Felicity’s eyes widen in horror. “Are you ill, Gemma? Have you a fever? Honestly, I won’t shed a single tear when it is time to say goodbye. I cannot wait to make my debut.”
Annabelle’s hateful gossip weighs heavily on my soul. “And Lady Markham is to present you, is she not?”
“Yes, as I must have a sponsor to put me forth,” Fee says brusquely. “My father may be a naval hero, but my family hasn’t the standing yours enjoys.”
I ignore the swipe. The sun has blessed us with the first taste of the warm weather to come, and we turn our faces toward it like flowers.
“What sort of woman is Lady Markham?”
“She’s one of Lady Denby’s followers,” Felicity scoffs.
I wince at the mention of Simon’s mother. Lady Denby has no love for Felicity or for Mrs. Worthington.
“You know how that sort is, Gemma. They like to be flattered and led to believe that you revere their every word as if it has dropped from Zeus’s tongue. ‘Why, Lady Markham, I thank you for your good advice.’ ‘How clever you are, Lady Markham.’ ‘I shall take it to heart. How fortunate am I to have your counsel, Lady Markham.’ They want to own you.” Felicity stretches her arms overhead, reaching for the sky. “I shall leave that to my mother.”
“And if Lady Markham were not to present you…what then?” I ask, my heart in my mouth.
Felicity’s arms drop to her sides again. “I’d be done for. If I do not make my debut, my inheritance shall go to the Foundling Hospital, and I shall be at Father’s mercy. But that won’t happen.” She frowns. “I say, you are quite keen on this subject. Have you heard something?”
“No,” I say, hesitating.
“You’re lying.”
There’s no getting around it. She’ll badger me until I tell her the truth. “Very well. Yes. I heard a bit of gossip in London that Lady Markham was having second thoughts about presenting you to court…because of…because of your reputation. And I only thought, with so much at stake, perhaps it would be best if you were to…to…behave.” The word is no more than a faint imprint.
Felicity narrows her eyes, but there is hurt in them. “Behave?”
“Just till after your season…”
Felicity sneers. “Shall I tremble at every scrap of nasty gossip? I’ve survived worse. Honestly, Gemma, since you’ve stopped taking us into the realms you’ve become a dull mouse of a girl. I hardly know you anymore.”
“I only meant to warn you,” I protest.
“I don’t need warnings; I need a friend,” she says. “If you wish to scold me like a schoolmarm, you might as well sit with Nightwing.”
She flounces away, joining arms with Elizabeth, and the sun, which felt so warm, is no longer a comfort.