better than to get into the middle of such a display.
âYes. And you ought to have refused. Honestly, the only thing worse than not being asked to dance is being asked to dance by someone so . . . so . . .â Lady Copeland was getting red in the face. âSo
odd
,â she concluded.
âI rather liked him,â John offered, but Eddie balled her hands into fists and willed him to shut up. Heâd only make things worse.
One thousand and twelve times nine is nine thousand one hundred and eight divided by seven is one thousand, three hundred andâ
âYou are a burden on this family,â Lady Copeland was saying. âIf your sisters had survived, they would all be married by now, and perhaps one of them would have taken you in, but thereâs only John, and he will have the burden of the Copeland name, which is quite enough without you adding to it!â
The square of three is nine. The square of nine is eighty-one. The square of eighty-one isâ
âWill you look at me when Iâm talking to you!â Lady Copeland said. Eddieâs head snapped up. Her motherâs nostrils were flared and pale. Not a good sign. She had only truly angered her mother twice in her life. They had not reached that point. Not yet. But it was coming, and there was only one sure defense against it.
Eddie swooned.
It was useful to have a reputation for swooning. The key was in doing it on a soft surface, and falling to the side, bowing oneâs legs so that it appeared you were falling straight down, but in fact you were lowering yourself gently (but swiftly) into a heap.
Eddie let out a soft cry and flopped to the right, eyes shut. Her mother shrieked.
âMy poor child!â she cried. âMy poor child has fainted!â
Eddie gritted her teeth and kept her eyes shut. She thought she heard John sigh.
âQuickly, quickly, we must take her to the parlor,â Lady Copeland said.
Strong arms slid beneath her. Not John, but the butler, Fellowes, a man well familiar with her âfits.â And another witness to her motherâs tirade.
All the servants in the vicinity would have heard, but it wasnât anything new. She saw them giving her pitying and scornful looks when they thought she wouldnât notice. Or maybe it was just that they didnât care if she did.
Sheâd once heard the scullery maid and a footman arguing about whether theyâd swap lives with her. The maid came down on the side of soft beds and being waited on hand and foot; the footman preferred his dignity.
She herself was undecided.
Fellowes set her down on the chaise longue in the parlor and departed without so much as a whisper of comfort. That she was used to as well; her father chose servants who were like him: disinterested and efficient.
Her mother flapped about in a state of exaggerated agitation until John said, âYou are only going to drive yourself into a faint as well. Iâll look after her, Mother.â
âOh, my sweet boy,â Lady Copeland said, and Eddie heard the sound of her kissing Johnâs cheek.
Her footsteps headed toward the door; hesitated. They came back, drawing very close to Eddie, and she forced her breathing to stay steady. Her motherâs hands roved to her neck, and the necklace slithered over her skin. Lady Copeland wouldnât want to leave her prize behind, after all.
Only when the door shut did Eddie dare open her eyes. John had folded his hands and was watching her with something akin to resignation.
âA swoon? Arenât you a bit old for those kinds of tricks?â he asked.
âIf you have a better idea, Iâd like to hear it,â Eddie said, straightening up.
âYou could try not provoking her,â he suggested.
âProvoking her? All I did was dance. And youâre the one who suggested it,â she pointed out.
âYes, but then you ran after Lord Averdale like that. What did you think was
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley