Chapter Eighteen

"A game of Pall-Mall? Oh, how exciting!" Miranda chirped, clapping her hands together until Felicity wanted to hurl a cushion at her.

A full two days had passed since the disastrous lake jaunt, and Miranda kept insisting that she was not well enough to leave, and Mrs. Langley agreed with her. She monopolized Arthur quite skilfully, keeping him at her side without seeming to do so. Felicity didn't even try to pry him away. What was the point?

She caught her mother's eye on her more and more, and sometimes, Mrs. Thornhill even looked concerned. Felicity couldn't bring herself to care.

And now, wretched Mrs. Langley had suggested they play a game of Pall-Mall, that ridiculous game with the mallets and hoops, out on the lawn. It was a fine enough day for it, and Felicity knew she wouldn't be permitted to decline.

"It's been an age since I played," Miranda was saying now, fluttering around. "We should play in pairs, shouldn't we? That would be more fun. Oh, Lord Lanwood, you must play with me. I'm sure you're an excellent player, and we shall beat all the others!"

She chirped on in this vein, while Mrs. Langley smiled indulgently on, ignoring Lord Lanwood's quiet protests that he could barely play the game at all.

Felicity got up, under pretence of changing her shoes before they went outside. She'd barely got halfway down the hallway before she heard footsteps following her. She turned, half-afraid that it was Miranda, half-hoping that it was Arthur.

It was neither, in the end.

"Oh, Lucy," Felicity said, smiling wearily. "What is it?"

Lucy pursed her lips, tilting her head to one side, like a bird. "You aren't yourself."

Felicity bit her lip. "I know I've been rather dull lately, but really…"

"I don't mean dull. I don't mean you weren't entertaining enough; I mean that you look as if you've been hollowed out. That's the only way I can think of to describe it. Something is wrong. Arthur is concerned too, you know. I catch him looking at you over the dining table, and I know that look. He's worried. You are not yourself, and I've been waiting in vain for you to tell me what's going on. So, tell me. I'm your friend, aren't I?"

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 a fearful person 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't have any 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.

The only person who seemed to be having a good time at all was Beatrice. Lucy and she won, to the chagrin of Lord Vincent and Mr. Thornhill, who apparently resented losing the game to a pair of women.

Then, quite suddenly, it was all too much for Arthur. Pain pulsed in his head, not the dangerous kind that ran beneath his scar, but a more ordinary kind of headache brought about by tension, too much sun, and too much talking. Miranda plucked at his sleeve again, and Arthur was struck by the realization that if he didn't leave immediately, he was in great danger of hitting someone with a Pall-Mall mallet.

It would probably be Lord Vincent, who now had his hand possessively on Felicity's elbow.

Arthur muttered an excuse, something about a headache, and went immediately inside. Once safe, he sent word to Julius to bring down his book from upstairs and retired to the library. To avoid being found and dragged out, he chose a secluded seat at the very back, entirely hidden by a maze of bookshelves. Sitting down with a sigh, Arthur closed his eyes and willed himself to relax.

And then he heard approaching footsteps.

"Julius? I'm back here," Arthur called, eyes still closed. The footsteps approached, and there was a delicate, feminine gasp.

He opened his eyes, heart already sinking. And there, of course, stood Miranda Sinclair, hands pressed to her mouth.

"Oh, Lord Lanwood, I had no idea you were here!" she gasped. "I thought this little corner of the library was mine alone. I come here to think, you know."

Arthur bounced to his feet, clearing his throat. He was more or less cornered, with Miranda blocking the only exit. He'd have to push past her to leave, and she showed no signs of moving.

"It's quite alright," he said uncomfortably. "I'll move."

"No, no, I won't hear of it!" she said, a trifle too quickly. She took a step forward, and Arthur stepped involuntarily back. The chair was behind him, and then there was the wall. There really was not anywhere for him to go.

"The only thing is…" Miranda whispered, eyelashes fluttering again, "…we really shouldn't be here alone, together, should we? I know it is wrong, but we are such old friends, and we were once so close…"

A flash of panic went through Arthur.

