“I thank you, but I have had practice enough at concealing my annoyances. Only this —!” She broke off, letting out an overwrought breath.
“This is a situation of which you can have had no previous experience. It is unsurprising you are overset.”
The understanding words were balm, despite the faint irritation engendered by his continued calm tone. Felicity gave in to impulse. “If you don’t desire to be pummelled into reaction, my lord, I wish you will ring for coffee.”
His brows shot up. “Coffee? Why did you not ask for it before?”
“Because I did not wish to appear forward and demanding. Also because I was too cross to think of it.”
He laughed as he moved to the bell-pull. “That is one way of putting it.”
“Well, agitated then.”
“Why coffee?”
“It is my preferred solace and it is plentiful. Tea works even better, but it is expensive.” She fell silent, glancing at the ruined letter. “What a mess!” She set the pen back in its holder, picked up the sheet and scrunched it up. The sensation relieved some of her feelings and she kept going, mutilating the paper into an unrecognizable ball.
“If you throw that at me, Miss Temple, I warn you there will be consequences.”
Felicity could not help laughing as she turned to look at him. “I should dearly love to, but I will refrain.”
His lips twisted. “Excellent. I dislike being forced into retaliation.”
“Or into anything,” Felicity said before she could guard her tongue.
An eyebrow lifted. “Am I that transparent?”
She eyed him. “Not at all. You are admirably veiled. Aloof, Henrietta said, and I think it describes you precisely.”
He said nothing, his countenance as enigmatic as ever. Felicity felt unaccountably distanced and was glad when the door opened and Mrs Summerhayes hurried in, the butler behind her.
“You are too late, Angelica. Miss Temple is much recovered, but she would be glad of a cup of coffee. No doubt Maunder is capable of producing one.”
The habitual pose of indifference was back. Was it a pose? She had glimpsed a very different side to him here and there. Felicity could not but admit to being intrigued by the wretched man, in spite of all.
Mrs Summerhayes was in busy discussion with the butler, but when he departed on his errand, she came to the bureau and looked closely into Felicity’s face. “You still look peaky, my dear child. Are you all right?”
Felicity forced a smile. “I have a trifle of the headache, ma’am, that is all.”
“I am not surprised. Mind you, I cannot think coffee will help. A tisane would be better. Perhaps you should go and lie down?”
Felicity waved the suggestion away. “Presently, ma’am. I must write this letter first, for it occurs to me that I might ask his lordship for a frank and I dare say he has had enough of me for one day.”
A choking sound from the vicinity of the sofa arrested her attention and she found Lord Lynchmere standing behind it, his glass in his hand, coughing with evidence of some discomfort.
“His lordship is in agreement,” he said, his voice a trifle strained. “Especially if you mean to make him laugh just when he is sipping Madeira.”
Felicity’s heart lightened as she chuckled. “I beg your pardon. Such was not my intention.”
He lifted the glass. “I acquit you. Write your letter. You may have a frank, but revenge will follow in due course.”
Felicity laughed, but as she turned back to the bureau she became aware of Mrs Summerhayes’ expression, compound of astonishment and — satisfaction, was it? Surely not. Unless she was merely glad of Felicity’s better mood?
Her hostess left her to her letter and went back to the sofa. “Where did I leave my glass? Oh, there it is. Raoul, will you pass it to me?”
Felicity pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards her and once again dipped her pen into the inkpot. In as few words as possible, she put Mrs Jeavons in possession of the facts and begged the headmistress to allow her to retake her post, if she had not yet found a replacement. She ended with her direction, asking for a reply by return as otherwise she would be whisked away from the metropolis by the kind lady who had offered her shelter. She said nothing of Mrs Summerhayes’ schemes on her behalf. If Mrs Jeavons wrote positively, she would lose no time in hastening off to Bath.
It only remained to seal the letter and have Lord Lynchmere frank it. That done, she could unpack her things with a clear conscience. At least she would have done everything she could to secure her future — and remove her embarrassing presence from his lordship’s life.
