Swallowing hard, Arthur glanced around. The card room was dead silent now. Everyone had put down their cards to stare at him, looking shocked and guarded.
What a fool he’d made of himself.
As if to highlight the point, a stab of blinding pain went through Arthur’s head, his scar throbbing, and he clapped a hand to his forehead almost without thinking.
“Lord Lanwood?”
It wasn’t Lucy coming forward, but Miss Thornhill, looking nervous and concerned, one hand outstretched as if to place it on his arm.
He backed away further, and she let her hand drop.
“I’m quite alright, I assure you,” he said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I am sorry that I disrupted our game, but I’m afraid that I have a rather nasty headache coming along.”
“I do hope it was none of my doing,” Lord Vincent said neutrally. Arthur didn’t bother to reply.
“Arthur?” Lucy spoke up, looking anxious. “Are you well?”
“Perfectly, thank you. I think I shall just… just retire to my room. Do tell Mother, won’t you, Lucy? Excuse me, everyone.”
Without waiting for a reply, Arthur turned and almost ran from the room, almost ready to double over with the pain.
Chapter Seven
It was beyond tempting to skip breakfast.
Arthur eyed himself in the mirror in the morning and traced the line of his scar with one fingertip. It looked no different from usual, but last night, he’d almost felt as though his head were going to split apart.
No doubt Lord Vincent had learned that sharp, sudden noises were the finest way to disorient a veteran. Arthur had spent the rest of the evening curled up in bed, his fine clothes pulled off and tangled on the floor. He had one single candle to light up his room and pressed his face into the pillow in an attempt to make the pain stop.
It did, after about an hour of quiet and rest, although his mind would neither allow him to sleep or to go back downstairs and rejoin the gathering. No doubt the other players would be keen to tell their friends of the new Lord Lanwood’s strangeness, how he’d jumped out of his skin at the sound of breaking glass, had screamed and knocked the card-table, then run out of the room most oddly.
Well, let them talk,he thought grimly. He wouldn’t cower in his room. There was no point hiding from his guests – it would only make him look odder. He could wear his ordinary, comfortable clothes, eat with his guests, then retire to his study to work. There’d be nothing odd with that, and he might as well get it all over with.
Besides, it was breakfast time, and he was hungry.
The others were already gathered in the dining room for breakfast. Mr. and Mrs. Thornhill were there, along with Lord Daniel Thornhill. Lucy and Beatrice were in their usual places, along with Miss Thornhill, naturally. The clinking of cutlery and muted conversation died down as he entered.
Wonderful,Arthur thought bleakly.
“Good morning, Arthur,” Lucy and Beatrice said, almost at the same time.
“Are you feeling better?” Lucy said, smiling hopefully at him. “Everybody was asking about you. I told them you do get dreadful headaches, but you’d enjoyed the party very much until then.”
He smiled weakly at Lucy, sliding into the only available place left at the table, which put him between Mrs. Thornhill and Miss Thornhill.
“Thank you, Lucy. I appreciate you making my apologies for me.”
He imagined poor Lucy, who was meant to be enjoying herself, gliding through the party and dropping a word here and there into people’s ears, explaining where their host had gone and how it wasn’t really his fault at all. He hoped Lord Vincent had left her alone.
“Do you often get megrims, Lord Lanwood?” Miss Thornhill inquired.
Since they were sitting side by side, it was easy for Arthur to keep his eyes on his plate and on the dishes in front of him, instead of glancing at her. She was wearing a simple but flattering grey gown and had her hair done up in loose curls. It was very becoming, and he really had no right to notice such things.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, helping himself to a few slices of toast. “I am sorry to have disrupted our card game last night.”
“It’s of little consequence,” Miss Thornhill said, after a pause. He had the impression that she was looking at him, and he was determined not to look at her.
It was rare for a lady to stare straight at a gentleman in that way, with such a direct, unblinking gaze. Arthur had always thought it ridiculous that ladies were meant to direct their gazes downwards, and not look a gentleman in the eyes for too long, or at all. It reeked of false modesty and unequal standards.
