recommended.”
Heat spread up Meg’s neck, and she fought to keep it down. She gazed at the painting above the fireplace, attempting to look as though his words did not affect her. “I’m afraid I do not know what you mean.” She knew precisely what the colonel meant, and it was humiliating. But it was also none of the man’s business.
The colonel shifted in his chair, resting his ankle upon his knee. “Perhaps I am mistaken, then, miss. But what did you think of Lord Featherstone’s reference to Southey’s After Blenheim ?”
Meg remembered perfectly the moment the colonel referred to and knew that he had seen her reaction when the earl had quoted the poem. “I believe . . . it was unsuitable for the earl to use antiwar poetry in reference to the battle where you were injured.” Her stomach clenched as she thought of just how inappropriate the earl’s words had been. “The reiteration of ‘’twas a famous victory,’ indicates that the narrator does not understand why war happens; he’s merely repeating the words he’s been told. I have to believe that perhaps the earl did not fully understand Southey’s meaning.”
Somehow the colonel managed to look at her intently and still keep an expression that neared exasperation. “Based on your reaction that night, the earl’s misrepresentation disturbed you deeply. Poetry is quite important to you, is it not? You’re well versed, and not merely for recreation, but as a serious student of morality and theme.”
Meg nodded slowly. She was unsure of the direction in which this conversation was moving.
“You might say, I would assume, that poetry is one of the most central parts of your life. And from the few days that I have been at Thornshire, I have gathered that books, specifically novels, are quite important to you as well, and yet the earl does not approve of young ladies indulging in either of these things. And what would the man think if he knew of the periodicals you read?”
Meg did not say anything. She stared at a spot upon the library floor, hating that he could see through her so completely.
The colonel leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “I believe you mentioned that your father is a merchant in Charleston.”
Meg nodded again, feeling as though her head might break off her neck if she continued to do nothing but bob it up and down all morning.
“I imagine the trade embargo must be difficult for the import/export business. A man left with few resources might resort to sending his daughter to London to find a rich husband—”
“Please excuse me, sir.” Meg had had enough. She didn’t know what the colonel’s intentions were, but he seemed determined to either humiliate her or expose her as a swindler. She stood. Her face burned, and her fists shook as she pressed them against her legs. She turned to go, but the colonel’s words stopped her.
“Miss Burton, I recognize that we do not always have the luxury to live our lives the way we wish.” His voice remained low, but Meg could still feel every word pierce into her heart. “I can see from your reaction how unhappy this arrangement makes you. If there is one thing I understand, it is the importance of doing one’s duty, no matter how painful.”
Meg turned back toward him, swallowing against the constriction in her throat. “Then you can see why I have no choice, sir.”
The colonel’s gaze did not waver as he regarded her. “In the spirit of giving advice, Miss Burton, might I offer you some?”
Meg did not trust herself to speak. She lifted her eyebrows and pressed her lips together, waiting for the colonel to tell her something she was certain she did not want to hear. She would have put her hands on her hips if such a thing was not so unladylike.
“As I have spent my life as an observer of people, I have discovered that no matter the association—master, servant, allies in a battle, family members,
Heat spread up Meg’s neck, and she fought to keep it down. She gazed at the painting above the fireplace, attempting to look as though his words did not affect her. “I’m afraid I do not know what you mean.” She knew precisely what the colonel meant, and it was humiliating. But it was also none of the man’s business.
The colonel shifted in his chair, resting his ankle upon his knee. “Perhaps I am mistaken, then, miss. But what did you think of Lord Featherstone’s reference to Southey’s After Blenheim ?”
Meg remembered perfectly the moment the colonel referred to and knew that he had seen her reaction when the earl had quoted the poem. “I believe . . . it was unsuitable for the earl to use antiwar poetry in reference to the battle where you were injured.” Her stomach clenched as she thought of just how inappropriate the earl’s words had been. “The reiteration of ‘’twas a famous victory,’ indicates that the narrator does not understand why war happens; he’s merely repeating the words he’s been told. I have to believe that perhaps the earl did not fully understand Southey’s meaning.”
Somehow the colonel managed to look at her intently and still keep an expression that neared exasperation. “Based on your reaction that night, the earl’s misrepresentation disturbed you deeply. Poetry is quite important to you, is it not? You’re well versed, and not merely for recreation, but as a serious student of morality and theme.”
Meg nodded slowly. She was unsure of the direction in which this conversation was moving.
“You might say, I would assume, that poetry is one of the most central parts of your life. And from the few days that I have been at Thornshire, I have gathered that books, specifically novels, are quite important to you as well, and yet the earl does not approve of young ladies indulging in either of these things. And what would the man think if he knew of the periodicals you read?”
Meg did not say anything. She stared at a spot upon the library floor, hating that he could see through her so completely.
The colonel leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “I believe you mentioned that your father is a merchant in Charleston.”
Meg nodded again, feeling as though her head might break off her neck if she continued to do nothing but bob it up and down all morning.
“I imagine the trade embargo must be difficult for the import/export business. A man left with few resources might resort to sending his daughter to London to find a rich husband—”
“Please excuse me, sir.” Meg had had enough. She didn’t know what the colonel’s intentions were, but he seemed determined to either humiliate her or expose her as a swindler. She stood. Her face burned, and her fists shook as she pressed them against her legs. She turned to go, but the colonel’s words stopped her.
“Miss Burton, I recognize that we do not always have the luxury to live our lives the way we wish.” His voice remained low, but Meg could still feel every word pierce into her heart. “I can see from your reaction how unhappy this arrangement makes you. If there is one thing I understand, it is the importance of doing one’s duty, no matter how painful.”
Meg turned back toward him, swallowing against the constriction in her throat. “Then you can see why I have no choice, sir.”
The colonel’s gaze did not waver as he regarded her. “In the spirit of giving advice, Miss Burton, might I offer you some?”
Meg did not trust herself to speak. She lifted her eyebrows and pressed her lips together, waiting for the colonel to tell her something she was certain she did not want to hear. She would have put her hands on her hips if such a thing was not so unladylike.
“As I have spent my life as an observer of people, I have discovered that no matter the association—master, servant, allies in a battle, family members,
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