Chapter Twenty-One

Felicity thought she would never be able to forget tipping back her head only to see a chandelier plunging straight down towards her.

She was vaguely aware of people screaming around her, of a terrible creaking and groaning filling the air. Lord Vincent, who'd been standing too close to Felicity with his hand on her elbow just a minute before, was nowhere to be seen.

Instinct, as it turned out, was a powerful thing. Felicity threw herself sideways, her slippery dancing shoes and long, gauzy skirts holding her back. She landed with a thump on the ground, pain shooting along her side, a mere half second before the chandelier crashed down onto the dance floor.

The noise was tremendous, like nothing Felicity had ever heard. She rolled into a ball, pressing her hands over her ears, eyes closed and arms tried to cover her head as best she could manage, while the ground shook and glass rained down around her.

For what seemed like an eternity, all Felicity could hear was muffled screams and her own blood pounding in her ears. She scarcely dared move her arms to peer out, half afraid of what she would see.

The chandelier had landed only a foot or two from where Felicity lay. The floor beneath it had cracked, pieces gouged up, and of course the chandelier was a twisted wreck, surrounded by shattered glass. As Felicity sat up, slowly and awkwardly, broken glass slid off her, tinkling on the ground.

The noise of the crowd filtered in next. People were shouting and crying, scuttling away from the ruined dance floor. She blinked, trying to see if there was anyone hurt, any injuries, but thankfully not, as far as she could see.

Footmen were scurrying around, and Mrs. Langley burst out of the crowd, face white.

"Is anyone hurt?" she was calling, over and over again. Lucy elbowed past her, head whipping around.

"Felicity?" Lucy was saying. At least, that was what Felicity thought she was saying, because the blood in her ears pounded too loudly for her to really hear what was going on.

She flinched when a man knelt down beside her, large hands cupping her shoulders.

"Felicity? Felicity!" he was saying.

Her hands, shaking harder than she would have thought possible, reached out to touch his sharp jawline, up to where the scar snaked its way down his cheek.

"Arthur?" she managed, her own voice weak and shaky in her ears. "I… I hardly know what happened."

"There's been an accident," he said, making no move to take away her hand or move back. His hands were still on her shoulders, and she could feel the warmth of his palms soaking through the gauzy material there. "You're safe, Felicity. You're safe, I promise."

He reached up, picking a lump of glass from her hair. Felicity realized, in a disinterested sort of way, that her dress was torn near the hem, her hair had come undone and was hanging around her shoulders, and there was a nasty bruise blooming on the side of her face and doubtless in other places, too.

Arthur took both of her hands in his, the warmth and strength seeming to seep through her skin and into her blood, allowing her head to clear and her legs to stop shaking so vigorously.

"Are you hurt?" he was asking now, voice low, eyes intent. It occurred to Felicity that he was one of the few people moving towards the accident, when everybody else was pushing to get away, or looking on in horror.

"I… I don't think so," Felicity managed. "I feel bruised, and I think I've grazed my knees, but aside from that, I don't think I'm hurt. Is anyone else hurt?"

"Not that I can see. Everybody was able to get out of the way of the chandelier. I imagine people will want to leave as soon as they can, but I'd like to make sure that nobody is hurt and everybody has a way of getting home safely. I wouldn't trust a person to walk or ride home after a shock like this. Are you ready to get up, Felicity? You can't stay on the floor. I'll find you a seat."

His hands tightened around herself, and Felicity glanced up at him, their eyes meeting. A strong sensation of well-being rushed through her, and she felt, in a dizzying sort of certainty, that everything would be alright.

And then, with appallingly bad timing, Lord Vincent appeared behind Arthur.

"My poor dear!" he cried, loudly enough for the assembled guests to hear. "I'm so glad I pushed you aside – you could have died, you poor thing! I have some bruises myself, but I don't regard them. Here, let me help you."

He extended a hand, but Felicity pretended not to see it, hauling herself up instead.

Her parents were at her side at once, looking more genuinely concerned than they had in the longest time.

Mrs. Thornhill threw her arms around Felicity, hugging her tight.

When is the last time my mother hugged me?

"We thought you were dead," she gasped. "Oh, that was awful. We saw the chandelier fall, and you underneath it… I feel ill, Felicity, quite ill. Come away, you must see a doctor at once, for the shock."

"I… I'm not hurt, Mama."

"Yes, yes, we know, Lord Vincent said he pushed you out of the way. How heroic! I am sure you'll feel quite indebted to him, I know I do. Come away from this horrid room, Felicity, at once."

She twisted in her mother's arms, seeing Arthur standing on the dance floor, a strange look in his eyes as she was pulled away from him. Lord Vincent was shifting from foot to foot, glancing around uncertainly.

There was one thing Felicity was entirely sure of – two things, in fact.

One, Lord Vincent had not pushed her to safety. He'd ran as soon as he heard the creaking of the chandelier ropes.

Two, Arthur's expression had meant something, she knew it. It had to mean something.

Perhaps he has feelings for me, Felicity thought, heart pounding as her mother dragged her away. I have to speak to him. I simply must.

