Chapter Twenty-Two

"Lord Vincent wants an audience with you," Mrs. Thornhill said shortly, simmering with barely suppressed excitement. "He's waiting in the good parlour."

Felicity lifted her head from her pillow with an effort.

It was morning again, and the events of the disastrous ball the previous night almost seemed like a dream.

Not a dream, of course. She remembered it all in painful detail – the chandelier crashing down, screams, glass in her hair.

Miranda and Arthur, inches between them, clearly about to kiss.

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to swallow down the feeling of disappointment and misery.

How could I have been so foolish? Miranda tried to warn me off. Twice, in fact. If I'd only had eyes, I would have seen how close the two of them were.

Curling up in bed, she pressed her face deeper into the pillow.

"Felicity?" Mrs. Thornhill said, sounding a little more annoyed now. "Get up and dress at once. He won't wait forever. You have fifteen minutes before I will have you dragged out of bed."

The door closed with a slam. It wasn't an empty threat, so Felicity uncurled herself from her nest of bedclothes – in which she hadn't slept a wink all night – and started the laborious process of dressing.

"Very nice," Mrs. Thornhill said approvingly, eyeing the lavender-coloured muslin dress Felicity had chosen. "You're a little pale, and there are bags under your eyes, but morning light can be very flattering. Go on in, the tea is ready. I'm sure you can imagine what Lord Vincent means to say."

Felicity, sleep-heavy and disoriented, could not possibly imagine what Lord Vincent wanted to say to her, but allowed herself to be pushed into the parlour, and the door shut tight behind her.

Lord Vincent had taken the best armchair near the fire, stretching out one booted foot to the blaze. He glanced up at her, grinning.

"Ah, Miss Thornhill. May I call you Felicity? I feel like I can. Are you quite recovered from your shock last night?"

"Yes, thank you," she responded automatically, even though it was not true. "Mrs. Langley and Lucy are busy dealing with all the mess and contacting their guests."

"Not an auspicious event, eh? The Langley summer ball has been a talked-about thing for decades, as far as I can tell. Well, now it will be talked about for decades more, but nobody will ever attend again."

This seemed harsh to Felicity, and a flash of annoyance made its way through her numbness.

"Well, if they take the chandelier down, then there's no reason why…"

"Enough of this," Lord Vincent said, bouncing to his feet. "I can imagine you know why I am here, Felicity. Why I requested an audience with you alone."

He advanced towards her, and Felicity retreated warily, putting the back of the sofa between the two of them.

"On the contrary, sir. I'm quite at a loss."

He gave an indulgent chuckle. "You ladies must have your foibles, eh? Needless to say, I have consulted with your excellent parents, and have their full permission."

Felicity was sure she was getting a headache. Headaches made her think of both herbs and Lord Lanwood. Arthur. Her chest contracted, and she wondered absently if it were possible to die of heartbreak after all.

I'll make him that herbal remedy before I leave, she thought. He might not love me, but I can't stand the idea of him in pain.

"I don't understand," she responded woodenly.

Lord Vincent smiled. His self-assurance was getting a little annoying.

"I would like to offer for your hand, Miss Felicity Thornhill. Do me the honour of agreeing to become my wife, won't you?"

There was a brief silence.

"I… I beg your pardon?"

"Ah," he laughed. "I imagine you supposed I would bring flowers, perhaps chocolates, and get down on one knee? I'm afraid that sort of thing only happens in novels, my dear. In the real world, these conversations are much more practical. As I mentioned before, I have your parents' full permission and blessing, so this interview is, I daresay, something of a formality. Can I say we are agreed?"

He held out a hand, and Felicity stared at it. She felt dizzy, hungry, and thirsty, and was reminded that she hadn't eaten and drank since before the ball last night.

"That's very kind of you," she said at last. "But I can't marry you, Lord Vincent."

He sighed, letting his hand drop. "I expected a little resistance. I am not offended by your honesty, Miss Thornhill. Felicity. But you must see that I am the best match you're likely to get, at your age. Your parents are keen for you to be married, and you'll have a substantial dowry. I have made my attention quite clear, and you didn't rebuff me. In fact, I would say you were extremely encouraging."

"I wasn't permitted to do anything else," Felicity shot back. The clouds in her mind were clearing, and she was unsurprised to find anger underneath. "You have been very persistent, Lord Vincent, despite my obvious dislike of you. A better man might have turned his attentions elsewhere. Sometimes, I felt as if you were almost enjoying the fact that I was forced to dance with you, converse with you, and spend time with you."

He blinked a little at her vehemence. "You're a spirited lady, Felicity. I admire that. But let us be practical for a moment. Put aside your emotions and think logically."

"Oh, I am very capable of thinking logically, sir. I know that our interests are not aligned, our characters repulsive to each other. I know that you have more interest in my station and money than in me, and I have no interest in you at all. You've fixed upon me as your wife, for reasons known only to yourself, and you are aware that my parents will pressure me to accept your hand. All of these elements combine in a way to make it simply impossible for me to accept your offer. I am sorry, but there it is."

Some of the confidence was draining out of Lord Vincent's face.

