Chapter Fifteen

One might have assumed that dinner would be a nervous, subdued affair, but in fact it was the opposite. Everybody seemed in excellent spirits, all talking about the excitement on the lake, and what a narrow escape Miss Sinclair had had.

Miranda herself appeared at the dinner table, to receive applause and congratulations on her bravery. She smiled shyly, blinking coyly all around. She looked properly pale, still beautiful, but visibly tired. She kept saying how weak she felt, how she could barely lift a hand, barely eat a thing.

"I should be dead at the bottom of the lake if it were not for my saviour," she'd said, more than once, fluttering her eyelashes pointedly at Arthur.

He only smiled and said nothing.

"Lot of excitement today, eh?" Lord Vincent said, his voice low and sultry in Felicity's ear. His breath smelled of alcohol already, and she wrinkled her nose.

"Miss Sinclair was lucky not to have drowned," Felicity said coolly. "I'm glad she's recovering."

"Recovering? Oh, she'd have to be a fool to do that," he laughed. "Recover, and let herself be ejected from the house she's working so hard to get into? Please, Miss Thornhill. No, our little Miss Sinclair has gotten her feet under the table now. See how the ladies and her very own hostess are fluttering around her? Clever little miss, indeed."

Despite herself, Felicity had to look. Miranda Sinclair was seated on a comfortable armchair, piled with blankets and pillows, her satin-slippered feet resting on a footstool.

She had a cup of tea in one hand and was shyly refusing a slice of cake with the other. Mrs. Langley was leaning over her, fluffing up a pillow and talking to her in a low voice, while the other ladies chirped and flitted around her, making sure everything was perfect and she was entirely comfortable.

Most of the gentlemen were looking.

Lord Lanwood included.

Felicity's heart ached tightly. He was looking at Miss Sinclair with a strange expression on his face, shuttered and unreadable. Clearing her throat, she made herself look away.

"She's had a nasty shock today," Felicity said firmly. "And I don't care to make fun of her now. She needs to rest."

Lord Vincent chuckled again. He had a glass of what looked like brandy and was swilling the amber liquid round and round the glass, almost hypnotically. On cue, the bell rang for dinner. He threw it back in one gulp and set the glass aside.

"Come, sit with me, Miss Thornhill," he said casually. "I'll escort you into dinner."

Her heart sank. How many times had that happened today – her heart just dropping to the soles of her boots? She was, of course, obliged to take his arm. People were filing through to the dining room in pairs, with a cluster of ladies around Miss Sinclair.

When they reached the dining room, all laid out for dinner, Felicity's relief was immense when she saw that their seats were assigned. She had to bite back a smile at Lord Vincent's sulky face upon seeing that he was stuck between Mr. and Mrs. Thornhill.

"Do excuse me," she said, unsuccessfully hiding a smile. "I'd better find my seat."

Felicity was pleasantly surprised to find that she was sitting near the head of the table. Mrs. Langley sat opposite at the bottom, and Lord Lanwood at the top, with Lucy one his right and Felicity on his left.

A little bewildered at getting the prime place, Felicity took her seat.

Dinner was served, with all the formalities and proprieties that it required, and it was a good long time before Felicity felt comfortable enough to actually look at Lord Lanwood.

"Are you recovered?" she asked, keeping her voice low to match the genteel conversation going on in the room.

"More or less," he said, flashing a wry smile. "We never finished out conversation, did we?"

Her heart hammered.

He remembered.

"Well, you were distracted by the business of being a hero, were you not?" she countered. "Which you managed successfully; I might add. You'll be the toast of the county for months."

He gave a surprised snort of laughter, and Felicity allowed herself a small, pleased smile at being able to make him laugh again.

"Please, let's pick up where we left off," he laughed. "Tell me more about botany. I must say, I don't know much about herbs and plants, beyond admiring a pretty flower or breathing in some lavender. My mother thinks botany is limited to flower-arranging. For ladies, at least."

"That is where she may be surprised," Felicity said, leaning forward, excited despite herself. "There are books written by female authors on the subject. More than you would think. Oh, they all use pseudonyms, naturally, but still. There was one author I enjoy very much, and she – I like to imagine it's a she – has so much to say on the use of plants in matters of science, with practical applications, rather than simply as things for ornamentation."

"Such as?"

Felicity hesitated, giving him a quick, assessing glance. Did he really want to know, or was he making fun of her? Or worse yet, being polite?

But Lord Lanwood looked openly back at her, that sweet half-smile still on his face, his hair still dampened from earlier. Something swelled in her chest that felt suspiciously like affection.

"I'm glad you asked," she said, smiling back. "There are so many applications it's hard to know where to start. The use of herbs in medicine, of course, is well documented, as is their dyeing propensity. But there are other elements to consider in the fields of…"

It was something of a shock when Mrs. Langley rose smoothly and smiled around at her guests.

"Ladies, shall we go?"

For a blissful hour, Felicity had entirely forgotten the fact that they lived in a world where women weren't meant to be interested in science of any description, and only were permitted interest in plants if they limited their interest to light gardening and flower-arranging. She had certainly forgotten that the ladies had to retreat to the drawing room after dessert and leave the gentlemen to sip port and talk about dull, manly things.

