Page 59 of A Damsel for the Wounded Earl
Felicity glanced up at her mother, holding her gaze for a long moment.
“You truly believe that, don’t you?” she said, voice quiet. “You think you’re doing the right thing. You’ve mocked me since I was a child, you’ve taken away my books, forced me into a mould that does not fit me in the slightest, and you still congratulate yourself on being such a good parent. You can’t see the irony, can you?”
Mrs. Thornhill pressed her lips together and took away her hand.
“Do you intend to go downstairs and tell Lord Vincent that you accept his suit?” she snapped. “Time is running out.”
“Not as fast as you think,” Mr. Thornhill spoke up ponderously, for the first time. Both women glanced at him, shocked. He pulled a face. “Give the girl a while to think it over, my dear. A day, at least. The man doesn’t require an answer today.”
Felicity bit her lip. “Thank you, Papa.”
What difference will a day make? I won’t change my mind,she thought dizzily.
Mrs. Thornhill huffed. “If you say so. But one day only, Felicity. Tomorrow afternoon, we leave this house. And unless you agree to marry Lord Vincent, you won’t be coming back.”
Felicity held her mother’s eye for a long moment. Mrs. Thornhill was the first to look away. Turning her back, Felicity left without another word, closing the door softly behind her. Nobody came after her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Arthur’s head was, unsurprisingly, pounding. There were endless letters of apology to draft, and it wasn’t fair at all to leave Beatrice and Lucy to write them all. He was writing to the gentlemen, they to the ladies, and they would wait to see if their profuse apologies were accepted.
He wouldn’t blame their guests if the apologies werenotaccepted. After all, one didn’t expect to face death at a ball.
A tap on the study door brought a welcome relief.
“Come in,” he called, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head. He’d barely done a quarter of the letters that needed to be written, and already his hand was cramping painfully.
The door opened and Beatrice stepped in. Her expression was grim.
“What’s the matter, Mother?” he asked, frowning. “Did someone get hurt after all?”
“I need to speak with you, Arthur. It’s of the utmost importance.”
A superstitious shiver rolled down his spine.
“I see. Well, let’s sit down here, in front of the fire, Mother. Tell me, what’s wrong?”
Beatrice drew in a deep breath, steeling herself.
“Miranda Sinclair and you had a conversation, alone, in the ballroom, in a small, enclosed space.”
Arthur immediately felt sick. “I… I did not intend that, Mother. She came and found me, and said…”
“It doesn’t matter. You must see that, Arthur. You spoke with her alone, and according to the maid who saw you, the two of you seemed… well, seemed about tokiss, Arthur!”
He swallowed hard. “She was trying to kiss me, Mother. I was trying to push her away. She tried to corner me in the library before, and…”
“Please don’t attribute the poor girl with such false motives. You have acted badly, Arthur. Why did you not leave immediately?”
Arthur’s mind brought back the awful scene – Miranda, with her hands on his chest, pushing forward, Felicity standing behind with that awful look on her face, and the maid, looking aghast and thrilled at the same time. It seemed that Felicity had not breathed a word. Of course not – she would never destroy a person’s reputation, not even a woman who’d treated her so badly.
“I tried, but…”
“Oh, I do not want to hear excuses!”
Seeming almost angry, Beatrice bounced to her feet, pacing up and down.
“You’ve compromised Miss Sinclair, Arthur. Intentional or not, it has been done.”
