so shattered by the scandals wrought by my sisters, he ran away from England. Nothing was quite the same after they left.”
“You miss them?” He couldn’t imagine why.
“I barely knew my mother, and I admired my father, but no, I do not miss his influence in my life. He was a hard man, critical and tempestuous, and his presence caused me no end of distress. He and my mother were devout in their faith. Zealots, some called them. He allowed us no joy or ease or freedom, and, if I’m honest, I’ve come to appreciate those things in his absence.”
She blinked a little, her features arranging into a mask of worry. “How terrible of me to speak of the dead thus. You must think me a monster.”
He caught her gaze and held it. “I know monsters. You are not one.”
Mrs. Winterton cleared her throat, and Felicity started, seeming to have forgotten her presence just as much as he had.
Schooling an uncomfortable look from her features, Emmaline visibly pushed a brightness into her eyes. “I did retrieve your gown and your haberdashery for tomorrow night,” she said, making an obvious appeal for a change of subject. “It’s as stunning as I thought it might be for your debut back into society.”
“How kind of you, Emmaline.” Felicity beamed a smile at her that had too many teeth.
“And Mr. Severand will be joining us?” Winterton lifted an eyebrow in his direction.
“He will.”
“Do you dance, sir?” She tucked into her soup, sipping it whilst looking at him with rapt attention, as if more than vaguely interested in the answer.
“Not if I can help it.”
She made a dismissive noise before turning back to Felicity. “Do not forget you have a stroll in the park with Lord Bainbridge before luncheon.”
Felicity put a palm to her forehead. “Oh, that’s right. I think he means to declare some intentions before the ball… I haven’t any idea what to say.”
Winterton’s wide mouth shouldn’t have been comely on anyone, but when she smirked like she did, with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, Gabriel could appreciate how her features were arranged. They didn’t touch the perfection of Felicity’s, of course, but most men would find her handsome, he imagined.
“Let Bainbridge talk about himself,” she advised with a bitter edge to her voice. “That’s what men most prefer anyways. They’ll think you have the most delightful personality so long as you have none at all.”
Felicity gave an unladylike snort and a giggle, then tucked her lips together, casting him a conciliatory glance. “Forgive us, Mr. Severand, for maligning your sex. Emmaline is endlessly unkind.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Unkind as it may be, Mrs. Winterton speaks the truth.”
That earned him an approving look from the woman in question.
And a scowl from Felicity as she glanced from him to her companion.
Through most of dinner, Mrs. Winterton and Felicity spoke of schedules and events, of gossip and the garden. Gabriel didn’t eat his stew, but found the lamb superb and the dessert uncommonly good. After the meal, his lids threatened to droop, his muscles untangled, and he found himself quite content to lounge at the table sipping his port until they’d quite finished their discussion.
He might not have many manners, but he knew to stand when the ladies did. He trailed them up the grand staircase and bade Mrs. Winterton good evening when she broke off to a second-floor bedroom. As a companion, she was another member of staff who didn’t sleep with the servants.
He tried not to notice as Felicity stepped a couple of stairs above him, though her bustle was quite at eye level.
How strange that women changed their shapes thus.
What did Miss Felicity look like unclad? He’d seen her in her nightrobe, a billowy cream confection that left much to the imagination. And only then from a distance, backlit by a dim lamp through a window.
Christ, he was a mangled pervert. Good thing he wasn’t staying. He couldn’t look at her like this for long without going mad.
He trailed her down the third-story hall and was surprised when she stopped in front of his room, turning to address him. “Are your accommodations adequate, Mr. Severand?”
He loved the way the lamps gilded her hair like strands of spun gold. “More than adequate.”
She seemed to cast about for something else to say.
“Since we’ll spend so much time together, you might call me Gareth in private,” he suggested. “If you like.”
“I do like,” she said brightly, then winced. “I mean, I’d be delighted. Might you