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"Oh," I say."How nice."
"Perhaps you will save me a dance?" he asks shyly.
"Yes," I say, smiling."Perhaps I will."
"I see you're not wearing your necklace this evening."
My hand springs to my bare neck."You noticed my jewelry?"
Seeing his mother occupied, he whispers in my ear, "I noticed your neck. The necklace happened to be there. It is very unusual."
"It was my mother's,"I say, still blushing from the bold compliment. "It was given to her by a village woman in India. A charm of protection. I'm afraid it didn't work for her."
"Perhaps it isn't for protection," Simon says.
I've never thought of that."I can't imagine what else it could be for."
"What is your favorite color?" Simon asks. "Purple," I answer."Why do you ask?"
"No reason," he says, smiling. "I might have to invite your brother to my club. He seems a good fellow."
Ha! "I'm sure he would enjoy that. "Tom would leap through rings of fire for the chance to go to Simon's club. It is the best in London.
Simon regards me for a moment. "You're not like other young ladies my mother trots before me."
"Oh?" I say, wincing, desperate to know how I'm different.
"There's something adventurous about you. I feel as if you have a great many secrets I should like to know."
Lady Denby notes us standing at the windows so close. I pretend to take an interest in a leather-bound copy of Moby-Dick that sits upon a side table. The spine crackles when I lift the cover, as if it's never been read."Perhaps you wouldn't really want to know them," I say.
"How do you know?" Simon asks, repositioning a ceramic figurine of two cupids."Offer me a test."
What can I say? That I suffer from the same delusions as poor Nell Hawkins but that they are not delusions at all? That I'm afraid I'm one step away from the madhouse myself? It would be so nice to confide in Simon and have him say, See, that wasn't so very bad now, was it? You're not mad. I believe you. I am with you.
I let the chance pass. "I have a third eye," I say breezily. "I'm a descendant of Atalanta. And my table manners are inexcusable."
Simon nods. "I suspected as much. That is why we're going to ask you to eat in the stable from now on as a precaution. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all." I close the book and turn away. "What terrible secrets do you have, Mr. Middleton?"
"Besides the gambling, carousing, and pillaging?" He falls into step behind me."The truth?" My heart skips a beat. "Yes," I say, turning to him at last. "The truth."
He stares into my eyes."I'm frightfully dull."
"That isn't true," I say, moving away again, looking up at the enormous bookcases.
"I'm afraid it is. I am to find a suitable wife with a suitable fortune and carry on the family name. It's what they expect of me. My wishes don't enter into it at all. I'm sorry. That was far too forward of me. You don't need to hear my troubles."
"No, truly. I'm happy to listen." I am, strangely enough.
"Shall we retire to the parlor?" Lady Denby asks. With a sigh, the maid resumes her scrubbing once the ladies have gone. Simon and I follow slowly.
"Your flower is slipping, Miss Doyle." The rose, pinned to my hair, slides to my neck. I reach for it just as he does. Our fingers touch for a moment before I turn away.
"Thank you," I say, completely flustered.
"May I?" With great care, Simon secures the flower behind my ear. I should stop him, lest he think me too permissive. But I don't know what to say. I am reminded that Simon is nineteen, three years my senior. He knows things that I do not.
