A/N: I think the boy Felicity kisses in A Great and Terrible Beauty is named Ithal, but I'm not sure. So we'll just call him the Gypsy. The flashback is in third person POV, but the rest is in Felicity's POV. Okay? Okay. ONWARD!

Disclaimer: I own not, you sue not.

-----

"Flowers, my lady? A pretty flower for your pretty hair?" The Gypsy boy pranced up to me as I walked near the lake, my arm looped through Pippa's. He carried a basket full of wonderful blooms, probably stolen.

"No thank you," I said. Pippa walked faster. She doesn't like Gypsies; always fearing they're after her maidenhood.

"Just a pence, my lady. Such a great beauty as you should have the proper ornamentation," the Gypsy protested, easily keeping pace.

I blinked and shook my head, trying to keep away the memories that surfaced whenever someone called me beautiful.

"Papa, please, no!" A younger Felicity sobbed, though no tears fell. Her father continued unbuttoning her dress, ignoring his daughter's cries.

"It's your fault, Felicity. You bring it out in me, you make me do this," Admiral Worthington said as he discarded her primrose gown. Felicity crossed her arms over her newly formed breasts, hoping her chemise would prove difficult to remove.

"It's your fault," the admiral breathed as his hand traced her leg from under the lightweight cotton material.

She closed her mind and ran away inside herself, as she always did.

"George?"

It's her mother, God bless her. The admiral kisses her, long and hard, his lips crushing her own. Felicity closed her eyes, remembering that it would soon be over.

"Goodnight, beautiful," he murmurs, exiting her room. Felicity runs to the washbasin and rings the bell next to it. The servants know to bring her a hot bath. She always orders one, even though she still feels dirty.

The housekeeper enters, dependable old Mrs. Bryn-Jones. Felicity runs to her for comfort and cries against the sensible cotton shoulder.

"There now, Felicity. You must be strong," Mrs. Bryn-Jones whispers as two servants lug in the tub and begin filling it. "Beauty fades, but strength stays with you. Be strong." She wipes away the eleven-year-old girl's tears with her wrinkled thumb.

"I'll keep him out the rest of tonight," she whispers. Felicity nods gratefully. It's the most anyone can do until Felicity moves into a room with a lock on the door.

I think I can pinpoint the day I stopped being kind to the day Mrs. Bryn-Jones died. After that, no one offered to keep him out for the rest of the night. Why should I care about them when they don't care about me?

Beautiful. He always called me beautiful when he broke into my room late at night.

I took my arm away from Pippa's and fished in my purse. Just as long as he went away and stopped calling me beautiful.

"You run back, Pip. I'll only be a minute," I said. Pippa looks doubtful but walks back to Spence and out of sight anyway. I hand over a coin to the Gypsy, who gives me a red carnation. I slip the stem behind my ear so it stands out against my hair.

The Gypsy is looking at me tenderly, as if I am precious, something that should never be hurt. No one has ever looked at me that way before. "What is your name, lady?" He asks.

"Felicity Worthington," I answer. Glancing back towards the stone monster that is finishing school, I find no one is near. Taking a chance that could endanger my future, I whisper, "Meet me here at midnight."

The Gypsy nods, a smile spreading across his handsome, forbidden face. I inhale deeply and find he smells of spices, not sea air and pipe smoke.

Thank God. I shouldn't be able to do this, if he did. As I hurry towards Spence, I spare a look over my shoulder and find that the Gypsy is watching me. A smile leaps to my lips unbidden.

During prayers, Pippa whispers to me, "I've never actually been that close to a Gypsy. Terribly handsome, don't you think?" I nod, frowning a bit. Pippa wasn't about to take this boy from me. She couldn't ever find out.

That night, I find him next to the lake. The moon is full, casting a pearly glow over the world. I kiss him fiercely, as if he is a phantom and will disappear.

"Whatever you do tonight," I pant when we pause for air, "don't call me beautiful."

Finis