Page 47 of A Game of Scandal

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

All evening and the next day, the deliveries kept coming. An entire flower shop sprung up in the entrance hall. At every ring of the doorbell, Mother’s eyes widened with delight.

It was, as far as she was concerned, an extremely romantic gesture – a small fortune’s worth of flowers. Not only honeysuckle and lilies but enormous bouquets of roses, a rainbow of carnations, along with sunflowers and tulips and asters. Every bloom you could think of. But it didn’t feel romantic at all. It felt sinister, and I had the marks on my arm to prove it. When I looked at the cluster of small bruises in the shape of Laing’s fingers, I knew I was seeing a glimpse of the real man behind the mask of gentility.

Each delivery to the door was more and more oppressive, as if I were under siege. I could run but I couldn’t hide from his attentions, and it seemed he was letting me know that. In my mind, I heard Laing’s words: nothing stands in the way of what I want.

And what he wanted was me. Far from putting an end to matters, in confronting him, I had done nothing but stoke the fire.

What I really wanted was to talk to Izzy, but I hadn’t seen her since before Lady Endsleigh’s tea party. As far as I could tell, my sister-in-law hadn’t been home in the last twenty-four hours, though of course Mother was carefully kept under the impression they were just missing one another.

I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to feign illness unless the situation was dire. The last thing I wanted to do was to give Mother more reasons to fuss over my “delicate nature”, but this … well, this felt dire.

“I’m sorry, ” I said now, eyeing the teetering piles of flowers. “I think I was overzealous in my suggestion that we go out walking. I have a headache, and I’m not sure I should go with you to Lady Verne’s this evening.”

“Oh, darling.” My mother was all sympathy as she clucked over me. “I did think you were still looking a bit peaky. I’m afraid it’s been something of a whirlwind since I arrived. I know it’s terribly exciting, but we must remember how easily tired you are, that you haven’t the constitution for anything too rigorous. And, goodness, one forgets how large the park is – I swear we must have walked miles!”

It had barely been one mile and at the most horribly sedate pace, but who was I to disagree? I pressed a hand to my forehead and murmured in agreement.

“I’m sure it must be all this reading and letter writing that keeps you in such a fragile state,” Mother continued. “You have been left far too much to your own devices and mentally exhausted yourself – that much is obvious. You need pulling away from those dusty old books, and to be with other young people.”

“I don’t think—” I began.

“We mustn’t rush our fences,” Mother swept onwards, “but it’s clear to me that you’ve fallen into the clutches of melancholy, spending too much time in solitude. It’s like these poets!” she exclaimed, seemingly at random.

“Poets?” I repeated, confused by this strange conversational turn.

Mother nodded furiously. “Dreadful, the lot of them. Anaemic creatures, draping themselves over the furniture and constantly spouting off about rain clouds on even the nicest of days.”

“Do you … know a lot of poets?” I ventured.

Mother sniffed. “Sir Percival has one staying with him. A horrid woman.”

“Ah,” I said, keeping my tone soothing. My mother had always had a legion of loyal admirers – Sir Percival was one of her favourite suitors out in the country. He had been devotedly in love with her for three decades now, and, while showing no signs of accepting any of his many marriage proposals, it was clear that Mother enjoyed having him dote on her and didn’t want his attentions elsewhere.

“Actually, you’re quite right,” I said. “I met a young man who compared my eyes to violets at a party recently and he was anaemic-looking. Like an extremely silly glass of milk.”

Mother burst into giggles, and I felt something warm inside me.

“You sound dangerously poetic yourself, Felicity.” Her expression sobered. “And I’ve told you time and again that you’ll end up disordering your system with all this … endless studying. It’s a good thing I have come and so I will tell your brother if he ever appears! Clearly he’s been neglecting you.”

“Oh, no…”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Mother cut me off, her voice soothing. “You and I will have a comfortable night in together.”

This was decidedly not the plan.

“No, no!” I exclaimed again. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I know how excited you were about the party this evening. You’ve been talking about seeing Lady Verne again since you arrived. You must go. I’ll have an early night and be right as rain tomorrow.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Mother said, but fortunately at that moment I was visited by genius.

“And didn’t Madame Solange deliver that blue silk ballgown for you this morning?” I asked innocently. “You can’t miss the opportunity to show that off. I know several women who will be green with envy. You look so lovely in it.”

Mother seemed struck by this. “Well,” she said. “If you’re certain you won’t mind, I suppose I could stop in for an hour or two. It would only be polite as we did accept the invitation.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “And what good could it do for you to be cooped up here if I’m only going to be asleep, anyway? It’s not as though I will benefit from your company.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mother said, brightening. Her eyes turned to the clock ticking in the hallway. “I’d better start getting ready!”