Author's Note: If you do not see Part 3 listed in the American Girl-section of , that is because the 'M' rating of this story has made it one that you either have to find in the Search section if you do not have a link to it already. As far as I know, that is the only reason it's not appearing in the American Girl listing. And I wouldn't want anyone uncomfortable with a mature story or someone underage to read it easily, anyway. I may be writing an adult-Felicity/Ben story, but that is not everyone's cup o' tea, dig?

Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, PT3, Ch12: The Truth About Lucille

Forsythe manor was eerily quiet the following morning of the relatives' arrivals. A heavy January frost made rising at sunrise impossible for most of the guests, who preferred to remain under thick covers near lit fireplaces. Reginald Forsythe himself was up, breakfasting alone in the large dining room, mulling over the unwanted presence of his cousin more so than the fact that his father's business was falling into a shambles. And as if Tristan Forsythe was aware of his presence being damned, he strolled in, fresh from a ride on this crisp, clear morning with a slanting smile on his disarmingly handsome face and a knowing look in his steely grey eyes, which fixed upon his brooding cousin with a gleam of superiority and satisfaction combined.

"Had you forgotten that I am an early riser?" Tristan drawled, inviting himself to hot morning tea across from Reginald, as Pompey moved with as much haste as his aging bones would allow him to so that he could fetch another cup from the silver tea set. "I fancied an invigorating ride this morning, cousin. I found the stables quite clean and the grounds rather well-tended."

"Were you expecting otherwise?" Reginald asked, annoyed, refusing to look up from his newspaper to formerly acknowledge his least-liked relative.

"Well, seeing as how you've been so...occupied, let us call it, I had been convinced that you had been lax in your duties to the estate."

This time Reginald looked up and eyed his cousin with immense irritation. "I know you, Tristan. I know you never give anything or anyone so much as a second glance unless you see a way you can benefit. We both know you would not be here if you did not see a way you and Uncle Fletcher could take an advantage here. 'Tis truly pointless to ask, but what do you want?"

At first Tristan didn't answer. He merely smiled his cryptic smile and idly fingered the rim of his tea cup. After a moment, he inquired "This...'wife' of yours, Reg...does she satisfy you?"

"And just what the devil do you mean by that?" Reginald demanded snappingly, his discomfort and nervousness all too obvious.

Tristan chuckled lightly. "Only what I already expected, cousin. Had you bedded that girl you would know exactly what I mean."

Reginald's face turned an extra ill-looking shade of pale. He shifted in his seat. He didn't even seem to be aware that one of his absurdly frilly white cuffs had dipped into the sausage gravy still in his breakfast plate as he lowered his paper to his lap. "What goes on between my wife and I is absolutely none of your business, you understand! You are to stay away from my Felicity while you are here. How long do you assume to make a nuisance of yourself here, anyway?"

"Only as long as it takes to assess this property's worth," replied Tristan with smooth simplicity. When Reginald's mouth dropped open in shook, he continued, "Oh surely you did not think this was just a warm family visit, Reg. Father and I mean to have our lawyer assess this place, since the Forsythe Slaving Company is all but dry now, what with your late father's numerous debts and your lavish spending. Just how much have you spent installing our sweet little Felicity in this modern castle here?"

"You leave my wife out of this!"

Tristan sat back smugly, arms folded, vain and clearly enjoying watching his cousin squirm. "But that is just the thing, Reg! She is not your wife!" He said it with actual amusement and well-controlled glee. "Not in the official way. I have always known that you were incapable of controlling a female. Ever since that 'incident' with Miss Elswick, whom our Felicity does bear a striking resemblance to- no surprise there, you have shown that you have absolutely no masculine assertiveness whatsoever. Seems as though every woman that crosses your path meets an unhappy demise, cousin! Your poor mother, my Aunt Prudence, mentally vapid and reduced to wandering the manor like a pitiful ghost! Father is most displeased to find her in such a state. We both know you have had her dependent upon medicine for quite sometime, Reg. So that she would not go insane, knowing what all you have done...her only child...and poor Miss Elswick-!"

"Enough!" cried Reginald, rising swiftly to his feet. "You leave here today or I'll-!"

" 'What'," encouraged Tristan challengingly as well as humoredly. "Just what exactly will you do, cousin? To be quite frank, I do not seeing you being in any position to do anything- figuratively as well as intimately."

