Page 45 of A Damsel for the Wounded Earl
“I read too much,” she said simply. “I study, I ask questions when I should be silent, I am interested in things that ladies should not care about, I make notes, I shun ladylike accomplishments, I say what I think, not what is polite. They are embarrassed by me.”
“Then, with the greatest respect, they are fools.”
She flinched at this, surprised at his vehement tone. Casting a quick glance up at him, she was surprised to find Lord Lanwood’s face tinged red, his lips pressed angrily together. He flushed deeper when he met her eye.
“I’m sorry, do forgive me. It’s just… I know what it’s like to be consideredwrong, in many ways. Society is not a forgiving place. There is a narrow mould for us to fit into, and heaven help the person who does not quite fit. It can be a lonely place, living on the wrong side of Society.”
She nodded slowly, feeling some of the knotted weight in her chest untangle, just a little. The problems were still there, naturally, but having somebody who felt the same, whoknewwhat it was like and did not blame her… well, it felt good, to say the least.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for saying that.”
“With your permission, I would like to speak to Mr. Thornhill about this matter.”
“No,” Felicity said sharply. “No, please don’t. It won’t go well, I can assure you. They’ll be furious that I told you at all, and things will only get worse for me. I must insist you keep this between us.”
He ducked his head. “If that’s what you want, Miss Thornhill, of course I’ll oblige. I didn’t mean to offend. I just wish that I could do something.”
She shrugged. “I’m a woman, a daughter, living at home. I’m under my father’s roof, and legally that means I’m obliged to obey my parents. That will never change, not unless I exchange a father’s authority for a husband’s. That could be even worse, and permanent into the bargain.”
“If you choose the right man, you could find yourself freed instead.”
She hadn’t expected him to say that. The words hung in the air, and Felicity glanced sharply up at him again. Lord Lanwood’s face was redder than ever, his scars webbing down the side of his face. She wondered, quite suddenly, what the ridges of flesh would feel like under her fingertips.
Immediately Felicity recollected herself. That wasnotproper, as was talking with a man, alone, in a garden maze.
“I… I really must go, Lord Lanwood,” she said nervously, rising to her feet and tucking her sketch book under her arm. “My mother expects to see a drawing, so I’d better produce one, or else.”
“Of course. And… and for what it’s worth, Miss Thornhill, I think it’s a great pity you have lost your books. You have a remarkable mind.”
She stared at him for a long moment, the words just slipping away from her until she forgot what she wanted to say altogether.
“Thank you,” she managed at last, then turned tail and fled.
Chapter Eighteen
“A game of Pall-Mall? Oh, how exciting!” Miranda chirped, clapping her hands together until Felicity wanted to hurl a cushion at her.
A full two days had passed since the disastrous lake jaunt, and Miranda kept insisting that she was not well enough to leave, and Mrs. Langley agreed with her. She monopolized Arthur quite skilfully, keeping him at her side without seeming to do so. Felicity didn’t even try to pry him away. What was the point?
She caught her mother’s eye on her more and more, and sometimes, Mrs. Thornhill even looked concerned. Felicity couldn’t bring herself to care.
And now, wretched Mrs. Langley had suggested they play a game of Pall-Mall, that ridiculous game with the mallets and hoops, out on the lawn. It was a fine enough day for it, and Felicity knew she wouldn’t be permitted to decline.
“It’s been an age since I played,” Miranda was saying now, fluttering around. “We should play in pairs, shouldn’t we? That would be more fun. Oh, Lord Lanwood, youmustplay with me. I’m sure you’re an excellent player, and we shall beat all the others!”
She chirped on in this vein, while Mrs. Langley smiled indulgently on, ignoring Lord Lanwood’s quiet protests that he could barely play the game at all.
Felicity got up, under pretence of changing her shoes before they went outside. She’d barely got halfway down the hallway before she heard footsteps following her. She turned, half-afraid that it was Miranda, half-hoping that it was Arthur.
It was neither, in the end.
“Oh, Lucy,” Felicity said, smiling wearily. “What is it?”
Lucy pursed her lips, tilting her head to one side, like a bird. “You aren’t yourself.”
Felicity bit her lip. “I know I’ve been rather dull lately, but really…”
“I don’t mean dull. I don’t mean you weren’t entertaining enough; I mean that you look as if you’ve been hollowed out. That’s the only way I can think of to describe it. Something is wrong. Arthur is concerned too, you know. I catch him looking at you over the dining table, and I know that look. He’s worried. You are not yourself, and I’ve been waiting in vain for you to tell me what’s going on. So, tell me. I’m your friend, aren’t I?”
