He did smile at that. “I must beg you will refrain. I should be obliged to empty a jug of cold water over you.”
A tiny laugh escaped her. “Yes, I dare say you would, unfeeling wretch.”
“Come, you begin to sound more like yourself. The tea is clearly efficacious.”
She sighed and relaxed against the chair-back again. “To tell you the truth, I feel quite disoriented still. Almost as if it all happened to someone else. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense. Shock has that effect.”
“True. I don’t think I truly came out of it for months after I was left at the academy. It was strange to me to be among other girls. I’d had few playfellows. It was always Papa and I, you see. Mrs Jeavons was used to say I took time to adjust, which is why she was wont to put the orphans under my particular care. She supposed I understood. In fact I had little memory of the entire period. Now I think I suppressed it. I hated my guardian’s visits for the reminder.”
“Then he had the decency to visit you from time to time?”
Her expression changed, puzzlement entering in. “That’s just what I can’t fathom. I was trying to place him when I spoke of him to Silve and Hetty Latimer.”
Raoul was glad her manner was calmer, but this was news to him. “You doubt him?”
“I’m not sure it was him. I did not recognise him when he came for me. Only vaguely. Though he had not visited, if it was he who came, since I took post as one of the mistresses.”
“Intriguing.” Raoul’s mind raced across several possibilities. He was loath to voice them, not wishing to raise further spectres tonight. “In the morning, we will see what we can discover from Mrs Kimble. Finish your tea.”
He spoke soothingly and was glad to see her obey without protest. She looked drained and no wonder. He was again beset with a wish to comfort her in a way that might drive off her demons and chafed at the necessities of rank. It would not do if her background proved inadequate. Yet, if it did and he must let her go, it was beginning to feel as if it would be a wrench. Had he made a mistake to keep Angelica out of it? She would have provided a buffer between them. It was to be hoped he would not be alone with Felicity for many days.
The arrival of Mrs Dadford in the role of mother hen relieved him from the immediate frustration. Bidding his self-imposed charge sleep well, he opted to take a cooling walk down to the Plough before seeking his own bed.
Contrary to her expectation, Felicity slept like the dead, waking to the rattle of the curtains around the old-fashioned bed being drawn back.
“Good morning, dearie, and I’ve brought you a cup of warm milk. We don’t run to chocolate, sadly, but milk will set you up for the day, dearie, and put heart into you.”
Smothering a yawn, Felicity uttered a sleepy greeting and struggled up. The elderly dame stacked pillows behind her and told her to relax back. A laugh escaped her. “You are spoiling me, Mrs Dadford.”
“Well, and if I am, I dare say you deserve a little pampering. Take your ease now, for there’s no rush. I’ll send Margie up with hot water in a little while and there’ll be bacon sizzling in the pan by the time you’re ready. One thing we’ve plenty of around these parts is pork, and if his lordship should prefer ham with his eggs, we’ve a tasty piece of hock and there’s fresh rolls in the oven too and my best raspberry jam.”
She rustled out on the words and Felicity was left with an inordinate sensation of comfort. She could not remember feeling this well looked after since … oh, since before Papa died. It was almost like dropping through a gap in time. Mrs Dadford’s adoption of her as the child she had been then was curiously heartening.
She sipped at the tepid milk and looked towards the window where the drapes had been pulled back and the shutters opened to reveal a bright March day. For the first time since she had begun upon this quest, Felicity felt hopeful.
The shock of last night’s revelation had diminished. Or perhaps sleep had enabled her to adjust her ideas enough to accept it. The past was past and there was no way to change what had been. Why fret herself to death over it when the more important question of her future was still ahead? Although even that reflection failed to pierce her newfound sense of peace. It felt fragile. She hugged it to herself, half afraid of losing it the moment she rose to face the challenges of the day.
The opening of the door brought young Margie, puffing in with a huge jug of steaming water. Felicity finished her milk and prepared to begin upon her ablutions.
Venturing downstairs to the dining parlour a short time later, she found Lord Lynchmere already seated at the table. He rose on her entrance, scanning her face as he moved to set a chair for her.
“You look a good deal rested. Did you sleep?”
Felicity smiled at him. “I did, Raoul, thank you. Like the proverbial log.” She took her seat and he returned to his own, picking up a tall pot.
“Coffee? Food has yet to make an appearance, but Mrs Dadford promises it will be here in a jiffy.”
Felicity laughed. “Yes, she recited a gargantuan menu to me when she woke me with a glass of warm milk. In fact I abhor warm milk, but I managed to finish it.”
His brows rose as he poured dark liquid into a cup for her. “Why drink it at all, if you dislike it?”
“Because she took the trouble to bring it for me, of course. I could not insult her generosity by refusing it.” She looked up as he set the cup down before her and found him regarding her with an expression she found hard to read. It was not his enigmatic look. Rather an appraising one. Felicity frowned. “Well, what?”
The oddity vanished. “Nothing. Cream and sugar?”
She accepted both, feeling strangely disconcerted. But the effect dissipated as the door opened to admit a procession of tray bearers: Mrs Dadford, the maid and even the fellow she called her “lad” with enough viands to feed an army.
