the Season is probably a topic of discussion. He is quite well-known.”
Everything her aunt said was true. Still . . . “Then I’ll go elsewhere.” She fought the tears threatening to fall. “I just cannot stay here. It is impossible!”
“You must.” Eunice’s tone was as cold as ice. Lines bracketed her mouth. “The servants are already beginning to talk. You are a Tolliver. Behave like one and not some missish—”
“That is enough.” Mr. Featherton’s firm tone caused Mary to jump and Eunice to stop talking. He strode across the room to them. “Lady Mary, allow me to call your maid. We shall say you are still in bed with a sick headache.”
That wasn’t far from the truth. Her nose started to run, and he handed her his handkerchief. At least she wasn’t weeping.
Her aunt’s lips formed a thin line. “She must realize . . .”
Mr. Featherton glanced over his shoulder. “She will, but this is not the way to do it.” He pulled a chair to the other side of the sofa from Eunice, then rubbed his large palms up and down Mary’s arms, warming them. “Lady Mary, will you drink some tea? It might help.”
Trapped, she was completely trapped, but at least he wasn’t yelling at her. “Thank you.”
He poured, adding milk and two lumps of sugar. She couldn’t believe he’d remembered how she liked it.
The rector had entered as well, and took her aunt to the far corner of Mary’s parlor, where they spoke in hushed tones.
Mr. Featherton turned back to her. “I can call your maid, or we may address your concerns now. Tell me what you wish.”
She drained the cup, and he filled it again. “I don’t know what I want. It’s all so confusing. I—I feel as if I should leave here as soon as possible.” She heaved a shuddering sigh, then voiced the doubt that had crept into her reasoning. “But that won’t help, will it?”
Kit took his time pouring a cup of tea for himself, wishing it were brandy. No wonder men drank so much of the stuff. What he said next would lay the foundation for their lives together. With wide, frightened eyes, she gazed up at him. She was so pale, and appeared appallingly fragile. Yet to have lived the life she’d led for the past two or more years, as she hid from her cousin, refusing to give up what she desired—she had to have steel in her. He respected her for that, but it wasn’t helping them now.
Fortunately, Mathers had been more than forthcoming with Piggott. All Lady Mary had ever longed for was to be courted and desired for herself, not her money or her beauty, and she wanted to attend the Season. He might not be able to give her a Season until after they were married. That he had no need of her money was probably one of several reasons her grandmother had selected him. Yes, she was the loveliest woman he knew, but judging by her accomplishments, she was so much more.
It was time she faced the truth about their situation with no round-aboutation. “It would probably make matters worse.” He wanted to put his arm around her; instead he took one of her hands, intertwining her fingers with his. “The other day you told me how you came to be here, but you didn’t ask me how I knew to come.”
She was still for a moment as her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I wish to know.”
He reached out to touch her, to smooth her forehead, but stopped. “The time for ignoring realities is over.”
She took a breath and nodded. “Someone told you.”
“Someone told my father. He told me.”
She tensed again. “Who?”
“My grandmother heard it from Lady Bellamny. Did you know she was here?”
Lady Mary took another drink. “Not until after she’d left. Lady Brownly came for tea, and told me that out of the blue, her godmother offered to sponsor Diana for the Season.” She bit down on her lip so hard he thought it would bleed. “Do you know if our grandmothers are close?”
“They have been for years.”
Then, in a preternaturally calm voice, she said,
Everything her aunt said was true. Still . . . “Then I’ll go elsewhere.” She fought the tears threatening to fall. “I just cannot stay here. It is impossible!”
“You must.” Eunice’s tone was as cold as ice. Lines bracketed her mouth. “The servants are already beginning to talk. You are a Tolliver. Behave like one and not some missish—”
“That is enough.” Mr. Featherton’s firm tone caused Mary to jump and Eunice to stop talking. He strode across the room to them. “Lady Mary, allow me to call your maid. We shall say you are still in bed with a sick headache.”
That wasn’t far from the truth. Her nose started to run, and he handed her his handkerchief. At least she wasn’t weeping.
Her aunt’s lips formed a thin line. “She must realize . . .”
Mr. Featherton glanced over his shoulder. “She will, but this is not the way to do it.” He pulled a chair to the other side of the sofa from Eunice, then rubbed his large palms up and down Mary’s arms, warming them. “Lady Mary, will you drink some tea? It might help.”
Trapped, she was completely trapped, but at least he wasn’t yelling at her. “Thank you.”
He poured, adding milk and two lumps of sugar. She couldn’t believe he’d remembered how she liked it.
The rector had entered as well, and took her aunt to the far corner of Mary’s parlor, where they spoke in hushed tones.
Mr. Featherton turned back to her. “I can call your maid, or we may address your concerns now. Tell me what you wish.”
She drained the cup, and he filled it again. “I don’t know what I want. It’s all so confusing. I—I feel as if I should leave here as soon as possible.” She heaved a shuddering sigh, then voiced the doubt that had crept into her reasoning. “But that won’t help, will it?”
Kit took his time pouring a cup of tea for himself, wishing it were brandy. No wonder men drank so much of the stuff. What he said next would lay the foundation for their lives together. With wide, frightened eyes, she gazed up at him. She was so pale, and appeared appallingly fragile. Yet to have lived the life she’d led for the past two or more years, as she hid from her cousin, refusing to give up what she desired—she had to have steel in her. He respected her for that, but it wasn’t helping them now.
Fortunately, Mathers had been more than forthcoming with Piggott. All Lady Mary had ever longed for was to be courted and desired for herself, not her money or her beauty, and she wanted to attend the Season. He might not be able to give her a Season until after they were married. That he had no need of her money was probably one of several reasons her grandmother had selected him. Yes, she was the loveliest woman he knew, but judging by her accomplishments, she was so much more.
It was time she faced the truth about their situation with no round-aboutation. “It would probably make matters worse.” He wanted to put his arm around her; instead he took one of her hands, intertwining her fingers with his. “The other day you told me how you came to be here, but you didn’t ask me how I knew to come.”
She was still for a moment as her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I wish to know.”
He reached out to touch her, to smooth her forehead, but stopped. “The time for ignoring realities is over.”
She took a breath and nodded. “Someone told you.”
“Someone told my father. He told me.”
She tensed again. “Who?”
“My grandmother heard it from Lady Bellamny. Did you know she was here?”
Lady Mary took another drink. “Not until after she’d left. Lady Brownly came for tea, and told me that out of the blue, her godmother offered to sponsor Diana for the Season.” She bit down on her lip so hard he thought it would bleed. “Do you know if our grandmothers are close?”
“They have been for years.”
Then, in a preternaturally calm voice, she said,
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