In fact, Hera suspected fairnessbetween the sexes wasn’t a concept that would ever even occur to a man.
She sent Fee a sideways, sympathetic glance. “You’ll understand these things better when you’re older.”
Felicia squeezed her eyes closed, her face a mask of mutiny.
Hera felt for Fee. Her own heart had never quite reconciled the disparity between men and women.
She’d been blamed for her provoking attractiveness (Karl), blamed for the expense of her “upkeep” (her brother), and, most recently, she’d been questioned as if she were a criminal simply because a man had decided she’d not been adequately forthcoming (Hurtheven). Like all women, she’d been rule-shackled from birth, confined to dependency, and then shamed for not having the means to fend for—or defend—herself.
“When we get to the castle,” Fee announced, “Uncle Heven will take me on his curricle before he takes Delmare.Thatwill make things fair.”
“Good thought.” She brushed back Felicia’s hair.
Fee was already demonstrating one of the more useful feminine skills—how to preserve her sense of dignity by cutting her losses and insisting on an acceptable alternative. The necessity of such machinations left a bitter taste on Hera’s tongue.
She leaned back into the soft, velvet cushion, absently stroking Fee’s arm...and studiously avoiding the window.
But Fee refused to be comforted.
And within the quarter hour, she’d resumed murmuring about her frustrations beneath her breath and clunking her feet against the bench. In another half hour, she was grimacing and holding her stomach.
“I can’t stay inside one more minute!” she groaned.
“Do you feel as if you’re going to be sick?” Hera placed her hand against Fee’s forehead.
Fee nodded. “Pleaseask the coachman to stop the carriage?”
“Your uncle told you he’d planned hourly stops. We must not be that far from the next one.”
“Please,” Fee repeated. Her cheeks pinked. “Ineedto get out. Need. Need.Need.”
Hera propped Fee’s parasol against the opposing seat so she could reach up and knock against the roof.
The carriage slowed as the wheels turned onto the grass beside the road. She held fast to the strap and glanced in either direction. On one side was a wooded area. On the other, a collection of neat stone houses with tidy thatched roofs. Hurtheven appeared in the window on the side with the stone houses.
Her breath knotted as he opened the door. She’d expected him to be annoyed with the delay.Wrong again. Instead, a lock of thick, ebony hair fell across a brow wrinkled only with concern. One, quick stroke would tuck his wayward mane back into place. She could almost feel the luxuriant texture between her fingers.
She folded her hands together.
“Lady Felicia is not well.” She exchanged a significant glance with the duke. “Are we close to a place we might make a”—she side-eyed Fee—"prolonged stop?”
“Worn out, are you?” he asked the child.
Fee nodded, looking pitiful.
“A moment, if you please.” Hurtheven leaned back. In soothingly low tones, he conferred with the coachman. Then, he dipped his head, once again filling the open doorway. “You’re in luck, Dumpling. There’s an inn at the crossroads about a quarter mile up and a pathway parallel to the road that runs through that wood.”
Hera turned to ask how Fee felt about a walk but only managed anoofas Fee was already scrambling over her lap.
“Oh, thank you!” Fee launched herself into Hurtheven’s arms.
“Don’t forget your coat and parasol,” Hera reminded.
“You don’t need your coat, do you, Fee?” he asked.
“No,” she replied. “I’m not a ninny. I don’t get cold.”
“Stout as they come,” Hurtheven agreed.
