But a girl?
Not so simple. He must use his brains and not his strength. Considering the fact that he’d never been able to convince Miss Haverfield to even speak to her father about him, his persuasive powers were less than effective.
A footman parted the drawing-room doors. “Miss Gillingham to see you, sir.”
Doubtless, Felton was the last person shewantedto see—but she came through the large doorway nonetheless, shoulders back, head erect in a way that was most elegant and graceful.
Dear mercy. She was more Letitia than even Lord Gillingham seemed to realize.
“Why are you here?”
He blinked against a question so bold and crossed his arms over his chest. “Be seated, won’t you?”
She glanced down at a damask chair but never sat. Instead, she mimicked his stance by crossing her hands over her own chest and said nothing.
Felton studied her. The shiny hair pulled into a chignon. The long curls framing her face. The new dress and the way it made her appear smaller, somehow, and so unlike the running child he’d first found in the forest.
But the eyes were the same. Young, frightened, timid—yet with enough resolve to make it impossible to get his own way.
He would, though. Eventually.
“You look lovely.” Flattery wasn’t the method he’d intended to use, but the words slipped out before he could rethink them. “What would your captain think if he could see you dressed so?”
“He would think I was just like them.”
“Them?”
“The cruel men and women who care more for wealth than for the human soul.”
“Quite a speech. Quite a hatred too.”
“Not hatred, Mr. Northwood. The truth. If you knew what they did to him, how they ruined any chances he might return to the sea—”
“And I suppose he was not at fault.”
“Could you sail a ship after your crew forsook you?”
“No, I could not. I prefer to keep my feet on dry ground anyway.” With one finger, Felton loosened his cravat from his neck. “Did he always sail?”
“Since he was a boy.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“A wife?”
A blush suffused her cheeks. “Of course. My mother.”
“And her name?”
She looked away. “We do not speak of her much, for I fear he loved her greatly.”
“I see.” Only he didn’t see. He didn’t see anything. “You give me very little to go on. Did he ever speak of Lord Gillingham?”
“Why must you always question me?”
“And why must you always deny me answers? If your captain is as guiltless as you seem to think, what is there to hide?”
