“I don’t deserve it.”
“Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. I am not going to sit here and listen to you talk so unkindly about yourself. Would you ever say such things to me, for example, or one of your army friends? To yourmother?”
“No, of course not.”
“There you have it,” Lucy said, with a tinge of triumph. “We speak to ourselves in a way we would never speak to others, and it’s not fair. Come on, now, Arthur, you didn’t finish your tea. Come inside, won’t you?”
“Please don’t treat me like an invalid, Lucy.”
Arthur was aware that he sounded somewhat pettish now, like a child. Lucy didn’t take offence. Chuckling, she climbed to her feet, primly shaking out her skirts. She turned back to him, holding out a hand.
“Come inside. There’s cake,” she added with a grin.
“You know, if I had a sister,” Arthur said reflectively, “I would want her to be like you.”
Lucy smiled properly at that, dimples appearing in both cheeks. He took her hand and hauled himself to his feet, dusting down his clothes. The pain in his temples had mostly faded. It was still there, a determined throb-throb, but nothing like the blinding pain he’d experienced before. The attacks sometimes only lasted a few minutes, but a few minutes was entirely too long to be in such pain.
“So, you’ll give us your blessing for the party?” Lucy asked hopefully.
He nodded. “Of course. This is your house as well as mine.”
“Excellent, I’m so glad to hear it. You needn’t stay all the time – we’ll keep the library off-limits, so you can rest there if need be. Everyone will be so glad to see you. Beatrice will be so happy, too.”
That was something. Arthur was vaguely aware that his mother worried about him, that she wanted him to have a better life than the one he had, a different life, and he was failing her repeatedly. Failing to be healthy, failing to be happy, failing to be sociable.
Fail, fail, fail. It was all he did lately.
They walked back along the terrace, hand in hand. It occurred to Arthur that if this party went badly, he would likely spiral down into another deep well of melancholy, and this time there might be no getting out of it.
And what then?He thought, helplessly.I wasn’t born to be an earl. This place isn’t mine. What will I do if I never fit in here? After all, there’s nowhere else for me to go. This is my last, last chance.
It was not a pleasant thought.
Chapter Two
The Thornhill Estate
Gingerly lifting her lace-hemmed skirt – a poor choice for today, but no matter – Felicity crouched down in the dirt to get a better look at the tiny plant.
She didn’t recognise it, and none of the botanical books she’d consulted in the library contained the plant. It was small, growing low to the ground, with feathery pale green leaves and tiny purple flower petals. At first glance, it looked like a weed – or rather, what uneducated fools would callweeds.
Felicity, naturally, knew that every plant had a purpose and a use, and the only difference between dandelions and roses were that one was carefully cultivated and the other uprooted unceremoniously.
Oh, and you couldn’t eat rose leaves.
Forgetting about her skirts, she knelt properly on the ground, gingerly lifting up a leaf to look underneath. She knew the plants were poisonous – the pigs had been eating them – but naturally that didn’t mean she was going to take a bite. She had atheoryabout which plant this was, but she wasn’t about to make a guess without the evidence to back it up.
The Thornhill gardens were remarkable among the town of Lanwood. They had a tremendous amount of land – most of farmland, of course, but a fair amount was used as gardens – and boasted no rose gardens whatsoever. It wasn’t that Felicitymindedrose gardens; it was just that they weren’t quite so useful. Most of the garden was given over to her, to plant whatever she liked, and she prided herself on not allowing an inch of space to be wasted.
“I thought I might find you here,” a familiar voice said, laughing.
She glanced up and smiled. “Hello, Daniel. Can you take a look at this plant and give me your thoughts? I can’t find it mentioned in any of the books.”
Her cousin, Daniel, was a tall and handsome man, much admired by the local ladies, and generally considered the catch of the county now that he was orphaned and left as Lord Thornhill. The two could be mistaken for siblings rather than cousins – the same large green eyes, the same chestnut hair, the same pale, oval faces. Although Daniel’s recent travels had left him somewhat sunburnt.
“It was my mother who was the botanist, not me,” he said, laughing, but obediently crouched down to take a look. “That reminds me, I picked up a few more botany books in Scotland last week, from Mother’s old house. I’ll bring them for you.”
Felicity swallowed. “I feel guilty, taking all of Aunt Rose’s books. You’re her son, you ought to keep them.”