"Why you-!"

"Be careful, Reg," warned Tristan with a wickedly slanting smile. "Or you just might find yourself without a single shilling or a ruffle to call your own. Play nice and Father and I just might let you continue to live here. Maybe. And as for Felicity..." He laughed ever so softly but it was not in genuine mirth. "Since you cannot make her a Forsythe, seems as though I will have to."

"No! You will do nothing of the sort!" Shaking with rage, Reginald pointed his finger at his cousin and barked, "Felicity is mine! You cannot have her! Neither can you just borrow her like you do my slaves for your whore-mongering escapades!"

Tristan Forsythe threw his light-blond head back and laughed, an eerie, hackle-raising sound that echoed off the walls of the dining room and its high ceiling, causing even poor old Pompey to jump again. "Whatever do you know about my 'escapades,' dear cousin? Tell me, for I am intrigued!"

"Oh I know plenty about your ill use of women! How many offspring have you sired in the past six months alone? None you will ever claim, I'll wager! If only those beautiful, refined young ladies of high breeding you cause to swoon at balls and galas knew of your vile, shameful ways!"

"And what of Lady Felicity, hmm?" Tristan threw back immediately, enjoying the nerve-wracking effect he was having on his cousin. "How refined and well-bred is she? Talk is that you brought her to England from the American colonies, a poor, grief-stricken war waif in need of a hero- one with a great deal of funding, no doubt- and that she just happens to look like Lucile Elswick, of all people! Tell me, Reg, do you plan on loving this girl to death, too?"

"I will not tolerate this blatant disrespect in my house!" Reginald babbled rapidly, his face looking even sicker. "If you are so determined to remain, then perhaps I will remove Felicity to another location just so you cannot prey upon her like the beast that you are!"

Tristan's slant-wise grin grew all the more nasty "Prey upon? My poor, woman-whipped cousin, not only do you lack the sense to run a business but you obviously lack the masculinity to control a willful young girl! You can tell just by looking at that alluring face that she is a cannot ball waiting to go off! A perfect little peach that is much overdue a right good...'plucking'."

"Tristan Forsythe, you are worse than an animal!" Reginald shouted angrily. "You will not have Felicity! You will not have Forsythe Slaving Company, nor will you this estate! Not as long as I live!" Unable to bear his smug cousin's presence any longer, he strode from the room determined to go straight to his Uncle Fletcher and demand answers and clarifications that didn't include having his virginal wife violated.

Tristan watched his cousin go, chuckling to himself. No way could quirky, uptight, mentally disturbed ol' Reginald handle a girl like that Felicity. 'Twas no surprise at all that the marriage had not yet been consummated. Lady Felicity had fire in her eyes, she had that fight, the kind of willful resistance to being controlled that could only be broken by someone of greater fire.

Such as himself.

The girl had yet to become a full-fledged woman, and she was apparently fighting to keep her innocence. He had known such young women like her, and he had deflowered such young woman like her. Women were made for men. This young Felicity was defying that. He would have to take it upon himself to teach her that.

Those sweet little things that were full of fire were always the best to break.

Felicity ate her breakfast in her room with Lettie. then the two young women strolled out into the hall there on the second floor to explore the rooms that were empty of people. Felicity's defiance was directed at Reginald's relatives today; she absolutely did not want to play hostess and entertainer in a house she didn't even want to be in. What was more, Reginald himself had come to her not long after she had dressed to tell her that it would be for the best if she kept to the second floor most of the day since he was having to engage in 'serious discussion' with his Uncle Fletcher and he did not want her to be 'harassed' by 'certain people.' And Reginald himself seemed to be cork about to pop out of an already cracking bottle, leading both Felicity and Lettie to suspect things were far from docile between him and Fletcher Forsythe.

Which was good news for them, the two young women had acknowledged, for Reginald would be far too busy and stressed to pursue the 'marriage consummation' problem.

"This is not how I envisioned the celebration of our marriage vows," Reginald had told her that morning, looking more sick than she had yet seen him before. "Nothing is going the way I wanted it to."
Felicity said nothing. Lettie merely stood by and inwardly revelled in the white master's misery.

