Page 69 of Holly & Folly

She froze with indecision.

Would kissing Mr. Fowell help her forget the hurt? Would it feel the way it had to kiss the earl?

Curiosity and desperation urged her to accept Mr. Fowell’s offer, if only for temporary comfort.

A memory of the conservatory flashed across her mind. Lord Dalmeer’s lips and hands on hers, but even more vividly, the feeling in her body that had drawn her to him.

She felt none of that pull to Mr. Fowell.

Perhaps it would be a distraction to kiss him, but what would happen when the distraction was over? She would be left not just with the pain of losing Lord Dalmeer but with a crushing disappointment in herself.

She took a step back, gently but firmly pulling her hand away. “Forgive me. I”—she swallowed—“I must go.” She picked up her skirts and hurried away before weakness overtook sense, as it so often had before.

Eyes brimming, she turned the corner and collided with something.

She blinked as hands gripped her arms, keeping her upright.

Lord Dalmeer’s eyes were full of concern. “Are you well?”

Nell forced a laugh, for she could not bear for him to see her in this state. “Forgive me. I was not paying attention to where I was going.” She took a step back, and his hands released her arms.

“I saw you leave the music room,” he said. “Fowell followed and I thought you might need…”

“Protection?” She smiled wryly. “You have no obligation to provide such a thing, my lord. I am quite well, I thank you.” Her throat began to thicken again. She needed to leave before her emotions spilled over yet again. “Excuse me.” She gave a curtsy, then turned and walked away.

“Nell!”

She did not respond, for her eyes were burning again, and she could no longer pretend composure. As she reached the next turn, she refused the impulse to look over her shoulder and see if he was following.

She had intended to go to her bedchamber, but the idea that he might follow her there decided her against it. She turned to the left rather than the right when she reached the end of the corridor, fixing upon the Tapestry Room as the most sensible destination—somewhere she could be alone with her thoughts and feelings. Alone was the safest state for Nell. She could not be trusted to behave in any other circumstance.

She stopped short at the sight of Lady Dalmeer in the corridor, a basket in hand and folded papers all over the floor.

Was she bound to meet everyone in the corridor this evening?

The countess had not noticed her, however, and Nell hesitated. She had no wish to see or speak with Lady Dalmeer in her current condition—or any condition. The woman had never wanted her here.

With good reason.

Nell took in a shaky breath, wiped her eyes with the handkerchief, and strode to help.

The countess, who was bent over picking up papers, lifted her gaze.

Nell crouched and began gathering up everyone’s hopes and predictions for the year.

The countess’s gaze lingered on her. “Thank you, Miss Prescott.” There was surprise in her voice.

“It is my pleasure, my lady.”

“I thought we could string these up on the mantle in the drawing room. Miss Caldwell offered to do it.”

“That is very kind of her—and a good idea.” She dropped two papers in the basket. “I do not believe we heard your hopes or predictions, though, my lady.”

“Nor yours,” she replied.

Nell picked up two more papers, then brought the basket nearer the countess. “I have none to speak of.”

Lady Dalmeer dropped the last two papers in. “I have no predictions and but one hope.”