***

Arthur got shakily to his feet, watching Felicity's parents bear her away through the crowd. He couldn't blame them. An accident like this would be talked about for years to come, if not decades. People could have been killed, or at least hurt.

As far as he could tell, nobody had been hurt, which was nothing short of a miracle. Lucy and Beatrice were herding people out of the ballroom, promising rejuvenating cups of tea and refreshments to help them recover, while their carriages were called for. Most people did not need to be told to leave the ballroom, and were already flocking through the hallways, talking loudly and breathlessly.

The room emptied, aside from the frantic footmen trying to clean up the mess, and Arthur found himself more or less alone.

What happened here? That chandelier has been there for decades. Why break now?

He circled the ruined chandelier, looking for clues. The ropes and chains that held it in place seemed in good condition, with no rust-spots or signs of wear. Besides, that was something that would have been thoroughly checked when the chandelier was taken down and cleaned.

Glancing around, he was able to trace one of the ropes which held it in place. The rope snaked along the floor, loose where it should have been taut, connected to a secure anchor point. He followed it, eyeing the thick rope. No signs of fraying, or… He paused, coming to the end of the rope.

Crouching down, Arthur picked up the rope and eyed the ends.

Cut, he thought wildly. It's been cut.

Whoever had damaged the rope had been extremely careful. Cutting the rope all the way through would have brought the chandelier crashing down almost at once, and it would have been impossible to cut through the rope in the middle of a ball. One of the footmen was on duty near the place where the ropes were attached, which was kept discreetly curtained and away from the where the guests would circulate. He swore that nobody had approached, and Arthur believed him.

No, this seemed like somebody had cut halfway through the rope, leaving the rest to gradually fray and break under the pressure, estimating that it would come crashing down sometime during the dancing. The party was ruined, of course, and their house guests, the Thornhills, seemed keener than ever to get away at once. Not that Arthur could blame them.

Who would do this? Who would do something so dangerous?

Footsteps approached, and Arthur stilled. By now, he was alone in the ballroom, having followed the ropes to a curtained-off alcove, the curtain half pulled across.

He almost knew who would be there before she stepped into the alcove with him.

"I'm so glad you are safe, Arthur," Miranda said, her voice hushed. "I was afraid you'd been hurt."

"No, I am quite well, Miss Sinclair," he said, smiling uncomfortably and hiding the half cut, half frayed rope behind his back.

"A terrible accident, was it not?"

He bit his lip. "Yes. Terrible. We should be grateful that nobody was hurt."

"Oh, and it could so easily have happened! I cannot lie, Arthur, and I must say that my concern was only for you."

She took a step closer, and Arthur automatically stepped back. But the wall was behind him, and he couldn't retreat much further.

"Thank you," he managed.

Her gaze fluttered down to his hands, tucked carefully behind his back.

"I suppose it was just an accident, then? The rope frayed and broke?"

He forced a smile. "Yes, it looks that way."

There was a half-minute of silence, then Miranda breathed out, stepping closer still, all but pressing herself against him.

"I can be silent no longer, Arthur."

"Miss Sinclair, please, you are entirely too close. We should not even be in here together."

"I don't care. You cannot, my dearest Arthur, be insensible of my intentions. I have loved you for…"

"Please, stop," he interrupted, holding up a hand. There was no room to duck away from her, and short of pushing her roughly away, no way to put some space between them. "You don't love me, Miranda. You never did."

Her beautiful eyes narrowed, just for an instant, then took on a doleful expression.

"Oh, you are as hard-hearted as ever. How could you say that to me? You know how I adored you. If you resent me over breaking our engagement…"

"I do not resent you."

"Well, then why will you not admit your feelings for me? I thought I was doing the right thing. I have regretted it often, Arthur."

He smiled grimly. "That, I can believe. Miranda, I am not a fool. Perhaps I loved you once, or perhaps I simply convinced myself that I did. Both of us are different people now, with different aims and wants. I know you wish to marry, and I hope with all my heart that you are able to find a man you can truly love. But that man is not me. I can't make you an offer, Miranda."

For a second, anger flitted across her face, hastily hidden. She surged further forward, if that was possible, placing her palms on his chest and standing up on her tiptoes in an attempt to kiss him.

Arthur put both hands on her arms, intending to push her away. In a moment that seemed to stretch out into eternity, he glanced over her shoulder and saw Felicity Thornhill.

She was standing just outside the alcove, staring straight at him, her expression blank. A maid stood behind her, looking equal parts appalled and thrilled.

"Felicity," he gasped, the name coming out of him in a rush of air. Miranda stepped back, turning to face their audience, seeming entirely unashamed.

"Do excuse me," Felicity said, her voice stiff and uneven. "I…"

"This is not what it seems, Felicity."

She barely seemed to hear him. "I did not mean to interrupt. Please… please accept my congratulations. Do excuse me."

She turned on her heel, hair still falling untidily around her shoulders, and all but ran out of the ballroom, pursued by the maid.

Pushing past Miranda, Arthur hurried after her.

"Felicity, please!"

He ran out into the hallway, but it was no use. She had already gone.