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“She is the only person I can think of with that potential, yes. I cannot . . . it is odd to say aloud, but I cannot shake the feeling that Thea is in some sort of distress, that I have failed—” She ceased speaking and cleared her throat, leveling me with a plain look. It appeared that she recalled to whom she was speaking and chose not to continue to confide in me.
It stung. I wanted to be a member of this family in every way. This was far too similar to my experiences with my own mother growing up, not being the social daughter she desired, only getting in the way or forcing her to end her engagements at an earlier time than she wished. I’d hoped marriage would be the end of those feelings—that I would no longer find myself unable to come up to snuff.
“I do not want to burden you further,” she said.
“It is no burden—”
Lady Edith stood. “We can resume at another time.”
“Would you like me to come with you to visit Mrs. Moulton?”
“Only if you wish. It is your house, Felicity. I will not tell you what to do.”
I clenched my teeth and waited for her to leave the breakfast room. One small comment about the role I rightfully carried, and I was subjected to barbs. Would I forever be in her shadow?
The chairs on the far side of the room held pillows, and I crossed the room, picked up one of the pillows, and screamed into it as loud as I could. The sound was extremely muffled, and I was certain no one outside of this room would hear me, so I took another breath, raised the pillow, and screamed again.
Pent up frustration slipped from me, releasing through the exertion of my scream until I was hollow and leaving behind a tingling sensation in my stomach. I was glad to expel my vexation so fully. I lowered the cushion, my chest heaving with the dregs of my outburst.
“Might I ask if all is well?” a deep voice called to me.
I turned toward the sound, fully aware that no blush threatened my pale cheeks. I was not ashamed of my outburst. Benedict stood in the doorway, watching me with mild concern.
“I needed to release some of my anger,” I said calmly, setting the cushion back on the chair.
“Is this James’s doing? I am not above challenging my own brother to a bit of fencing in order to humble the man.”
My mouth curved into a smile. “No, not at all. It was nothing to do with James, and now I feel much better.” I patted the pillow for emphasis.
“Poor pillow.”
“No harm has come to it.” I looked to the stodgy cushion, and it was no worse for the wear.
Benedict came into the room and eyed the papers on the table, amusement faintly trailing him. “Ah. The ball.” Concern lit his dark eyes. “You’ve heard, then? For what it is worth, I suggested we remove them from the guestlist.”
“Remove who?”
“The Whitstones, of course.” He glanced up quickly, seeming to read my confusion. “You did not know, then.”
“Apparently not.”
Benedict laughed awkwardly, tapping his finger on what must be the guest list. “I now have no choice but to tell you, then, yes?”
“That would be best,” I confirmed. “If you do not tell me, I will have to ask James.”
He nodded. “That just might be better—”
“Benedict, please do not make me wait. What occurred? Have I committed atrocious offense?”
“Gads, no. It was them who did the offending.”
“Out with it, please.”
“Mrs. Whitstone asked Mother if the babe caused you to flee the dance floor at Lady Grenville’s ball. It would seem that the rumors have reached Cumberland.”
I turned and sat hard on the cushion which had just received a brutal vocal beating. If I had conceived a child after my wedding, it would be too soon to grow ill at the Grenville ball. “The rumors have reached Bakewell.”
Benedict looked apologetic, but to his credit, not uncomfortable. He crossed to sit on the bench beside me. “If it means anything, I was present when Mrs. Whitstone voiced her question, and James gave her a mighty set down. It might be unnecessary to remove her from the guest list. I wonder if she would dare show her face, for I’m certain she could very well sense how deeply James would not want her present.”
