Page 62 of A Damsel for the Wounded Earl
“No. I’m going to show the letter to Beatrice and Arthur.”
Miranda snatched up a heavy jug from the washbasin, holding it threateningly over her head.
“Give it to me now,” she snapped, “or I’ll make you sorry. I’ll break this jug over your head, and then…”
“I wouldn’t do that, Miss Sinclair.”
At the sound of Arthur’s voice, both women froze. Miranda turned slowly, almost comically, and there he stood, silhouetted in the doorway. Julius stood behind him, obviously having fetched his master from his room.
Miranda lowered the jug, replacing it with aclackon the table.
“I… I was just angry,” she managed weakly. “Lucy was so unkind, and she’s read my private correspondence. I know that you would never stoop to such a thing, Arthur.”
By way of response, Arthur strode in the room, holding out his hand for the letter. Lucy wordlessly handed it to him, and he began to read.
It seemed to take far too long to read a simple letter. Lucy’s heart hammered, and she could hardly imagine how Miranda felt. Shealmostfelt sorry for her.
“So, you did plan it,” Arthur said quietly, almost to himself.
“Arthur, I onlyplannedanything because of how much I love you. I was so sure that…”
“You don’t love me,” he said crisply, folding the letter and sliding it into his pocket. “You have contempt for all of us. You think us so foolish that we wouldn’t see through your schemes. You even left out an incriminating letter. You deliberately put your reputation at risk in order to secure me, relying on the fact you knew I was a gentleman who would do my duty.”
“Arthur…”
“Lord Lanwood, if you please,” Arthur said, and now his voice was like ice. “I think, Miss Sinclair, it’s time for you to leave. Today. This very hour, in fact.”
“But… but my reputation…” Miranda stammered.
“Your reputation will not be damaged by us. Nobody needs to know what happened, unless you try to make trouble for myself, my family, or the Thornhills. In which case, this letter might resurface.”
It seemed likely that Miranda would argue, but Arthur stepped closer to her, and her unspoken objections trailed off.
“The rope to the chandelier was cut,” he said, his voice low. She went deathly white. “I cannot prove it was you,” he continued, and Lucy was genuinely afraid that Miranda might collapse altogether, “but I suggest you get out of my sight, Miss Sinclair, and don’t return. Leave. Now.”
Wordlessly, Miranda turned to the bureau, and began pulling her clothes out and stuffing them into a bag.
“See that she leaves,” Arthur said to Julius and Lucy. He seemed exhausted and left without another word.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I can’t do what you want me to do, Mama.”
Mrs. Thornhill glanced up from her writing desk, eyebrows shooting up towards her hairline.
“I beg your pardon?”
Felicity drew in a breath. “You want me to marry Lord Vincent. I can’t do it. I won’t.”
Mrs. Thornhill set aside her pen and letter, leaning back in her seat and folding her arms tight.
“I see. Well, you know what the alternative is, don’t you? I suggest you pack your things, then, and make your peace with a life of isolation.”
“I can’t do that either.”
“My girl, you have no choice.”
“I do have a choice, though,” Felicity continued, stepping forward. She’d gone over what she wanted to say in her head, over and over again, pacing her room up and down, up and down, until she was quite sure she would wear a hole in the carpet. Even now, the words seemed fuzzy, slipping away from her. So she gave up on her rehearsed speech, and simply said what felt right.
