Olivia could not fall asleep while a candle burned so close. "Will you be up long?" she asked, her voice thick with the beginnings of slumber. He had no idea what he'd done to her- what he'd done for her- and he probably never would. He was the man who'd made her believe in herself. Even when he'd married, and she'd sat in the pews at his wedding, and watching him meant watching him watch his bride with all the love and devotion that burned in her own heart. She hated that she was still so desperate for a glimpse of him, but it had been this way for years. "How long do you think Turner will remain here in the country?" Miranda asked, trying not to bite her tongue. Her maid had left her nightclothes atop the covers, and Miranda respectfully turned her head while Olivia changed into them. "I'm exhausted," Olivia declared, sliding off the bed. Her candle was shedding flickers of light on the blotter, and she suddenly felt tired. Miranda looked back down at the writing desk.
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