Madcap Miss

She cocked her face at him and considered this. “Yes … especially as I haven’t eaten since a piece of toast early this morning.”

“My poor dear, why is that?”

They had by this time reached the private parlor her hero (as she had begun to think of him) had hired for the evening, and he saw her seated. Felicia looked up at him and suddenly knew: he did not believe that she and Scott were brother and sister. Why he didn’t believe it, she could not say.

She would have to be careful. What did he think? She felt herself blush as she realized what it might look like. He thought she and Scott were lovers … eloping!

~ Six ~

> FELICIA FOUND HERSELF staring up into silver glitter full with secrets and was momentarily both taken and set on guard. Well, she told herself, that wasn’t quite fair, as she had her own secrets.

She looked away and studied the small parlor dominated by a huge window that overlooked a garden with wrought iron chairs and tables, lit up with garden torches. It was most charming. She looked back at him to find him studying her, and butterflies took flight in her stomach.

The room itself was dimly lit with candles and a small fire in the grate. She had never dined alone with a man, other than Scott, and this was a completely new experience for her. She felt intimidated by it all and chewed her bottom lip.

She knew she must look a mess with her long hair all windblown and her simple brown velvet riding ensemble covered now in dried blood. She had no other clothes with her. How could they ever present themselves to Scott’s aunt in their present circumstances?

He offered her a smile. “Well, I can see you are thinking that you have gotten yourself into a fine mess, and you have, child, you have.”

She put up her chin. “I am not a child.”

He chuckled and inclined his head. “Oh, are you not? Do forgive me. Perhaps the breeches made me think so?”

She blushed furiously and said nothing to this, and he said softly, “Come, then, we shall call a truce and enjoy some honest conversation while we await your meal and my brandy, Miss … ah, is it like Scott’s—Hanover?”

“Oh?” she asked. “Are you not hungry?”

“I have just only come from dinner, but I will join you with some cheese and brandy. Now, if you would be so kind as to answer my question, is your surname … like Scott … Hanover?”

“If we are brother and sister why would it not be?” she offered—without lying, she told herself.

“If you were brother and sister, but had different fathers …?” he offered, his eyes silver and bright.

“Oh, yes, I did not think of that,” she answered innocently. “Well, you may call me Felicia.”

A serving girl appeared at that moment, her mop cap askew over her light brown hair. She smiled at them, plopped a basket on the table, and announced, “Here are some rolls … fresh they are, right from the oven. Don’t they do smell nice.”

He thanked her, and off she went.

“Felicia?” her savior asked, and she saw curiosity in his eyes as she took a roll, dipped it in the soft butter, and stuffed her mouth with a groan.

She nodded.

He said, “I fancy I heard Scott call you something else?”

She smiled. “Yes, he has always called me Flip, ever since we first … ah, since we were very little.”

“And do you prefer that to Felicia?”

“Scott is the only one who has ever called me that, but I like my name,” she answered. Then she tore off another piece of the roll, dipped it in the butter, and moaned once more as she chewed.

“Right then, after you swallow, I think you might want to tell me what sent you and Scott off into the night without so much as one portmanteau between you? Are you two in some kind of trouble?”

She was stunned. She knew he knew that things weren’t what they seemed. He was a ‘knowing one’ Scott would say. He had an air of sophistication and experience about him, but she had not expected him to ask so soon and so openly.

She nearly choked and did, in fact, cough. She settled herself, and as she felt the heat rise to her entire face she tried on an answer. “We were on our way to London … to Sc—our aunt’s place.” She eyed him and tried to change the subject. “These are delicious. Do have one.”

He ignored this and apparently was going to go for the throat, because he eyed her doubtfully and asked, “On your way to London? In the dead of night? Why?”