So rather than chance any encounters with unkind, gossipy women and men with roving eyes, Felicity did indeed remain in the rooms on the second floor. Not that she was missed by any of the Forsythe women; they wanted to go 'partake of the waters' at the Hotwells despite the forty-something degree weather. The water that issued forth at the foot of the rocks of St. Vincent, under the steep crags of Clifton, was supposedly drank to cure whatever ailed you... and an excellent place to see and be seen, of course. The airy-headed Aunt Dorcas, naturally, was eager to see the theatre again.

Uncle Fletcher would be exchanging words with Reginald. Other male members of the family would either accompany their wives on the outing or explore the stables. Felicity prayed nervously that Tristan would be occupied one way or the other. Under any other circumstance she would not be afraid of anything, but when one was aware that they were the interest of an especially spine-chilling foe, one wanted nothing more than to be hidden from sight.

As long as Lettie was with her, Felicity reassured herself, she could handle anything the day would throw at her. The two of them, relieved of not having to make any downstairs appearances, secluded themselves in the second floor library, which was dark-panelled and furnished with heavy, gothick-looking furniture, busts of unknown, stern-faced Roman figures, and heavy mahogany-colored drapes his the tall windows. Lettie pulled back the dust covered drapery of one window while Felicity did the other. Pale, pre-noon winter sun filtered through the dusty panes.

Felicity shuddered lightly despite her gown of heavy periwinkle damask and woolen cloak to keep warm with. The fireplace looked like it had not been used in years, there wasn't a single piece of wood in it, nor a tinderbox anywhere in sight. She frowned without thinking at the cracked painting of a young man that resembled Reginald as well as the late father in the painting in the dining room. She had a suspicion...

"Is that the elder Lord Forsythe?"

"Yes." replied Lettie, who was rummaging through desk drawers looking for a tinderbox to at least some candles for warmth and extra light. "When he was younger. This was his private library."

"Reginald certainly doesn't want it kept in good condition, does he? I get the impression they never were a happy lot." Felicity crinkled her nose at the smell of dust in the air. "This is such a depressing room, too. One of the darkest I have seen yet."

"The basement is the darkest of all," Lettie assured her.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Do not be. You were not the one who put me there." Lettie had finally found a small, tarnished lead box that contained old but usable matches for candles. She lit all eight candles in a dull silver candelabra that was standing by itself on a sideboard and brought it over to the desk. Felicity scrunched her eyes shut and grunted, prompting Lettie to look at her with a cocked head.

"Are you ill?"

"I-I don't know." Felicity pressed her fingertips into her temples. "I woke with some head pain, but that went away after breakfast. 'Tis nearly noon now and it is coming back again."

Lettie came up to her without making a sound, moved Felicity's hand away from her face and peered at her closely. After a moment, she said, "You have not had all of your usual amount of the medicine this morning. I have seen this before. Lord Reginald's mother relies on the white powders; when she misses a dose or consumes less than what she is used to she begins to get ill."

Felicity blinked rapidly, attempting to control her suddenly watered vision. "Are you saying that not having as much of the powders as I have gotten used to will make me sick as well?"

"Apparently so."

"Oh blast, I was afraid of that!" Suddenly grumpy, Felicity leaned against the desk of the late Lord Maxim Forsythe, not caring how dusty it was. "Am I going to be relying on them to live, too, like his mother? Oh Lettie, I cannot be that way! She is practically a living ghost! What am I going to do?"

Lettie's reply was cool and correct. "You will continue as I have instructed: eat less of the food that contains the medicine. You have become used to them, so now you must become un used to them. Perhaps you will be ill for a time, but when all of the powder is out of your body you will be well again."

"But when will that be? I have to eat some. How can I help us escape if I get too sick?"

"You will help us escape because you want to escape more than anything. You will not let the medicine, or lack of it, stop you."

Felicity couldn't help but grin at that, even feeling as lousy as she was. "You are indeed right about that!"

"And you have not been consuming those powders as long as Mother Forsythe has been," Lettie pointed out logically. "She has consumed them for years. If she were to stop now she would very likely die. You will not."

Nay, I will only FEEL like it! But she nodded accecptingly. "I am too strange to die."

If one were not standing close enough, they would have missed the one corner of the mysterious slave girl's mouth curling up in the fleetingest of smiles. "Indeed you are."

Felicity grinned as she moved off the desk edge to go look at the dusty books on the equally dusty shelves, but a sharp pang in her stomach made her flinch and gasp. "Ow! I don't suppose stomach-pain is powder-related, too?"

