He was busy with his own coffee. “Accept my apologies.”
She sipped, still feeling aggrieved as she recalled his animadversions upon her gown. A thought occurred and she gave it voice at once. “That’s one thing I can do now. Pay you back for those wretched gowns.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “As far as I know, I have not expended any money on your gowns.”
“You know very well Angelica charged them up to you.”
“Ah, did she? Then my secretary will deal with any such bill.”
“Then you can reimburse yourself from the monies you are holding for me.”
She received one of his bored looks. “No doubt, if I were the least bit interested in so doing.”
“You may not be, but I do not care to be beholden.”
“You won’t be.”
Felicity set down her cup. “I wish you won’t be so cryptic. What in the world has come over you?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Oh, I am thinking of your future, Felicity, can you doubt it?”
A trace of alarm trickled through her. “You mean me to fall in with Angelica’s scheme? I am not sure that I shall. I need time to decide what I wish to do. Everything is topsy-turvy, Raoul, and I won’t be rushed.”
He sipped at his coffee, regarding her over the rim of his cup. Consideringly, she thought. Another frisson attacked her. Had he some other scheme in his head?
He lowered the cup. “Perhaps I am too precipitate. I dare say Rusper’s information has been a trifle overwhelming.”
“To say the least. To be frank, I do not know if I am on my head or my heels.”
“Then let me set you upright again. You need time? Then we will repair to Ruscoe Hall.”
“Ruscoe Hall?”
“My seat. It is not far from here, but we won’t attempt the journey today. You will wish to take your leave of Mrs Kimble, and I imagine our hostess will take it unkind in us if we depart without doing justice to her hospitality.” A wry grin appeared. “You see how I am learning from you already?”
Felicity could not answer at once. She was thoroughly taken aback, and not a little dismayed despite a sliver of unnamed feeling snaking into her bosom. Apprehension? No, not that. It felt more like nervous anticipation. How she had felt before one of Papa’s treats. How was that either possible or sensible?
Raoul was still watching her, an odd light in his eyes. “What, I wonder, is going on in that head of yours, Miss Independence?”
“I don’t know.”
His brows flew up. “This is something new. I have never known you at a loss before.”
Instinct loosened Felicity’s tongue. “How should you? You scarcely know me at all.”
“Oh, I think I know you well enough.”
“Well enough for what?” He did not answer, the enigmatic blankness she so much disliked curtaining his thoughts. Felicity set down her cup and leaned forward. “I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look at me in that — that annihilating fashion. As if you don’t choose to reveal yourself. It is horribly alienating, if you wish to know. Worse even than the bored look.”
His countenance became a trifle rigid, but the despised look did not abate. “I beg your pardon. It was not my intention to alienate you. On the contrary.”
Felicity was prevented from answering by the re-entrance of the waiter, bearing a tray. Relieved to be able to turn her eyes from Raoul, she watched the man setting out a platter of cold meats, bread, a board of cheeses and a dish of sweetmeats. She took in the viands only vaguely, preoccupied with the worsening oddity of Raoul’s manner. What in the world had come over him? He had been so supportive she had felt inordinately at ease with him. Then, just when she ought to be basking in her triumphs, he began behaving in this elusive and peculiar way.
The moment the door closed behind the waiter, she looked across at him. “Why are you being like this, Raoul?”
