Page 52 of A Damsel for the Wounded Earl
There was a silence after that, the two women sitting together, each wrapped up in her own private thoughts.
“Papa tells me that Lord Vincent is seriously thinking of proposing to me,” Felicity said, after the pause had dragged on. “I want to marry for love, Lucy. Whenever I say that, Mama just laughs at me. Sometimes she gets angry and tells me that I’m a stupid girl who doesn’t understand how the world works. I’m just so tired, Lucy. I’m so very tired.”
Lucy took a moment to compose her thoughts. Leaning forward, she waited for Felicity to look up and met her eye.
“I thought… and correct me if I am wrong,” she said hesitantly, “I thought that perhaps you had… you had feelings for somebody else.”
A flush rose to Felicity’s cheeks. “Do you mean…”
“I mean, Arthur.”
More silence.
“It hardly matters,” Felicity said, sounding so weary that it nearly broke Lucy’s heart. “None of it matters now.”
And then, while Lucy was thinking of something to say – some magic words that would break through Felicity’s tiredness and misery and convince her that the world waiting outside was not all sadness and loss – a servant came, and politely asked Lucy to come and attend to Mrs. Langley in the ballroom.
“You should go,” Felicity said, before Lucy could reply. “I know you have a lot of work to do before tonight. I’ll join you soon, I promise.”
A lot of work to dofelt like an understatement. The summer ball had been a Langley tradition for decades, and it was Lucy’s idea to revive it. Poor Beatrice was in a flutter about it and determined to set a fine standard for future years.
Maids were vigorously polishing, footmen rolling up carpets and getting out the very best silverware and glassware, and even the huge old chandelier had been lowered for a thorough cleaning. It was being lifted now, a team of trained footmen and glass-workers hauling it up to its position, ropes and chains securing the heavy old thing in place.
As promised, Felicity had arrived to help, and was folding paper flowers on a table alongside Lucy. Arthur was over at the other end of the ballroom, discussing wines with the butler. As expected, Miranda was lurking around, keeping an eye on him.
She avoided Lucy and Felicity. Apparently, all pretence of friendship had been dropped. Lucy watched the woman closely.
If it were me,she thought,I’d be too embarrassed to stay somewhere where I wasn’t welcome, especially after I was caught threatening a house-guest.
But perhaps Miranda had very strong hopes of catching Arthur, although why she would have such hopes, Lucy could not say. Try though she might, Arthur had not given Miranda the slightest bit of encouragement.
We’ll tell her to go the morning after the ball,Lucy thought. She knew that Arthur would back her up, and Beatrice would have to submit. It was clear that Miranda’s health was stable enough for her to leave, and probably had been since she was dragged out of the lake.
As she watched, Miranda hovered by the rising chandelier, near where the ropes were affixed discreetly to the wall.
“Ouch! Ah, Lucy, I cut my finger on a piece of paper. Have you a handkerchief?”
Lucy’s attention was diverted by Felicity, and when she looked back, there was no sign of Miranda at all.
***
Lucy’s experience of parties and soirees were… were rather different from that of other people. She was fairly used to sitting quietly in the corner and would really rather be observing others than dancing. Her willing spinster status was well known, and gentlemen tended to avoid her. That did not bother her, either.
Oh, there’d been years when she worried about her singleness, worried about what would happen when her father died, and worried about her future. She didn’t want to be lonely – nobody did – but all the gentlemen who expressed interest in her were so eminently unsuitable.
Or rather, unsuitable by her standards. There had been a few rather nice men who were eligible enough, and a few matrons took it upon themselves to take pity on her motherless status and suggest that she accept the gentlemen’s proposals.
On all occasions, Lucy listened politely and carefully, and then did whatever she wanted anyway. Sometimes the matrons and dowagers who tried to take her under their wings were miffed that their advice was not taken, but that was unfortunately unavoidable. They seemed to pity her, she knew that much.
And yet it didn’t quite matter. Not to her, at least.
It meant that on a night like tonight, Lucy could take a seat near the wall, and quietly watch everything that was going on in their house.
She could see Beatrice, surrounded by friends, chatting merrily. She saw Arthur, standing in a corner with his aunt, Amelia, and Lord Daniel Thornhill. She saw Miranda eyeing him, clearly keen to approach him, but not seeming to dare, not with his aunt and his friend around him.
Scanning the crowd, Lucy looked out for Felicity. She spotted her, as she knew she would, standing with Lord Vincent, looking miserable. Mrs. Thornhill sat nearby, keeping a keen eye on them, and scuppering Felicity’s chances for escape.
Lucy’s heart sank.
