“Give me a sennight,” Lord Flint suddenly said, still not moving. “Get to know Glenhaven and me. Find out if we fit you. If we don't, I will send you back in my own carriage with a note instructing the school that if they don't take you back, they will never again have the children of anyone the Duke of Lynden has ever met.”
Felicity looked over at him. He looked so relaxed, lounging against the wall with his hands on his thighs and his booted feet splayed in the gravel as if her answer didn't much matter. Felicity knew better. Even if she hadn't just heard about his dilemma, she could tell by the height of his shoulders, as if he were holding himself in place, fighting against action.
She would be Pip's cousin. Pip'sfamily.
Turning a bit, she then considered Billy Burke, sitting ramrod straight on the driver's perch on that sleek vehicle, the reins wrapped around his gnarled hands. He was watching her, and he was frowning. Not a 'what a horrible person' frown. A 'what will she do?' frown. He was worried for the man sitting next to her, she realized with a start, which was a change from earlier that day when he'd seen her striding into the stables, still hiccupping with tears, and he’d roundly cursed that same man.
The old man loved him, she thought. He worried for him. She ached, suddenly, for someone to worry for her. For someone who frowned for her.
She finally sighed. “I still don't understand.”
Lord Flint laughed, a rueful sound. “Neither do I. Shall we find out together?”
Blast him. She wanted to stay. She wanted to know what it would be like to have family. Herownfamily.
And yet, she knew all too well what dreams were worth.
“Stay for a week or two,” he urged, “so we can talk it over without an audience.”
He did have a point. In an effort to hear the conversation, the people left behind in the inn yard had stopped pretending they were occupied and just stood watching.
“You can move on, you know!” Felicity informed them all with a scowl. “Nothing is going to happen.”
One farm wife laughed out loud. “Oh, no, dearie. Somethin'll happen, all right.”
“But not here,” Lord Flint informed the woman archly. “Because the young lady sees the wisdom of spending a vacation at a lovely estate being supervised by my Aunt, the inestimable Lady Winifred St. Clair.”
“Ooooeeee,” one of the grooms piped up from where he was gathering used tack. “Proper dragon, that one is, beggin' y'r pardon, my lord.”
“No need,” Flint said with a grin. “Unless you wish to ask it of the dragon.”
The ostler brayed and slapped his knee. “Not on y'r life.”
“Are there any women in your family who arenotdragons, my lord?” Felicity asked.
“I'd say Pip, but I think all she needs is time and a good cane.”
Felicity wanted so badly to smile. He was right. Pip was impish and clever and bull-headed. Give her a proper cane, lorgnette and forty years, and she would be formidable.
“Where is she?”
“Pip? London, I think.”
Felicity was the one frowning now. “Your aunt.”
He grinned, and she tumbled a little harder. That dimple. “The west wing of the second floor of Glenhaven. You haven't met her?”
“Not unless she was polishing brasses in the library. No.”
His laugh was a bark. “In that case, she probably believes you to be another of what she calls my mad starts.”
Felicity tilted her head in a perfect imitation of some of the more innocent of her pupils. “You mean like inviting a party of disreputable people to share your house with your fiancée and aunt?”
At least he had the grace to look chagrined. “They're gone now.”
“I should hope so,” the farm wife interjected with a disappointed shake of her head. “Otherwise I'll be taking y'r wife home with me.”
“I am not his wife,” Felicity objected.
