An Independent Miss (11 page)

That drew a laugh and a swat at her
arm. “You minx. That isn’t at all fair, but,” she sighed, “I suppose you are
right. It’s just that I rather like Lord Upton.”

“I noticed. He seems to like you.”

“He lives next door to Lord
Andover…”

“Which would be perfect when I
marry Andover.”

“Yes.” Bea leaned around Felicity.
“It would. We could be close and our children could grow up together and…”

“And you’ve known Lord Upton for
all of how many days?”

Bea fell back on the bed. “We
danced in London and he did call on me there.”

“Really?” How had Felicity missed
this? As she thought about it, even more gatherings came to mind. “Of course.
How thoughtless of me, you never spoke of him so I missed a
tendre
developing.”

“It seemed too good to be true.”

“And there was no one on the
horizon for me. You spared my feelings.”

“You had callers.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Yes,
very intelligent, very serious young men who needed my dowry to further their
scientific passions.”

“No,” Bea snapped. “That was not
why they courted you. It may have drawn their notice, but they were smitten
with you. It was quite clear.”

“While you noticed that, I failed
to notice what was happening with you. It shames me.”

Bea didn’t say anything, making
Felicity more miserable. Her cousin, her best friend, falling in love and she
had been too busy with her own affairs to notice.

“I’m a horrible friend!” She fell
back on the bed, next to Bea. “Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, and you are not
horrible, just preoccupied with your studies. Far more important than something
that might turn to nothing. He hasn’t singled me out entirely.”

“But Bea, you always say
something.”

Bea looked over at Felicity. “Even
for me, some things are too fragile to talk about.”

Felicity put her head on Bea’s
shoulder. “Oh Bea, I will never ever wait for you to speak. I will be more
observant. Do you know, my mother knew before me? How selfish is that?”

“Not as selfish as my wanting you
to marry Andover. Lord Upton says he really is a good man, that he would make
you a splendid husband.”

“He would say that, wouldn’t he?”

Neither girl said anything.
Felicity lay back. They just stared at the underside of the bed canopy.

In a whisper, Felicity admitted.
“He kissed me this afternoon.”

Bea rose up on her elbow and looked
at her cousin. “Was it horrible? Is that why you pulled into yourself so
deeply?”

Felicity shook her head. “I’m
afraid, Bea, it was too wonderful. I’m afraid that, should we marry, he could
hurt me terribly without doing anything the world does not expect him to do.

“It is bad enough now and we are
not yet married. Can you imagine how much worse it could be?”

Bea held silent, back to fidgeting
with the poor tortured counterpane. “You don’t think,” she finally tried, “that
he might fall as much in love with you?”

“No!” Felicity shook her head. “How
could he, when no one would expect him to?”

“Do you think it is the same for
Lord Upton? Do you think he would be the same kind of husband? Are you saying
that a young lady should only marry where her affections can’t be held?”

“I don’t know.” Felicity closed her
eyes. “I just don’t know anymore.”

CHAPTER 11 ~
REVELATIONS

Just shy of dawn, two of the
Westhaven party roused themselves from bed, though neither knew the other was
up and about.

A recipe woke Felicity, an idea for
a cleansing tea that would calm. It was different than what she’d prescribed
for Adele. Eyes closed, so she’d not lose the sleep-induced idea, she ran
through the ingredients. Yes! It was an ingenious combination that must be
written down before forgotten.

Felicity shot up, scrambled to
light the lamp only to remember, just as she was about to spark the light, Bea,
still asleep beneath the counterpane, on the other side of the bed.

Felicity lay back down, recited the
ingredients before they floated away with the rest of the dream, puzzled that
it came to her. There was no one she knew of who required cleansing and calming
all in one. Not that it mattered. This would not be the first time a recipe
came before the patient.

Certain she had the ingredients
secure, she slipped from the bed, tiptoed to the wardrobe and gathered her
working clothes. She wanted some burdock, but this year, with the cold damp,
everything was out of whack. She would go into the woods, to a meadow where she
knew it to grow, and see just how it faired.

