Read Miss Fellingham's Rebellion for Free Online Page A

life. Personally, I think…”
    Melissa rattled on, uninterrupted and unaware that her sister no longer listened. Indeed, Catherine had crossed the room to examine the sculpture of a reclining Dionysus from one of the pediments.
    After enjoying the exhibit in silent contemplation for a while, she returned to her sister’s side.
    “Aren’t they marvelous?” asked Melissa, her nose inches away from the hoof of a centaur. “Isn’t the skill of the sculptor superb? Just look at the musculature on these. And on the pediment. Did you see those garments on Athena? They don’t seem carved out of marble at all. Oh,” she cried, surprising Catherine with the anguish she could pack into the lone syllable, “think of the great sculptures that have been lost. These here are the best preserved. Just imagine how wonderful the others must have been. Oh, to have seen them before they were ruined by war and decay.”
    Catherine nodded. She had thought the same thing, though she hadn’t expressed it with quite so much vigor.
    “Just think,” Melissa continued, “these are from five centuries before Christ. They are more than twenty-three hundred years old. They are twenty-three hundred years old and I am 13. That’s”—here she broke off to do the mathematical equation in her head—“a hundred and seventy six times as old as I am.”
    Catherine was about to compliment her sister on her calculation, the accuracy of which she was thoroughly unprepared to confirm, when an unexpected male voice intruded.
    “Actually, it’s one hundred seventy-six point nine two if you want to be precise.”
    Catherine saw that the voice belonged to a tall man who was just then striding carelessly into the room. Dressed rather casually in fawn-colored breeches and a blue morning coat, he was, nevertheless, adorned in the height of fashion. Hessians shinier than a new penny, coat labored over by Wesson—these were the things that Freddy always aspired to but never quite achieved. His hair was cut a little longer than fashionable, but that only added to his appeal. As he drew closer, Catherine noticed that he had a straight nose, a firm jaw and eyes of a startlingly clear green. In all, he was a very handsome man of approximately thirty years of age, exactly the sort of gentleman who had intimidated her into speechlessness during her first season. They were not in a ballroom now, but she felt the familiar anxiety overtake her and clearly articulated thought began to fly from her head, leaving a blank slate in their wake. Her palms started to sweat as she dumbly watched his approach, infuriated that after all these years she could still be overwhelmed by a handsome face.
    But it wasn’t her first season and she was no longer a green girl. Indeed, just this morning she had stared down a dour-faced, disapproving Mayfair butler.
    Remember that, she ordered herself.
    Melissa, unaffected by the man or his attractive countenance, exclaimed excitedly, “Oh, sir, are you good with sums, too? Nobody else in my family can do them.”
    “I am tolerably clever with numbers,” he said, coming to stop in front of them. He bowed slightly to Catherine, who could do nothing in return except lower her head. Inside her chest, her heart was racing. She tried desperately to calm her nerves.
    “Then what is sixteen thousand four hundred divided by six-and-twenty?” Melissa asked.
    After a moment’s hesitation he said, “Six hundred and thirty point eight.”
    “And twenty-nine hundred times thirteen hundred?”
    It was only the realization that Melissa was capable of throwing numbers at their fellow visitor all day long that shook Catherine from her stupor. “I…uh, think”—she coughed to clear her throat and evaded the startled gaze of Melissa, who had never heard her erudite sister stammer before—“that the…um, gentleman has better things to do than mathematical equations.”
    At this statement, Melissa blushed and mumbled an apology.
    The gentleman