Lettie nodded slowly as she looked about the room. "Yes. and you have not been eating much, so you are probably very hungry as well." She gave the red-head a direct look. "I will get some hot peppermint tea. That will help your stomach."

"Oh no, Lettie, you needn't do that!" Felicity protested pleadingly. "You are not my slave!"

The dark girl's face showed appreciation in that statement, but nonetheless she said casually, "There is a difference, you see, in you demanding a service of me and my offering something of service to you."

"Why, Lettie, is this a gesture of friendship?" Felicity grinned again despite her stomach pains.

Were the girl white, she would be turning red-cheeked. "You may believe it to be."

"You like me!"

Lettie started for the door of the room, her back to Felicity, so that the red-head would not see the struggle on her face to keep from smiling wide. Behind her, Felicity called, "You do like me, don't you? I knew it! Is it because I am strange? Is it because I make you laugh in secret?"

She opened the door a bit and said over her shoulder to Felicity, "You are a silly strange white woman."

"And that is why you do like me!"

Lettie exited quietly, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Felicity standing there wearing a sloppy grin. Her head was achy and her stomach felt like it was trying to compete. For one mad moment, she considered bravely stomping downstairs and out to the kitchen to request some of those powders. A little would make the aches go away...she thought, feeling curious. They cannot deny me the very thing that I've been forced to consume all of this time, can they? Maybe if she went now and caught up with Lettie she could add some to that peppermint tea...

But that secret notion would have to remain just that, for there was a knock on the door, making her jump out of her thoughts. "Lettie?" she asked, rubbing her temples with her fingertips tiredly. "I'm glad you came back, I would prefer to go with you out to the-"

It wasn't Lettie.

"Good morning, Lady Felicity." It was Tristan Forsythe. Tall, built, handsomely dressed, wickedly handsome, wickedly smiling. His nearly statuesque, athletic frame filled the door's frame as he pushed the door open and slowly entered. His grey yes locked with her clearly startled, wide green ones, and Felicity instinctively began backing away. Her mouth opened as if to shout for someone, but no sound came out.

Stand up to him! He cannot do anything to you during the day. Do not show any fear! She stopped retreating, however, only because her rump backed into the edge ofg the desk. She had no choice but to stop. And Tristan kept advancing. Slowly, casually. Felicity gulped.

"I overheard your 'husband' inform my father he was keeping you secluded upstairs for the day," he drawled knowingly, finally stopping a foot from her. "In my opinion, dear lady, that was not a very gracious gesture on his part, being host of the manor. 'Tis a rather rude thing to do, to deprive his guests of such a beautiful addition to our family."

If this was supposed to flatter her any, it certainly did not. She felt revolted, angered, remembering what Lettie revealed to her about him and his disgusting ways. For Felicity, nothing doused fear better than anger. If something frightened you, get angry at it and you could conquer it. "We are not family, my lord," she stated firmly, finding her voice still on edge. "What is it you want?"

His eyes flicked over her lazily. "Oh I was merely taking my own personal tour of the manor, when I heard an exquisitely lovely feminine voice coming from this end of the corridor. Imagine my pleasant surprise to find that it was you."

"Indeed, Lord Forsythe." Felicity heard her voice getting stronger.

"Please, let there be no such rigid formalities between us, Lady Forsythe," he purred. "Being a Forsythe now, you must learn to be comfortable among your new relatives."

"And I told you I am not any part of your family. My family is home in the American colony of Virginia."

"Ah yes, the war-traumatized bride!" He laughed smartly, folded his arms over his chest and eyed her with knowing amusement. "You and I both know what nonsense that is, my 'lady'."

Felicity's gruff expression went to sharply suspicious. "I will ask you again, Lord Forsythe, what do you want? I am in no mood for company today."

"Why, to get to know you better, of course. I was drawn to you the very moment I entered the dining room...I knew you were drawn to me, too. You are not my crack-brained cousin's wife, by no means! He lacks the abilities to appreciate a fiery spirit like you. He ses only his dead governess."

Felicity cleared her throat and raised her chin in defiance, doing her very best to show only stiff formality. "I am not drawn to you at all, Lord Forsythe. Not in the least. But you are correct on one matter: I am not your cousin's wife. I have never wanted to be. He stole me away from my home in the colonies, made me consume the very same powders his own mother has come to rely on in order to live, and gave money to a church in need of repair in exchange for being able to drag me there and marry me. Because of him, I have lost my dearest friend and the man I've loved ever since I was a child!"