"Ah, I don't think…"

Miranda advanced another step but was cut off when the door to the library opened.

"Oh, if we were to be discovered…" she breathed.

"Your lordship?" Julius called. "Are you here?"

"Yes, Julius, here," Arthur called, almost giddy with relief. "Have no fear, Miss Sinclair. I sent for Julius the moment I came inside, the butler will tell you. I've been expecting him any minute. Nobody would think that we had an assignation. It was nothing more than coincidence."

The expression of annoyance on Miranda's face was almost comical. Julius pattered across the room, blinking in surprise when he rounded the corner and came face to face with Miranda.

"I brought your book, your lordship," he said uncertainly, glancing between them. "Have I interrupted?"

"You have not," Arthur said instantly, before Miranda had a chance to speak. "I believe that Miss Sinclair intended to use the library, so we'll take ourselves off and leave her be, shall we?"

There was really nothing Miranda could say to this, beyond a weak, tight-lipped smile. She did not move aside, obliging Arthur to shuffle nervously past her, and stood in the doorway as they hurried across the library. She was still staring at them, arms folded, as Arthur hastily shut the door behind him. He let out a long sigh of relief. His head hurt worse than ever, and he found himself thinking of the herbal remedy Felicity Thornhill had mentioned.

Would it really have worked? She seemed clever enough, and some herbal remedies did ease the pain of headaches. He'd never tried anything which successfully eased his own pain, but perhaps that was because the pain in his head went deeper than a simple headache.

"Perhaps it's not my place to say, sir," Julius began uncertainly, "But I don't like that young woman. Miss Sinclair, that is."

"It's your place to hold whatever opinion you see fit, Julius. But why don't you like her? Just for my own curiosity, you understand.

Julius sighed. "She's sharp with the servants, sir. No, not just sharp – downright cruel. One of the upstairs maids, Susie, has been assigned to help her dress and so on, and you'd never believe the stories she tells. Just last night, she threw a vase at her, if Susie is to be believed."

Arthur bit his lip. He knew Susie – a cheerful, round-faced girl who liked Julius a little too much – and knew that she had a reputation for truthfulness. It was unlikely that she would lie, and it was just as likely that Miranda would do something like that.

"Have you spoken to my mother about this?" Arthur asked seriously. "She won't be happy to hear that her servants are being badly treated, in her own home no less."

Julius shook his head. "We didn't want to cause problems, your lordship. Miss Sinclair is, after all, a guest."

"Yes, and isn't that just the problem?" Arthur murmured, caught off guard. Julius shot him a surprised look.

"Let's go find somewhere quiet to sit," Arthur continued, rather than explain what he'd just said.

The truth was that Miranda's presence was beginning to upset Arthur more than he had expected. His headaches were worse than before, she seemed to be everywhere, and it was pretty clear to him that she was trying to win his favour. It wasn't hard to see why.

Miranda's spectacular prospects had plummeted after her father's death, and she was still unengaged. Arthur had expected every moment to read in the Gazette about her marriage, but it seemed that after she ended their betrothal, nothing had gone right for the Sinclair family.

And now here he was, an earl, with money and land and power. Miranda was too accustomed to getting what she wanted, Arthur knew that. At one time, he'd found it endearing.

Now, it seemed callous, and mercenary.

The incident in the library worried him. Why corner him like that? Was she trying to put a dent in her own reputation? It was a risk to take.

Or perhaps not as great a risk as one might think, he thought, with a growing feeling of unease. A gentleman who ruined a lady's reputation, even unintentionally, would feel himself obliged to marry her. No, surely not. Not even Miranda could be so shocking.

Unconvinced and still unsettled, he led the way into his study. There, at least, he wouldn't be disturbed.

"Tell Susie that if Miss Sinclair is violent or unpleasant towards her again, she must tell me immediately," Arthur said, settling himself behind his desk. "I won't have such behaviour towards my household in my own home. But don't fret – I have a feeling that Miss Sinclair may not be staying with us for much longer."