Page 46 of A Damsel for the Wounded Earl
Felicity felt a lump rise to her throat, and tears pricked her eyes. She wasn’t sure what had come over her in the past few days and weeks, but never had she been this quick to tears before. It was awful. She swallowed hard, forcing a smile to her face. No good crying here. She’d only make her face red and blotchy, and her eyes watery, and everybody would know immediately that she’d been crying. Her parents would be angry, Miranda would be secretly pleased, and everybody else would keep asking her how she was, if she was alright, and it would make it all a thousand times more unbearable.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” she choked out.
She should have known that wouldn’t put Lucy off. Casting a quick look over her shoulder, Lucy hooked her arm through Felicity’s and dragged her away, into a little morning-room nearby.
“Tell me at once,” she said shortly. “Please, Felicity. I’m worried for you.”
There was nothing for it. Steeling herself, Felicity managed a weak smile.
“Mama and Papa took away my books.”
Lucy sucked in a breath. “But why?”
“I haven’t been behaving the way they want. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
Lucy folded her arms tight across her chest. She looked angry, and Felicity wondered whether she ought to have kept it to herself. Now that Lucy was coming out of mourning and learning to manage her own grief, she seemed… more vigorous, somehow. More energetic. Less afraid.
Not that Lucy had ever been afearfulperson before, oh no.
“That isn’t fair,” she said flatly, as if Felicity might not have already known that fact. “They shouldn’t be able to do that.”
“Yes, well, they can. You don’t understand, Lucy. Your father would never have taken away one of your interests to punish you, and Lord Lanwood would never do that, either. But they have the power, don’t you see? Women like you and I don’thaveany power of our own. I’m starting to think we never will. Please don’t let on that I told you any of this – my parents won’t be pleased. You’ll make things worse for me.”
Felicity shouldered past her friend, because she was terribly afraid that she would burst into tears and never be able to stop and hurried out into the hallway.
There, she nearly collided with none other than Lord Vincent himself. He loomed over her, hands coming out to steady her. She automatically flinched away. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because his large hands closed over her shoulders anyway.
“You and I are partnered for Pall-Mall today,” he said, grinning. “Not to boast, but I’m extremely good at Pall-Mall.”
“That sounds exactly like boasting,” she shot back, before she could collect herself. It didn’t matter, because Lord Vincent only smiled wider.
“You’re in a fine spirit today, Miss Thornhill. That’s good – I like spirited young ladies.”
He seemed to be about to say more, but at that moment Lucy stepped out from the morning room, fixing him with a blank, unfriendly stare. His smile slipped a little.
“Ah, Miss Lucy, I didn’t see you there,” he said, cheerfully omitting her title. He tapped his forehead and made a mock bow. “You do sneak around a great deal, don’t you? Velvet soles on the bottoms of your shoes, I imagine!”
“Imagination is all you have left, Lord Vincent,” Lucy replied, not smiling back. “As I have no intention of telling you. Perhaps you simply aren’t paying attention.”
He only chuckled, sending a significant look towards Felicity.
“I shall meet you outside, then, Miss Thornhill,” he said, and departed the way he’d come down the hallway, leading Felicity to wonder whether he’d seen her come this way and was following her.
“I do not like that man,” Lucy murmured, eyes on his departing back.
“Neither do I,” Felicity responded. “Unfortunately, it seems I must play a full game of Pall-Mall with him. Wish me luck.”
“You’ll need it, I think.”
***
Arthur’s head was pounding. Retreating to the coolness of the library, he roundly cursed Pall-Mall and all the fools that played it, himself included.
The game had been an unmitigated disaster. Miranda had coerced him into playing with her, and Lord Vincent had secured Felicity. That left Lucy and Beatrice, with Mr. and Mrs. Thornhill making up the final pair.
He’d lost track of how many times Miranda had sidled up to him to compliment a shot, eyelashes a-fluttering, full lips pouting. She kept touching his hand with hers, attempting to make it seem like an accident every time. Mr. and Mrs. Thornhill did not understand the game or the rules, but pretended that they did, and had to be constantly reminded of what to do and what not to do until Arthur’s head ached.
Felicity Thornhill did not smile once. How could she, with Lord Vincent looming over her and whispering things in her ear that made her blink and shuffle away from him. He was constantly ‘correcting’ the way she held her mallet and took her shot, which apparently involved him putting his arms around her, hands over hers, to adjust the way she held it. The discomfort on Felicity’s face was painful to see. When Arthur looked around, aghast, he was shocked to discover that nobody else had noticed, or at least did not care. His mother, kind though she was, was entirely wrapped up in the game. Lucy glared at Lord Vincent and was roundly ignored.