Tristan's slanting smile widened and his eyebrows went up, as ih humored by her anger. "Now you don't expect me to feel sorry for you, do you dear lady?"

"Of course not!" Felicity shot back, outraged that he would even think such an absurd thing. She had merely been trying to make clear her situation here! "I want it to be understood, Lord Forsythe, that I am not here of own free will! I want to go home!" That is all I want!"

He took a step closer and Felicity pressed back against the desk without thinking. He was making her extremely nervous, staring at her like that, and she was afraid that she wasn't doing very well keeping her apprehension hidden.

"Now please, if you do not mind, I would prefer to be alone," she told him in what she hoped was her best 'that is final' tone, turning herself sideways in a gesture she felt sure he would take to mean that their conversation was over.

But that was not how he took it. "You are too beautiful to be left alone," he breathed huskily, stepping forward and taking her by the shoulders so fast she didn't even have time to gasp. "You are a trickster, lady Felicity, but you cannot trick me."

"I don't know what you think you are doing, but-!"

It happened so fast; he crushed her to him hard, kissed her roughly with his tongue pushing through her stiffened lips. Immediately she protested, pushing against his hard chest, going rigid in fright and wrathful shock. His grip was terribly strong. This was nothing like Ben's serious kisses: the first thing being that she did not want this, the second being his overpowering roughness feeling like it was purposely brutal. But then, this was a man who'd had his way with many women, including unwilling slaves.

As soon as Felicity had the space and the breath, she screeched "How dare you!" and brought a hand up swiftly to slap him- only to have the wrist of that hand grabbed hard enough to break it if he so chose. He only needed to apply a little more pressure and her skinny wrist would snap like a candy stick. He snatched hold of her other wrist, gripping it with equal ferocity, his steely grey eyes having gone from dangerously mischievous to just plain dangerous.

"Ugh! Let me go! You have no right!"

"Oh I assure you, lady, I have every right," he hissed lethally, keeping her wrists clamped to his chest despite her diminutive grunts and struggles. "In the eyes of the church you are now a Forsythe, my dear. 'Tis very much past time that you truly became a Forsythe. You can put off my lunatic cousin, but I am not so easily dismissed!"

Oh my God. He's going to- going to- "No!" she yelled in terrified protest, her heart pounding like mad in fear. "You are the lunatic! I know what you've done to Lettie!"

This last statement stopped him, just as he was about to force another cruel kiss upon her trembling lips. as she struggled uselessly, his crooked smirk reappeared with a glint in his eyes. "Ah! Well how about that! Been taking lessons on defiance from my lovely little slave, eh?"

"Whoreson!" She spat on him viciously.

SLAP! His loud blow came so fast, with such a sting, that she could not breathe for several seconds. Her face had been forced to whip sideways and her legs trembled, threatening to give way, but her toes curled inside her shoes as her fury refused to yield. She turned back to him, shaking, her one free hand coming up to hold the side of her face that stung like the very devil had sizzled it. Her other wrist was still encased in his blood-draining grip.

"Defy me, little hellion, and you will only make it worse," he told her coldly. " 'Tis a woman's place to yield to a man, don't you know that?"

"I will not yield to you!" Felicity managed to say through clenched teeth and despite a cheek that was beginning to feel swollen. "I told him I'd rather be dead than give myself to him, and I am telling you the same thing! I will lay in my grave first!"

"So fight me, then. Breaking you will be as much a pleasure as ravishing you will." His hardened face showed no mercy as his free hand roughly grasped the back of her head and began trying to get her face back to his for the forceful kiss he lusted for.

She screamed, struggled, pushed against him and tried to ship her head away. His fingers felt like they were pressing into her very skull. Was he truly going to get away with this?

"Tristan! Stop it! Stop it right now!"

It was Reginald, striding into the room with fists balled at his sides. But rather than attack his tall, well-muscled cousin physically, he came straight to Felicity, took hold of her arm and drew her back, away from the desk- a gesture he was able to do only because Tristan had quickly relinquished his hold on her her when he had been suddenly interrupted.

