“You are not going to shame me into putting that potato back,” she challenged. “You can have no idea what it means.”
And that quickly, the entire tone of the conversation changed. “Whatdoesit mean?” he asked softly.
And Felicity was caught on the barb of her own hook. How did she make him understand without further diminishing her in his eyes? How to retain her dignity when speaking of long cold nights with a gnawing stomach, of locked doors and cabinets that kept staff and students away from the food, no matter how unpalatable it was. How could she make him understand want without making herself a pitiable figure?
Briefly she looked away, only to discover the paper-thin defiance in the expression of Aunt Winnie, iron-straight, hands clenched on the table. And Felicity knew that at least one other person understood. Not the food perhaps, but the desperation.
“It is about,” she finally said, turning back to Lord Flint, “the tyranny of uncertainty.”
For a long moment, there was silence. Even Lord Flint seemed to have nothing to say. Felicity held her breath, wanting him to understand without having to give anything else away. She could only bear to diminish herself in his eyes so much.
“What an excellent idea,” Aunt Winnie suddenly barked. “Pass me that bowl of potatoes, gel. Miss Fare might be hungry later.”
Again, Felicity almost laughed, this time from relief. God bless the old tartar. And Miss Fare, who accepted the bowl from Aunt Winnie and, smiling, slipped a single potato into her pocket.
Lord Flint watched them all, and then leaned back in his chair, sipping at his wine. “The only difference between you and me,” he said, “is that my uncertainty will never involve food.”
* * *
Felicity didn't havethe courage or the energy to withstand another grilling over tea. The minute Aunt Winnie excused the ladies from the table, she attempted to excuse herself from company and head up to bed.
“Not yet,” the old woman said, making her way down the hall at a surprising speed for someone who leaned heavily on a silver-topped cane. “You will join us.”
She joined them, perching onto a royal blue brocade chair, back rigid, hands in lap as she taught her students to do, and she waited for Aunt Winnie to be settled on the powder-blue settee.
“Well,” Aunt Winnie declared with a thump of her cane, thankfully on an Aubusson carpet. “You didn't disgrace yourself, at least.”
It was moments like this Felicity so wished she could lift one eyebrow. Maybe if she married Lord Flint, she would get a quizzing glass just like his so she could lift it to one eye. Surely that would create the same impression.
Instead she sat still and waited, refusing to give the old woman the satisfaction of making her explain herself.
Another thump. “I was thinking at dinner. You went to that school with Phillipa.”
“I did.” Although she suspected Pip wouldn’t recognize herself by that name.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Miss Fare take a seat by the window and pick up her needlework.
“Why?” Aunt Winnie demanded.
Felicity blinked, turning back. She had obviously missed something. “Why what?”
“Why did you go there? Very select school. Couldn't go without a recommendation. Who recommended you?”
Again, Felicity was reduced to blinking. She had never thought about it.
“I don't understand.”
Aunt Winnie blew out a frustrated breath. “Miss Chase's isn't just for any parvenu who decides she wants to ape her betters. Itisfor betters. Many daughters of government men go there. How did you get in?”
Felicity tried to remember back far enough to answer. But she couldn't recall actually moving from the country house to the school. She had been about six, she thought, and all she could remember of those first months at the academy was cold, hunger, loneliness and the surprising balm of the written word. She had soaked up language like a proverbial sponge and read everything she could get hold of, which admittedly wasn't much at first.
But it had been her only joy, her companion in the empty nights when other girls not much older than she kept away.
Until Pip. Pip had changed her entire world.
“I truly don't know, ma'am,” she said. “I never thought about it. One day I was in the country, and the next locked in that awful place.”
Aunt Winnie's frown grew more ferocious, which made the gentle tone of her voice a surprise. “It was unconscionable what you girls went through. I heard about it from Pip's father, the dolt. Leave it to men to drop you off and simply assume you were safe. No one ever came to visit you?”
