With some violence she threw the letter from her. It fluttered across the room. Raoul went after it and picked it up, refolding the leaf and stowing it in his pocket.
“I hate him! I always did, but this —!”
Raoul eyed her, his attention caught. “You always hated him?”
Her breath had shortened, her voice turning guttural and the expression in her eyes near vicious as she stared up at him. “He dumped me in that school. My father was dead. I had no one. He took me away from the only person who still cared. I wish he had not tried to make amends, as he calls it. Why could he not have left me with Mrs Kimble? It would have been kinder.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he meant to do more and could not.”
She paid no heed, her gaze dropping to the middle distance where no doubt a vision of Maskery hovered in her head. “He is evil. Guardian! Lying, scheming,devil. Even then he likely decided I could be of use to him. Yes, I’ll wager that was it.”
Raoul dropped into his vacated chair. There was little point in arguing with her in this state. She was looking for loopholes, a way to deal with the hideous truth. Raoul was not going to waste his breath either in expostulation or possible alternatives. For his part, he believed Maskery likely was trying to make amends. At the time. Gamblers did not operate on future possibilities, beyond the present hope of enriching themselves. Maskery was ever a gambler. He may have had worthy intentions, but his feckless nature would make him lay them aside, find excuses to avoid the responsibility he had taken on. But there was no use saying as much to Felicity in her current mood.
She was still muttering under her breath, her fingers tangling with one another. The light from the candles beside her threw one side of her countenance into shadow, enhancing the other. The freckles there were visible again, and Raoul was conscious of a wish to see the dancing ants again, to see her laughing.
Sounds outside the room betokened the arrival of the tea. He got up and went across to retrieve the candelabrum, setting it back on the mantel just in time as the door opened. Mrs Dadford entered, bearing an urn, closely followed by the maid with a loaded tray.
“Here we are, dearie. It’s Pekoe and just what you need to bring the roses back to your cheeks.”
Felicity was visibly pulling herself together although her smile was strained. Raoul’s feelings veered again to pity. The poor girl had sustained a severe shock. Scarcely surprising she had gone off into a comprehensive denunciation of her erstwhile guardian.
The bustle of setting down the makings for the tea upon a side table and Mrs Dadford’s chatter as she proceeded to create the brew afforded, he hoped, an opportunity for Felicity to calm down a little. Though she would likely brood all night. Would he had the right to distract her.
The inappropriate images engendered by this thought faded as Mrs Dadford handed the cup and saucer to Felicity and turned to address him.
“And you, my lord? Would you care for a cup?”
He had long since finished the glass of port he’d brought with him and the idea of tea before retiring was welcome. “Thank you, yes, I will take a cup. Without milk or sugar, if you please.”
“Here we are, sir.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “Is she a little less distressed, poor dearie?”
He nodded, unwilling to draw Felicity’s fire should she overhear. He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Is it ten already? An early night would not go amiss, I think.”
The landlady threw up her hands. “Gracious me, so it is! I declare, I am at sixes and sevens myself.” She swept back to Felicity and patted her on the arm. “Do you sit there quietly, dearie, and enjoy your tea. I’ve to see Margie takes up a warming pan and I’ll light the candles in your chamber. Now, are you wishful of having Margie help you to undress, dearie, or can you manage?”
Felicity did not seem to have been paying a great deal of attention to these effusions, but at this she looked up with a frown. “Help me undress? Heavens! No, indeed. I cannot remember when I did not look after myself, Mrs Dadford.”
“Well, there. Though I dare say Nan had the dressing of you once or twice in the old days. The rooms will be ready in a trice, my lord.”
She got herself out of the room at last and Raoul looked back to find Felicity gazing after her, cup in hand.
“What has so caught your attention?”
She blinked, glanced his way and sipped at the hot tea before setting it down in the saucer in her lap. “A flash of memory. A man — not Papa — attempting to button my coat. It was a blue one I had, double-breasted. He was unhandy. He got the buttons awry and had to begin again. I can’t imagine why I was not doing it myself.”
If her condition then had been anything like it was now, Raoul could well imagine why she had needed help. Maskery probably found the needs of a child disconcerting. He refrained from comment, not wishing to mention the name. “Drink your tea, Felicity.”
She obeyed and he was led to hope her temper had subsided. It was quick to kindle, but he had noticed the fireworks did not last. A mercurial creature. One never knew what she would do or say. Was that the attraction? She would never drive a fellow to screaming tedium.
“I wish you would not stare at me in that fashion.”
Conscious, Raoul took a deliberate swallow of his tea, but he could not resist responding. “In what fashion?”
Felicity’s brows had lowered. “As if you expect me to break out in hysteria at any moment. I am perfectly calm, I’ll have you know.”
He hid a smile at the belligerent tone. “So I perceive.”
“Well, I am. It would not be wonderful if I was at this moment lying on the floor and drumming my heels, screaming the while.”