"By God!" Reginald spat angrily (as Felicity put a hand to the back of her throbbing head amid the mussed hair that had come unpinned, gasping for fresh air) "You are worse than any hound of sport I have ever seen! I told you repeatedly that my wife is off limits to you!"

Tristan's breathing was quick as well. he did not make any moves to come after his cousin or leave the room. He simply laughed, amused in the most bullying way. "dear, dear cousin, this 'wife' or yours has you utterly deluded! But because you are such a weak-minded simpleton, I will look over it. You have all but lost the business, this manor, and your hellion bride! You're too weak to handle any of them."

"I do things on my own time, in my own way!" Reginald seethed vehemently. "You are merely a bullying letch who cannot bear to have a woman say no to him! Felicity has told you no, I have told you no- what is it you cannot understand?"

"How a peony like you manages to wed a highly desirable chit like this," he replied straight away, gesturing absently at the heavily scowling Felicity, "and allow her to keep you at bay like a simpering puppy! 'Tis truly laughable! This filly of yours needs to be taught a lesson in obedience and I would love nothing more to teach it to her!"

"Bastard!" Felicity cried at him.

"But you will not!" yelled Reginald, putting a stiff arm out to keep Felicity from flying at Tristan like a rabid bat out of hell. "You are to leave my wife alone or I shall remove her at once!"

"That is an excellent idea, Reginald," agreed Felicity, her green eyes blazing with indignation. "The sight of this man sickens me. He is horrible and cruel."

"Indeed my dear, he is." Reginald turned his head in Felicity's direction, but his beady hazel eyes remained locked upon his cousin. "Would you rather be moved to another residence or remain here?"

Felicity gestured crazily at Tristan. "Remain here while he is here? I think not!"

Tristan Forsythe laughed, and it was a laugh that, although being his natural one, was heartless and unaffected by what was being said about him. "Oh my, my, my, Reg! You are absolutely comical in how gullible you are! No man in his God-given mind would allow a woman to have the final say!" He turned his icily cunning eyes back to Felicity. "Whether you make good on your end of the marriage vows or not, little hellion, do not be surprised if you find yourself meeting the same fate as the one whom you share such similarities with!"

Baffled, Felicity pushed Reginald's arm down from in front of her and snapped, "What do you mean by that?"

"Don't," warned Reginald menacingly.

"Oh you don't know, Lady Felicity? Then allow me to enlighten you! 'Tis known to most of the family that when Reggie was a lad of seven, his governess Miss Lucille Elswick took a little tumble down the grand staircase just as she was leaving to marry a fellow in London. But love was not what propelled poor Miss Elswick to leave Forsythe Manor! Oh nay. 'Twas discovered that Miss Elswick was with child- Uncle Maxim's child, to be exact! A slave accidentally walked in on them while they were, ah, together. But this slave could not inform upon his master, for he would have been killed.

"But yet, a certain seven-year-old lad accustomed to lurking in shadows to watch people and sticking his bony nose into places he was never invited happened to overhear the slaves talking about it in the kitchen one evening. So he found out, went to his father, who was outraged at little Reggie's snooping, and insisted upon sending Miss Lucille away with an unknown amount of money for her...troubles. heh. None of this was to be revealed to Aunt Prudence, of course, for her delicate emotional conditions was, even then, quite pitiful. Uncle Maxim threatened to have our little Reggie locked away if he told his mother anything. But I suppose my spoiled cousin here 'solved the matter once and for all' by propelling Miss Elswick down the stairs, killing her and the unborn child."

Felicity gasped, Reginald fumed, and Tristan smirked at them as if he were the puppet-master holding all of their strings. He was, by no means, finished:

"Well, of course Uncle Maxim was relieved to be rid of the troublesome wench. He had arranged for her to marry an associate of his in London: a widower who was desperately seeking a new, young wife. That Lucille was carrying Reggie's half-sibling was of no concern to Uncle Maxim. Spoiled little Reg didn't understand the situation quite well; he only knew that his beloved governess was leaving , he could not take. So he killed her."

"This place is a lunatic asylum!" Felicity blurted outrageously. "I do not care who did what to whom, I just want to be left alone!" With that she flew from the room, playing the part of the distressed soul (as Lettie had instructed her to do in a pinch, for it seemed that white women were ceaselessly swooning and in emotional distress most of the time). She gripped her skirts and ran, nearly colliding with Lettie and the cup of hot peppermint tea as she soon as she got out into the hallway.

