He was aware of Miss Thornhill watching him curiously.
“Is your megrim feeling any better?” she asked, after a pause. He shook his head, which was a mistake, because it made his ears ring.
“May… may I ask how they came to be? I got the impression from others that you didn’t always suffer from megrims.”
He bit his lip. “The war.”
She looked away. “Oh. I am sorry, I… I didn’t mean to pry. Mama says it’s not seemly for ladies to be curious.”
He chuckled at that. “I think curiosity is human nature, and young ladies are, as far as I’m aware, humans. There was one particular battle, Miss Thornhill. Full of cannon fire and gunshots, enough to make your ears ring. I lost a great many friends there; some bodies were never found. I beg your pardon; I don’t mean to offend.”
She shook her head. “You’re not offending me.”
He continued, almost as if some outside force were controlling him.
“I was struck in the head, I’m not sure by what; if it were a cannon-ball or even a gunshot, I would not have a head left. A flying piece of debris, perhaps. I remember nothing after that, only noise and pain. My eardrums were burst, and that took a long time to heal. My head was cracked open, and I was lucky not to die. I’ve seen men with similar injuries die right out in the field. The surgeons warned about side effects – they worried about my vision and balance, although they are mostly unchanged. The megrims, though, come thick and fast. Certain things can set them off, as can my own wretched mood.”
There was a silence after that, and Arthur bit his lip. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t weigh you down with all of this.”
“You must tell someone,” she said levelly. “I don’t know where I would be without my friend Lucy. She listens to me when nobody else will.”
He flashed a quick, relieved smile at her. “Thank you, Miss Thornhill.”
Their gazes held for what seemed like moments but could really only have been a few seconds. Just long enough for him to notice flecks of purest gold in Felicity’s green eyes.
Miss Thornhill, you wretch!
Then she looked away, glancing down at her hands, lying folded together in her lap, resting on her sketch book.
“I know it’s none of my concern, and really I should not be offering,” she said slowly, “But some of our servants had trouble with headaches and megrims. Our cook, especially, was very ill. She’d have to lie in bed for hours. Mama said she was just lazy, but I saw how she looked when she had one of her megrims. As you know, I rather like botany, and some herbs have been proven to ease the pain of headaches. I made up a tea for some of the servants, and they said that it eased their megrims.”
He looked sharply at her. “Really?”
She flushed. “It’s just a herb tea. I’ve been told it tastes awful, but they said it worked. If you want… I mean, if it isn’t overstepping… I could maybe…”
“Felicity! There you are!”
Mrs. Thornhill’s sibilant voice echoed across the gardens, making them both jump. Miss Thornhill almost seemed to shrink into herself, holding her sketchbook to her chest.
Mrs. Thornhill herself appeared from behind a large, roundish hedge, hands on her hips. She blinked to see Arthur there but didn’t let it slow her down. She came striding towards them, and Felicity seemed to hunch further down.
“Good morning, Lord Lanwood,” the woman said smoothly. “I do hope my errant daughter isn’t disturbing you. I brought her out here to paint the sunrise coming up over the house – I thought it would be a pretty picture and would suit her collection of watercolours.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you painted, Miss Thornhill.”
The girl went red. “I… I don’t, much. I don’t have a talent for it.”
“Would you not say, Lord Lanwood,” Mrs Thornhill said, with a dangerous tone to her voice, “that painting and drawing is a fine accomplishment for a young lady?”
He blinked. There had to be a right and wrong answer here, but Arthur only felt as if he were being cornered.
“I suppose so,” he managed. “If the lady herself likes it.”
That was apparently not the answer Mrs. Thornhill had wanted to hear. She scowled for a half-second before remembering where she was and replacing the scowl with a sickly smile.
“Let me see your drawing, then, Felicity.”
Mutely, Miss Thornhill offered her sketchbook. Her mother took it, flipping back the first page.
