The Falconer's Daughter - Liz Lyles Page 0,28

“Why do you bother with it, anyway? You were too old to begin with and you’ll never really need to know how.”

“All ladies should know how to read.” Philip stood up and restlessly paced the floor. “It’s important.”

“I don’t agree. It’s silly to fill your head with stories from old civilizations. Things that happen now are more important.” Elisabeth fidgeted with her skirts. “I would rather read about court and what is happening in London. I want to hear about the expedition in France. Those stories are exciting—not ancient epics.”

Cordaella rose up on her heels, looking longingly out the window. “Why can’t we go outside?”

“Because Mr. Pole told us to read twenty pages each. I haven’t even read seven,” Philip said.

“I don’t care what old Mr. Pole said.” Elisabeth rose. “And I am sick of this chamber.”

“Then let’s go out,” Cordaella proposed.

“We can’t.” Philip stubbornly buried his nose in the book.

“Fusspot!” Elisabeth said, sticking her tongue out at him. “You are a stuffy old man already, Phil.”

“Do come, Philip,” Cordaella urged. “Let us go have a look outside. It would be so nice to walk—”

“But we’ll get in trouble.”

“We will get in trouble anyway,” Elisabeth retorted.

“She’s right, Philip,” Cordaella said, suddenly desperate to be outside and free. She longed for the mountains with the open space and the huge sky and the smell of heather and pine. “And I am going,” she said, putting the book down. “I don’t care if I do get in trouble.”

“Me, too.” Elisabeth pulled her cloak over her dress. “I will go with you. Besides, I haven’t had a whipping in years.”

Reluctantly, Philip rose. “But where will we walk?” He and Elisabeth turned expectantly to their cousin.

Cordaella was still staring out the window and little by little her expression lifted, the dark brows arching as a thought came to her. “Why,” she said with a quick laugh, “perhaps we can try the mews.”

“The mews?” Elisabeth said, darting a hasty look at her brother. “To the falconer’s? But how would we get past the gatekeepers? You know they won’t let us out without Father’s permission.” She was still watching her brother who had picked up his book again. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” she said after a strained moment. “We would get caught.”

Cordaella thought of her last whipping and looked out the window at the wonderful sky, the clouds high and thin against the deep blue. She would have to learn to appreciate the sky from here. Slowly she sat down again, frightened by the realization she was becoming like the others. Just a sheep. No mind of her own.

*

SUPPER WAS ALWAYS eaten in the great hall, the earl and his family sitting at the main table on the dais. Cordaella sat near the end of her uncle’s table, directly across from Mr. Pole. Mr. Pole was the only one of Peveril’s staff who sat at the earl’s table. She wished she didn’t have to sit across from Mr. Pole, it made her sick just to watch him. It wasn’t that he was messy; he was just the opposite, nibbling on the venison, picking at the duck, his bites so small that it took him forever to finish anything. He could make the fish course stretch for fifteen minutes, and she thought dinner was already too long, some nights lasting two hours or more.

“Ladies should not stare,” Mr. Pole said, wiping his mouth with his hand towel before returning his attention to his plate. He was still flaking the smoked trout from the bones. Cordaella dropped her head but lifted it moments later to watch him take a bite. The fish barely filled his spoon. She sighed. Why did she have to sit here? “Perhaps you could use this time,” Mr. Pole proposed, lifting his fork again, “to review your Latin conjugations. You haven’t mastered them at all.”

“I’m not in the nursery,” she answered tartly, frowning at him over her cup of watery wine.

“Perhaps you should still be eating there. Mrs. Penny and Edward could use the company.”

Cordaella balled her hands in her lap. “Why do you keep telling me to join them? I’m not a baby like Eddie and I don’t need a nurse.”

“You certainly could use manners. You talk like a barbarian and eat as if you’ve never had a hot meal before this one. ’Tis no wonder your uncle put you here with me. But what you need, I simply cannot teach. There aren’t enough hours in the day.”

“I think it is a pity you