“Look who’s up and about before
it’s even light,” Cook teased, as Felicity passed through the kitchen, drawn by
the scent of fresh baked bread. She snagged a sweet cinnamon roll.

Cook laughed, swatted at her hand.
“Fresh tea brewing, I’ll get you a cup.”

“No, thank you.” Felicity headed
for the door into the kitchen gardens. “I need to get outside, find some
plants.”

“You need more than that roll, if I
know you. You’ll forget all about time and starve yourself before you return.”

“I promise to get back before the
ladies are up and about. Mother would have my neck if I weren’t here to help.”

“That she would.” Cook pressed a
steaming mug into Felicity’s hand anyway. “Take that with you. You can bring it
back in that bag of yours.” She gestured to the old canvas hold-all slung over
Felicity’s shoulder.

“You spoil me!” Felicity took a
sip, holding the warm mug with both hands as Cook opened the door for her.

She headed for the kennels, along
the path to the stable yard, her mind on what she wanted to gather and what was
in her stillroom. Years ago, Felicity’s parents had given up trying to stop her
from traveling about the family woods by herself, as long as she promised to
take a few of the dogs with her.

One step past the garden trellis,
where the peas would grow come summer, Andover’s coach stood in the stable
yard, horses harnessed, a coachman and a yard boy in conversation beside it,
oblivious to her approach.

She stepped back, behind the
trellis. A foolish place to hide when there were no plants to fill in the gaps.
If anyone were to look, they would spot her. She counted on the fact that no
one would think to gaze that way.

She stood still, hidden in plain
sight, and watched for him. He said he would leave early, but she hadn’t
expected it to be this early.

As the grey dawn lightened the
yard, Andover strode from the house. “Beacher,” he called out, as he headed
toward the coach. “Is it loaded? Did Jones send everything down?”

Magnificent. Despite everything,
despite knowing he did not love her, probably never even considered the idea,
the thrill of him raced through her. Harsh frown in place, he moved with
purpose in the half-light. She clung to the flimsy trellis, fought a sigh of
appreciation. She would get over him, adjust to a marriage of convenience, a
forced marriage. All she needed was to see more of the world, rather than spend
so much time with plants. Buried in her work, she failed to develop immunity to
the males of this world.

“Yes, m’lord.” Beacher pulled at
his forelock.

“Good. We’ve no time to spare.”

Anxious to get to his mother who,
if Aunt Vi had the right of it, barely tolerated his marrying a Redmond. If the
Dowager Marchioness was on the fence about Felicity, ‘The Scandal’ would topple
her straight into condemnation.

Would marriage to Andover mean life
under the eye of a scornful mother-in-law?

It didn’t matter how often she said
she wouldn’t marry him, it didn’t matter if his mother approved. Marry they
would, or risk her family’s reputation, risk her living off her brothers, risk
her whole way of life.

Her own fault.

She sighed as he mounted his horse.
Tall, long-legged, he would suffer in a carriage for hours at a time. She
watched the way he settled in his seat, spoke a few words to the coachman.
Indistinguishable words that reached Felicity as a deep thrum that roused her
heart.

She had been wrong when she claimed
there would be no love in her marriage. There would be love, it just wouldn’t
be a husband’s love.

She sighed again, besotted and
sorrowful, grateful she hadn’t been spotted. In a matter of moments he would be
gone. How long she did not know, watched all the more closely to add another
memory to cling to until it was too painful to hold close.

Time, they say, heals all wounds.

“Lady Felicity!” Cook’s shrill call
lanced the air. Felicity spun around, crouched down and shook her head, on the
small chance the jerk of Andover’s focus did not turn to the trellis where she
was not-so-very-well hidden.

“Shhhhh,” she hissed, but Cook’s
hearing wasn’t good when she listened, and she wasn’t listening, too intent on
fussing and explaining what she had packed in the small package.

