Three Nights with a Scoundrel: A Novel by Tessa Dare Page B

been something about having to play with a dummy hand, hm?” She smiled to herself. “Yes, that would make sense. ‘Trading one dumb player for another.’ Was it something like that?”
    When Julian made no motion to deny it, Lily supposed her guess to be near the mark. A nervous chuckle escaped her control.
    “How can you laugh?” he demanded.
    She threw up a hand. “How can I not? I mean, it’s a terrible pun. I’m only deaf, not dumb at all. But there’s no denying I’ve played abominably all evening.”
    He blinked at her, incredulous.
    She felt her own face heat. Her tongue stumbled against her teeth as she tried to explain. “It’s easier to laugh. One must have a sense of humor about such things, or life becomes unbearable. And if you’re going to be my escort in society, you’ll need to gird yourself against these little slights, too. People don’t understand. Some assume my mind went with my hearing. Others shout themselves red, as if increased volume will help. Still others are just so flummoxed by the whole idea, they ignore me entirely. The commander may be a self-important boor, I’ll grant you. But you can’t fly into a rage every time one of those fresh-faced lieutenants makes an honest attempt at conversation.”
    “They were insulting you.”
    “That’s mine to decide, not yours. I’m so tired of you thinking for me. First I can’t live alone. Then I can’t hold a simple dinner conversation without a knifepoint intervention. Now I can’t even know my own mind? I thought you were my friend, Julian, but a true friend wouldn’t keep reminding me of my limitations. He’d believe in me, and help me believe I can do anything I choose.”
    His expression softened. “Lily, of course I believe in you, but—”
    “But what? There’s no room for ‘but’ in that sentence. You can’t say you believe in me, ‘but.’ Either you believe in someone, full stop—or you don’t.”
    Sighing heavily, she took a few paces about the room, trying to master her emotions and revive some faith in herself. If there was one thing worse than being the object of others’ pity, it was succumbing to self-pity. After nine years, the deafness itself rarely caused her a moment’s lamentation. Only the thoughtlessness of others sometimes dragged her spirits low.
    “You have no idea, Julian. These little slights this evening—they’re nothing.” Pausing by a side table, she gave the porcelain beagle squatting there a pensive tap on the head. “Once,” she said, smoothing her fingertip down one floppy ear, “the year after my illness, I received a letter from my mother’s Aunt Beatrice. In it, she expressed her very deep distress about my affliction, as she called it. She felt it her Christian duty to point out that my deafness was a judgment from God. My punishment for being too beautiful and too proud. She prayed I would be more mindful of my spiritual health, now that my physical well-being had been compromised.”
    Lily hadn’t thought about that letter in years, not consciously. But obviously the paper-thin score on her heart had never quite healed, festering all this time. Had people thought her too proud in her debut season? She hadn’t been, not excessively. Only shy. But some had obviously mistaken her natural reserve for vanity, and in a fashion, Lily must have felt shamed by Aunt Beatrice’s rebuke—for she’d never spoken of that letter to anyone, not even Leo. Why she was telling Julian about it now, she had no idea.
    Julian’s hand fell on hers, warm and strong. When she lifted her face, he spoke slowly and distinctly. “Your mother’s Aunt Beatrice was an unforgivable, imbecilic, self-righteous bitch.”
    And with that, he gave her exactly what she’d been needing. This was why she’d told Julian. Leo never could have said that . He was far too congenial, and besides—Aunt Beatrice had given him his first pony.
    “Yes.” Lily nodded, feeling years of resentment uncoil within