"Felicity, it is all arranged. Mr. Thornhill intends to put the notice in the Gazette as soon as possible."

"He may do so if he wishes, but I will not be marrying you, Lord Vincent. Not now, not ever. If this gives you pain, I am sorry, but I doubt that it does. Good morning, sir."

She turned on her heel, not giving him another opportunity to speak, and strode out of the room.

Opening the door, she found herself face to face with Mrs. Thornhill, whose face was red with anger.

Unsurprised, Felicity steeled herself, lifting her chin.

"Listening at doors now, are we, Mama?" she said, hearing a little gasp of shock from Lord Vincent.

"Come with me, my girl," Mrs. Thornhill said, tight-lipped. She seized Felicity's arm, fingers digging in enough to hurt, and dragged her away down the hallway.

"Should I wait here?" came Lord Vincent's plaintive voice after them, "or should I go? Mrs. Thornhill? Felicity?"

Mr. Thornhill waited wearily for his wife and daughter in their little private parlour. Mrs. Thornhill shoved her inside, slamming the door behind them.

"She refused him," she snapped, apparently speaking to her husband, with her eyes fixed firmly on Felicity. "After all we did to encourage such an advantageous match, the girl turned him down."

"I did turn him down," Felicity said sharply. "I'm sorry, Mama, but I cannot marry him. I simply cannot."

"And why not? What is so wrong with him, young miss, that you think you're better than he is?"

"It's not that – although I do absolutely think I am better than him. We have nothing in common. I do not even like him, and to be frank, I don't believe he likes me. I'm sorry, Mama."

Mrs. Thornhill moved across the room, coming very close to Felicity, their noses inches apart.

"Then listen to this, young woman. Your father and I are tired of supporting you. We are tired of being humiliated in public, of bearing up under your ridiculous hobbies and interests. You simply refuse to act in your own interests, insisting on studying, making yourself the most ridiculous spinster the world has ever seen."

Tears pricked at Felicity's eyes. "Well, Mama, it is good to know what you think of me, at last. I am sorry I'm such a disappointment."

Mrs. Thornhill swallowed, visibly steeling herself.

"This is what your father and I have decided," she said, her voice wobbling just a little. "You are of age, and so of course we cannot compel you to accept a man, even if the match is so very suitable for you. From today, you have two choices. You can accept Lord Vincent's proposal, and be a respectable, happy married woman, living a proper domestic life. Or, you can refuse him, and we shall act accordingly."

The last two words were ominous, sending chills down Felicity's spine.

"And what do you mean by acting accordingly?" she asked, trying to disguise the tremor in her voice.

"You will be sent back to our country estate," Mrs. Thornhill continued, her voice impassive. "Alone. You will have no books, no paper, beyond an allowance of notepaper to write letters and keep up your correspondence. You will have no monetary allowance. If you need something – such as material for a new dress – you may write to your papa and I and request it. You will keep no company, and you will not accompany us to London or Bath. The servants at the country estate will be informed of these restrictions."

There was a moment of heavy, painful silence. Felicity glanced over at her father, saying nothing. He avoided her gaze.

"You have agreed on this, then?" she said, voice wobbling.

"We have," Mrs. Thornhill said. "We are your parents, and we have a measure of authority."

"A living death, then? That's what you have chosen for me."

"Do not be so dramatic. You'll be comfortable, well fed, well housed."

"No books. No company. No freedom."

"Women rely on the goodness of others to enjoy those things," Mrs. Thornhill snapped. "If you do not understand that by now, Felicity, then you are not as clever as you think. This is what we have decided. Lord Vincent may not be a novel's hero, but he is suitable."

"He wants me for my money, Mama. I know it."

"He has his own money."

"So he says."

"It is vulgar to speak of such things." Mrs. Thornhill reached out, tentatively taking her daughter's hand. "This decision is a stark one, I know, but I hope it will make you think hard, and make the right choice. I believe that soon, you'll thank me."

Felicity glanced up at her mother, holding her gaze for a long moment.

"You truly believe that, don't you?" she said, voice quiet. "You think you're doing the right thing. You've mocked me since I was a child, you've taken away my books, forced me into a mould that does not fit me in the slightest, and you still congratulate yourself on being such a good parent. You can't see the irony, can you?"

Mrs. Thornhill pressed her lips together and took away her hand.

"Do you intend to go downstairs and tell Lord Vincent that you accept his suit?" she snapped. "Time is running out."

"Not as fast as you think," Mr. Thornhill spoke up ponderously, for the first time. Both women glanced at him, shocked. He pulled a face. "Give the girl a while to think it over, my dear. A day, at least. The man doesn't require an answer today."

Felicity bit her lip. "Thank you, Papa."

What difference will a day make? I won't change my mind, she thought dizzily.

Mrs. Thornhill huffed. "If you say so. But one day only, Felicity. Tomorrow afternoon, we leave this house. And unless you agree to marry Lord Vincent, you won't be coming back."

Felicity held her mother's eye for a long moment. Mrs. Thornhill was the first to look away. Turning her back, Felicity left without another word, closing the door softly behind her. Nobody came after her.