Chapter Seventeen

"I believe we were enormously clear to you, Felicity," Mrs. Thornhill said, her voice hard. "Behave as a lady should, or else there will be consequences."

Gathered in the small parlour set aside for their personal use, Felicity and her parents stood like statues, staring at each other.

Felicity had known this was coming. Her mother had sent her a crisp message, asking her to join them in their private parlour before breakfast the following morning. She'd assumed that it was to account for her behaviour, and she was absolutely right.

"Acting like a lady should not be a difficulty for you," Mrs. Thornhill spat. She'd clearly had plenty of time to decide what she was going to say and was clearly making the most of it all. Felicity was going to get the tongue-lashing of a lifetime.

In her head, Felicity let herself drift off. She thought of Arthur – Lord Lanwood, she should be calling him – smiling at her across the table, the way her heart had fluttered and her chest tightened. Almost immediately after, though, she thought of Miranda Sinclair, and the false sympathy which had really meant nothing at all. She could still hear Miranda's lilting, cultured tones, ringing in her head, her voice full of pity and gentleness, and an undertone of contempt which she could not quite hide.

He has never loved a woman aside from me. We love each other in ways you cannot understand, Felicity. Arthur and I are soulmates.

It made sense. It made so much sense that Felicity wanted to scream. Of course he would still be in love with the woman he'd once wanted to marry. Of course she was the one who held his heart. And why should she not? Miranda Sinclair was remarkably beautiful, after all. She would make a wonderful Lady Lanwood, and it was clear that she had her eye on it, too.

"Felicity? Are you listening to me?" Mrs. Thornhill snapped. "Good lord, I'm glad your father is here to see how defiant and foolish you are. Do you have any idea of how your behaviour reflects upon it? It's embarrassing enough to have a bluestocking as a daughter, let alone an unmarried one."

"You ought to listen to your mama, girl," Mr. Thornhill said, his eyes straying to the folded newspaper by the side of his chair. "She's right, you know. Who will you marry? You must marry, after all. We brought you here in hopes of making a match, and aside from Lord Vincent, you really haven't attracted anyone at all. I can't understand why – you're a pretty enough girl."

"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, and that was 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 something useful."

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.

"I read too much," she said simply. "I study, I ask questions when I should be silent, I am interested in things that ladies should not care about, I make notes, I shun ladylike accomplishments, I say what I think, not what is polite. They are embarrassed by me."

"Then, with the greatest respect, they are fools."

She flinched at this, surprised at his vehement tone. Casting a quick glance up at him, she was surprised to find Lord Lanwood's face tinged red, his lips pressed angrily together. He flushed deeper when he met her eye.

"I'm sorry, do forgive me. It's just… I know what it's like to be considered wrong, in many ways. Society is not a forgiving place. There is a narrow mould for us to fit into, and heaven help the person who does not quite fit. It can be a lonely place, living on the wrong side of Society."

She nodded slowly, feeling some of the knotted weight in her chest untangle, just a little. The problems were still there, naturally, but having somebody who felt the same, who knew what it was like and did not blame her… well, it felt good, to say the least.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for saying that."

"With your permission, I would like to speak to Mr. Thornhill about this matter."

"No," Felicity said sharply. "No, please don't. It won't go well, I can assure you. They'll be furious that I told you at all, and things will only get worse for me. I must insist you keep this between us."

He ducked his head. "If that's what you want, Miss Thornhill, of course I'll oblige. I didn't mean to offend. I just wish that I could do something."

She shrugged. "I'm a woman, a daughter, living at home. I'm under my father's roof, and legally that means I'm obliged to obey my parents. That will never change, not unless I exchange a father's authority for a husband's. That could be even worse, and permanent into the bargain."

"If you choose the right man, you could find yourself freed instead."

She hadn't expected him to say that. The words hung in the air, and Felicity glanced sharply up at him again. Lord Lanwood's face was redder than ever, his scars webbing down the side of his face. She wondered, quite suddenly, what the ridges of flesh would feel like under her fingertips.

Immediately Felicity recollected herself. That was not proper, as was talking with a man, alone, in a garden maze.

"I… I really must go, Lord Lanwood," she said nervously, rising to her feet and tucking her sketch book under her arm. "My mother expects to see a drawing, so I'd better produce one, or else."

"Of course. And… and for what it's worth, Miss Thornhill, I think it's a great pity you have lost your books. You have a remarkable mind."

She stared at him for a long moment, the words just slipping away from her until she forgot what she wanted to say altogether.

"Thank you," she managed at last, then turned tail and fled.