Page 44 of A Damsel for the Wounded Earl
“I can tell you that easily enough,” Mrs. Thornhill snapped. “She’s too haughty and foolish. Too unladylike. What man wants a woman who goes grubbing about in the dirt for plants, and talks about boring subjects that interest no one? No, she’s going to end up like poor Lucy Langley, with no prospects, a burden on her family.”
Felicity’s head snapped up at that. “Lucy is not a burden on her family.”
Her mother snorted. “Oh, no? Do you think Lord Lanwood will be pleased to have her here when he marries? He’ll pack his mother off to the Dower House sooner or later, and if Lucy is lucky, she’ll be invited to come along. She has no home, you know, and a paltry allowance. She is poor and unwanted, and the longer she lives, the worse it will get. No, make no mistake, Felicity. Marriage and family are a woman’s lifeline, and she has a narrow window of opportunity to get herself an establishment. You, my girl, are letting that window close, with no inkling of what will happen to you when it does so. I cannot simply let this sort of defiance go; you must see that.”
Felicity did see that. Her parents were running out of patience with her, and she simply didn’t have the energy to act in the way she knew they wanted.
Mostly because that action would involve her encouraging Lord Vincent, andthatwas not going to happen. Not now, not ever. Not that he was taking the hint, of course.
“No more reading,” Mrs. Thornhill said, with a hint of relish. “I’ve already told the maids to get all of your books and papers from your room and transfer it to ours. You are not to take books from the Langley library, and if I catch you doing so, you’ll be punished. Spend your time brushing up on needlework, or drawing, or practising your pianoforte. I was quite embarrassed, hearing Miss Sinclair’s delightful piece compared to yours. For heaven’s sake, do somethinguseful.”
There was really nothing else to do, so Felicity dropped a curtsey.
“Yes, Mama,” she said quietly.
***
Breakfast was a sombre affair. The only person who seemed to be in good spirits was Miranda, who then kept remembering that she was meant to be ill and shaken and kept suppressing herself accordingly. She’d also managed to get herself a seat right beside Arthur and kept trying to draw him into conversation.
Felicity found herself down at the other end of the table, with her parents. Nobody spoke. It was a relief breakfast ended, and she could take herself out into the garden. Automatically, Felicity had gone to her room to collect her book, only to be greeted by empty shelves and the remembrance of her punishment.
Drawing it is, then,she thought gloomily. They’d even taken her notepaper, leaving only the sketch book.
“If you need to write letters,” Mrs. Thornhill had said haughtily, “you may ask Mrs. Langley for notepaper.”
Frankly, it was a little too brisk to be outside, with the wind whipping her hair around her face and her skirts around her legs, but Felicity couldn’t bring herself to care. Whatever kept her away from her family was good enough for her. Oh, and from Miranda Sinclair, of course, who’d retreated to the library to write letters.
Perhaps it was a relief, too, to avoid Arthur, because every time she saw him, she only felt…
Felicity rounded the corner of the maze and found herself face to face with the man himself.
“Oh,” she said, hesitating. “Lord Lanwood. I didn’t realise you were out here. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He was seated on a low stone bench, a dog-eared novel in his hands. He closed it with a snap.
“Not at all, Miss Thornhill. Are you here to sketch?”
She smiled wryly. “So it would seem.”
He shuffled up on the bench a little, a clear invitation, and she sat down beside him.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make the herbal mixture for you now,” she said carefully, after a few minutes of silence.
He shifted to look at her thoughtfully. “I see. I am sorry. Can I ask why?”
She bit her lip, feeling tears flutter just beneath the surface.
“My parents have taken away my books, including my notes and my journals. I wouldn’t trust myself to make a mixture from memory.”
There was a brief, shocked silence. Felicity couldn’t bring herself to look at him, knowing exactly what she’d see on his face. Pity, surprise, and concern. She couldn’t stand to see any of it.
“I don’t mean to pry,” he said carefully, as she knew he would, “but can I ask why?”
She sighed. “My parents want me to marry. They…they dislike my behaviour. I was warned that if I didn’t comply with what they wanted, there would be consequences. And here are the consequences, I suppose.”
“Forgive me, but I see nothing wrong with your behaviour.”
She smiled wryly up at him. Looking at him now, Felicity was a little surprised to see only anger in his face, not pity.