"Lettie," she breathed hurriedly, lowly, "Tristan is in there with Reginald! Let us hurry to my room while they yell at each other!"

Lettie's mysterious black eyes had widened. She glanced at the doorway of the library as if she expected something (or someone, rather) vile to swoop out of it , then met Felicity's urgent eyes. Nodding curtly, she hastilly followed the red-head back to the room with the jib-door, which Felicity quickly shut and panting, turned to the uneasy Lettie and began to babble. She told the stunned slave girl all that had passed since Lettie had left the room. Lettie's brewing hatred was plain to see in her dark, dangerous eyes. When Felicity was done talking, Lettie was quiet, staring at the floor boards as if she saw the most loathsome face in creation there.

Felicity had moved her back away from against the jib door and taken up pacing. "Oh Lettie, will it ever end? If Reginald truly does arrange to remove me from here I cannot, nor will not, leave without you! Our plans for escape will have to change!"

"They already did, with the arrival of evil Tristan. But we do not need to despair."

"Perhaps we don't need to, but right now I could despair myself to death!"

"We must be calm so that we can think."

One hand was on a hip and the other was clamped over her forehead as Felicity paced. "Well I am absolutely unable to either at the moment!" She then clutched the bacl of her mussed head and stiff neck. "Blast! He is terribly strong. Frightfully strong!"

"He takes delight in his ability to physically dominate," Lettie said loathfully. "Did he hurt you badly?

"N-No." Felicity rubbed the back of her neck uncertainly. "I believe it is my sense of self-preservation that is wounded. I hate being the weaker sex! Why can't women be as physically intimidating as men? 'Tis so unfair!"

"I should not have left you alone in there." Lettie crossed the room slowly to stand at one of the tall windows with the curtains tied back. "Experience has shown me that a woman of any color is in danger when she is alone."

Felicity's fists balled. Bitterly, she said "Why does it have to be this way? Men believe their way is the only way! They think that all women, children, animals, other men, and-" So frustrated that she couldn't think of what to add, she gestured frenziedly. "- even the grass! is theirs to bend to their will! God! I just hate it! I have begun to be convinced that it is not for me to ever get married- really married, I mean! A spinster is considered an outcast, but at least she does not have the burden of a man to crush her entire existence!" She was so mad that she was shaking. Her green eyes were wild with raging emotions, her breathing rapid as she paced.

Without looking over at her, Lettie said with casual consideration, "The things you say go against convention. many white women would never allow themselves to think as you do, even in their own private hearts."

"Hmph! Because a man has dominion over their hearts, no doubt!" Felicity raged. " 'Tis a wonder that women are not arrested for having thoughts!"

"Drink this," Lettie ordered, going stoic once more. she retrieved the quickly cooling cup of peppermint tea off the little white tripod table and brought Felicity to an abrupt halt by presenting it to her. "I need to think, and you need to be still."

"I don't want to be still!" Felicity grumbled fumingly, but even as she said it she plopped down on the end of the bed and accepted the cup and saucer. Both head and stomach were still taunting her, and she had to admit the tea was soothing.

Lettie stood before her, thinking, her arms limp at her sides but her mysterious dark face showing suspicion. "Did...Tristan Forsythe seem to relent to Lord Reginald's demand to leave you be?"

"Oh no, of course not," Felicity assured her tightly, between sips. "I feel with all of my heart that the more 'unavailable' I am to him the harder he will try to find a way to get me. I am not afraid of him, certainly not, but I am afraid that he will find a way to...you know. Reginald is hardly a match for a butterfly, physically, so i cannot rely on him to hold Tristan back. Not that I would turn to him for anything, mind you. God, Lettie, can we not just get away tonight?"

"Do you think I have not been trying to think of a solution?" The dark girl's tone was not accusatory, but was indeed stressed. "Tristan Forsythe knows now that you are a desirable challenge, so the be out at night is impossible. You cannot be left unattended during the day, nor can you rely on anyone outside of this room...Lord Reginald wants to take you- us- away from the house, which would seem like that would present opportunities for escape in itself. Hmm..."

Felicity looked desperate. "Could we not simply run?"

"If you do not mind having the hounds set upon us."

"Oh."

There was a rapid succession of bangs on the jib door that made Felicity jump and Lettie scowl. Both young women exchanged a look.