Felicity rose to her feet obediently. She could always talk to Lord Lanwood later, surely.

The ladies filed out of the room, a handful of them supporting Miss Sinclair, of course. Felicity was dawdling in the back, full of dreams about Lord Lanwood and plants – ideally the two together – when a cold hard tightened about her wrist, making her jump.

"I heard you!" Mrs. Thornhill hissed.

"Mama! What is it? You're hurting me."

"I heard you rattling on to poor Lord Lanwood about heaven only knows what nonsense."

Felicity went red. "He asked, Mama."

"He asked because he knows his manners. He expected you to talk about something a little more ladylike, I'm sure. And have you a drawing to produce for today? No, I thought not. I am heartily tired of you, my girl. You are treading on thin ice, indeed."

Felicity pulled her arm away. "Mama, I was just engaging in conversation. Why should I pretend to hide my interests?"

"Don't you see?" her mother hissed, pushing her face close to Felicity's. "If you could secure Lord Lanwood as a match…"

"Mama! Don't be silly. Besides he's my host. He has to be nice to me."

"Do not interrupt me. I am already angry at you, Felicity. If you could secure him, that would be a wonderful thing for you. At the very least, his approval – especially after he was so heroic today – would be a great thing for you. You don't seem to understand how tentative your position is in this world. Are you listening to me, Felicity?"

"We should go," Felicity said, clenching her hands at her sides to hide her temper. "Everybody else has gone in. It'll look odd if we stay out here."

Mrs. Thornhill pressed her lips together. "Very well, but this is not finished, Felicity. I can see that the mere threat of taking away your books and studies is not enough to make you behave. I'll have to take measures, and I will discuss with your father as to what those measures should be. Go on in, and mind your manners for the rest of tonight, if you can. You are clearly determined to make a show of yourself, acting like a haughty, disgusting bluestocking, a determined spinster who will make herself and her family ridiculous. I am thoroughly sick of the sight of you."

It was strange how words stung, even when you'd heard them a hundred times, even if you are convinced they are not true, and do not apply to you. Felicity's head jerked like she'd been slapped, and she had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep herself from replying. Words bubbled to her lips, angry retorts and sharp insults, but she swallowed hard, swallowing the words down with the movement.

Turning without another word, Felicity slipped into the drawing room, not looking to see whether she was being followed.

Inside, everybody had already found a seat. Miss Sinclair had the pride of place, naturally, sitting by the fire, with ladies fluttering around her.

Lucy sat in the corner, Felicity noticed, watching Miss Sinclair with a tiny frown between her brows.

She was dithering whether to go and sit by Lucy or to try and excuse herself for the evening when Miss Sinclair glanced up and noticed her. The woman gave a little cry, and grandly waved away the ladies around her.

"Miss Thornhill, there you are! I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost, between here and the dining room."

This was met by polite titters.

"I'm quite well, thank you," Felicity responded. Should she go and talk to her? The answer came soon, when Miranda got gracefully to her feet, shrugging a blanket around her shoulders like a cape, and kept tripping over to where Felicity stood. There were muffled gasps of worry, and a few dirty glances were shot Felicity's way, the other ladies clearly thinking that she should have gone to Miss Sinclair.

"I wonder, Miss Thornhill, if I could entreat you to a few words alone?" Miranda asked, her voice low and sweet. "I have been trying to talk to you all evening, but it has not happened. It will not do, my dear Miss Thornhill. May I call you Felicity? And you must call me Miranda. I feel as though we're friends already."

Felicity had no idea what she could have done to make the woman feel like they were friends already, but she smiled politely anyway.

"Of course. Shall we sit down, then?"

Miranda glanced delicately around. "Not here, I fancy. Somewhere, private, perhaps? Do you know somewhere?"

"The library, perhaps? It's not far from here."

"Will Miss Sinclair not be cold?" asked a woman, a dowager, who'd been hovering in the background, eyeing Miranda and shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation.

Miranda flashed the woman a dazzling smile. "I shall be quite alright, Mrs. Dunbarton, thanks to your care. A thousand thanks, my darling friend. We shall not be long."

Looping a graceful wrist through Felicity's elbow, Miranda all but dragged her out of the room. The door closed behind them, and Felicity could almost imagine the chatter exploding behind them, wondering what the two ladies – who everyone knew were not friends – had to talk about.

"It's so cool out here," Miranda sighed. "They are so kind, but they are making me feel rather suffocated."

"They're worried about you," Felicity responded. "You could have drowned today."

Miranda flashed a quick, secret smile. "Yes. I suppose I could have."

They reached the library, and Miranda closed the door behind them. She slipped the cloak-blanket off her shoulders, tossing it carelessly away. She placed her hands on her hips and shot Felicity a frankly unsettling grin.

"Now," she breathed. "A word in your ear, my dearest, dearest Felicity. As you may have guessed, this is about our mutual friend, Lord Lanwood."