Page 30 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
After thanking the curate, Nicholas remounted, and they rode on.
At last, just before the village of Long Bennington, they came upon three workers baling hay in a field bordering the road.
This time, when Nicholas asked, he got a clear and definite if negative answer. The horse hadn’t passed that way either that day or yesterday.
The men were so certain, once Nicholas remounted, Addie didn’t hesitate to set Nickleby cantering back toward Grantham.
Nicholas drew level. She felt his gaze touch her face.
A minute later, he called across, “At least we know for certain the thief didn’t bring the horse this way.”
She swallowed a huff. “Let’s hope the others have had better luck.”
They rode steadily toward Grantham. By the time they reached the village of Great Gonerby, on a hill northwest of the town, the afternoon light was waning, and the horses were tiring. At least, her horse was.
Ahead, Nicholas spotted a small lookout beside the road and pointed to it. “Let’s take a few minutes and give the horses a break.”
Adriana nodded, and they slowed and turned off the road.
The lookout sported a water trough. They allowed the horses to drink, then let them graze the rough grass that pushed up between stones on the rocky ridge.
Several scattered boulders formed benches on which they could sit and admire the view over the town.
Nicholas settled on a boulder alongside the one Adriana had chosen and heard her sigh dispiritedly.
The compulsion to comfort her struck so strongly, so viscerally, he almost reached for her.
Reining in the impulse, he nevertheless cast about for some topic with which to distract her. Despite an inner resistance to admitting to even that much interest, as her dejected silence continued, he gave in and ventured, “I have to admit I’ve been dying to ask why you invented the façade of Miss Flibbertigibbet. Why it is that you assume that mask when in London or, at least, when moving in society there?”
She continued staring at the town. Her profile gave him no clue to her reaction.
When she didn’t respond, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and with his gaze also on the distant roofs, said, “I assume you do so as a form of defense. A shield of sorts when waltzing through the Marriage Mart. What puzzles me is how on earth you pulled off such a pretense, not just once but consistently over a period of years”—he turned his head and looked at her—“given that you’re nothing at all like Miss Flibbertigibbet is purported to be.”
That elicited a huff overflowing with contempt and derision. “On the contrary, to the vast majority of the ton, Miss Flibbertigibbet and I are exactly alike.” Abruptly, she met his gaze. “We look the same, and in the eyes of the bulk of society, appearance is what defines a lady.”
Puzzled, he frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Again, she made a derisive sound and looked back at the view. “I spent most of my childhood in the country, at the Grange or visiting relatives or staying at one of my father’s other houses. Few in the ton had seen me prior to my first Season. Then I made my come-out, and society saw this”—with a wave, she indicated her face and figure—“and instantly assumed that I was exactly as my image painted me. They were certain that I was Miss Flibbertigibbet before I uttered a word and, from the first, treated me accordingly. And before you ask, of course I tried to tactfully correct their misconception, but I soon discovered that the power of suggestion inherent in my appearance was simply too great to overcome. People insisted I was—that I had to be—the embodiment of what they saw.”
Lips compressing, she paused, then somewhat grudgingly admitted, “I was younger, then, and feeling my way. When they refused to listen to me, I lost my temper, and instead of continuing to try to correct their mistake, I went in the opposite direction. In doing so,Imade an assumption that proved to be incorrect. I thought that if I showed them how stupid, how impossibly vacuous, and how outrageously foolish their expectations of Miss Flibbertigibbet were, that would open their eyes, and they would realize it was all an act—all untrue. That their ideas of me simply couldn’t be true.”
Nicholas studied her face. Her expression suggested she considered all that to be water under the bridge. “But they never did realize.”
“No.” A second later, she met his eyes. “And then I realized the benefits of my disguise, the usefulness of the persona I had by then created and established in the eyes of the ton.”
How anyone could miss the intelligence in her eyes, the gleam of the quick mind behind her periwinkle-blue gaze, was beyond him. Slowly, he nodded. “So now you use your fabricated façade to…”
“Screen people and keep the unworthy at bay.” She arched a brow at him. “Some—not many but some—see straight through the mask, and several of those have become firm friends. As for the rest”—she shrugged—“those who think the worst of me simply because of my appearance are not worthy of my notice.”
Adriana hoped her firm delivery of that conclusion was sufficient to gloss over all the pain and hurt she’d endured before she’d reached that stage of self-comprehension. Of inner confidence.
Even as she thought that, the strangeness of the conversation registered. Normally, she would never have spoken about what had led to the construction of her Miss Flibbertigibbet persona, so why had she revealed all to him?
Perhaps because he’s one of the few—indeed, the only personable male—who has ever asked.
The realization left her feeling just a touch vulnerable, but also set her wondering. She shifted on her rock. “Before, you intimated that you avoided the Season and all similar social events.” She met his eyes, and when he made no move to deny that, simply asked, “Why?”
He blinked, then a faint smile edged his firm lips, and he looked out over the view. “Put simply, I’m far more interested in managing the Cynster racing stable than I am in anything the ton has to offer.”
