me Trista, Miss Everard."
"Trista," Miranda said, "I want a black gown. Make sure it's elegant and fitting for the occasion."
Trista's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded quickly. "Yes, Miss Everard. I'll see to it immediately."
Miranda's gaze followed Trista as she curtsied and left the room. She decided to bath then and when Trista returned with the black gown, Miranda's eyes narrowed as she examined it.
It was perfect, elegant and fitting for a woman of her stature.
A noble woman.
She nodded. "Help me get dressed," she said, her voice firm.
Trista nodded and began to help Miranda into the gown. Once she was finally dressed, Miranda's gaze fell on the mirror.
She was a vision in black, her pale skin and dark eyes striking against the somber color.
She smiled, satisfied.
"I am ready," she said.
Trista curtsied and led Miranda out of the room, down to the carriage that would take her to the ball.
Miranda's heart was beating hard against her chest, racing with anticipation, her mind focused on the man she would soon face.
It didn't help that she was living her second life, her heart still raced at the thought of Maverick De Montfort.
The carriage finally stopped near the main house and she slowly stepped out, her heel hitting the floor one after the other.
Miranda's gaze swept over the crowd as she walked towards the entrance. The doors opened and she stepped inside.
Familiarity.
She saw the familiar faces of the nobility, all of them watching her with curiosity. She smiled, her expression polite and detached.
She grabbed a glass of wine from the passing waitress and took a sit, her eyes falling into the far corner.
And then she saw him.
He was standing across the room, his eyes fixed on her. Miranda's gaze locked onto his, her heart pounding in her chest.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
'I had to do it. I didn't mean to kill him.' the memory flashed, burning and almost knocking her out of her breath.
Miranda's eyes flashed with anger and resentment, while Lord Herschel's gaze seemed to bore into her soul. She could feel the weight of his scrutiny from where she was standing.
She wanted to drive a knife at the side of her neck but but she wasn't about to let everything fall into nothing.
Not yet.
She had a role to play, a part to perform.
And so she smiled, a cold, calculated smile, and raised her glass in a silent toast.
Lord Herschel's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on her face before he nodded and began to make his way towards her.
Once he reached her side, Lord Herschel bowed low, his lips brushing against her hand. "Welcome, my dear," he said, his voice low and smooth. "You look stunning."
Miranda's smile never wavered, "Thank you, my lord," she said.
The music began to play, and Lord Herschel's eyes locked onto hers. "May I have the pleasure of the first dance?" he asked, his voice polite.
Miranda's gaze never left his, her smile still firmly in place. "I'd be delighted," she said.
And with that, she placed her hand in his, and let him lead her onto the dance floor.
The music swirled around them, the lights and laughter of the ballroom fading into the background as Miranda's eyes locked onto Lord Herschel's.
The game had begun, and she was ready to play.