“Here’s some hard rolls, and a bit
of ham, as well as a nice chunk of cheddar. Boiled eggs…” Cook stopped walking
as she looked up, stricken. “M’lord!” She curtsied. “I was just telling Lady
Felicity, well, I was, I mean, I fixed her up a packet just like the one is in
your carriage for you only less, ’cuz she won’t eat so much.”

“Thank you, Cook. I shall enjoy
mine.” Andover reached for the packet.

“This one’s for Lady Felicity.”
Cook pulled it out of his reach.

“And I shall carry it to her, if
that meets with your approval.”

“Thank you, Cook.” Beyond
mortification, Felicity stood. “You spoil me.”

Cook smiled, curtsied again and
toddled back to the kitchens as quickly as her girth could carry her.

“Did you come to see me off?”
Andover asked, harshness replaced by that boyish smile of his, the one that
hooked her heart, quick as a trout to a mayfly.

Felicity looked down at her old,
outgrown cloak that hid an equally worn and frayed dress.

“Ah.” He noticed the worn garment.
“I suppose not, then.” The weight of his disappointment chastised her.

She was not the only one condemned
by The Scandal. They had shared that cloud of censure. He more so, since she
had the protection of her own home, her own people. He didn’t even have her
support, which was most unkind as she had gone to his rooms uninvited.

Of course, he did have another
woman in his rooms. An improperly dressed other woman.

She would do well to remember that.

“Had you told me your plans, I
would have dressed to see you off.”

“Instead you dressed to go
trekking, perhaps?” He looked toward the carriage, and the restless horses,
chafing at the bit himself.

“In a manner.” She took his arm,
nudged him toward the conveyance. “How fortunate that I am able to offer my
good-byes.”

He stopped. “I wish it wasn’t
necessary.”

It was necessary. His mother was still
broken by grief. What was intended as a short respite for him had been extended
because of her. “Your mother needs you.” She just hoped his mother’s grief
wouldn’t exaggerate The Scandal. Andover had proposed, after all. He was not
being tricked into marriage.

He stopped them again, turned to
her. “Lady Felicity, I do have a question for you.”

“Yes.”

“You ran from the kiss.”

Having already concluded it wasn’t
time for secrets, she certainly didn’t want to dwell on this one. “I ran
to
the nursery.” She deflected. “The
children were playing.” Surprised she could converse so freely with him.

“No. You ran from the kiss.”

She wished he wouldn’t watch her so
closely, with that harsh dark intent. She couldn’t help but blush.

“You are not a gentleman, to dwell
on such topics.”

“Ah, so you did run, but why? Did I
frighten you? Were you repulsed?”

Repulsed? “No.”
Good God, no
.

“Ah.” He smiled, faced her, tilted
her chin, looking down at her lips. His gaze a warm shiver running through her.

She licked her lips, whispered. “It
will be dark before you arrive if you delay.”

“We will marry, Felicity. Your
father is posting the announcement tomorrow morning.”

“I thought we were going to wait
for that. I thought…”

He lowered his head. “There is no
point anymore.”

“But I am not reconciled to…”

His breath whispered across her
cheek. “There is no choice, Lady Felicity. You know that.”

Her breath hitched. “What will your
mother have to say to all this…this…”

He let her go, stepped back, sharp
blue eyes catching hers.

“What will my mother say about The
Scandal?” He lifted the package of food Cook had placed in his hands, as though
he’d forgotten he held it. “My mother has changed.” He scowled, intent on the
packet. “The mother she was, used to be, would be up in arms.”

Hand to shoulder, he turned her to
face away from him, and opened the satchel hanging down her back.

Felicity looked over her shoulder,
as he placed the food packet in the bag. He didn’t look at her. “That mother,”
he continued, “would be busy protecting you, us, much as your mother has been.”
He nudged her back around, face to face. Something in the way he looked to the
side, the furrow of his brow, let her know this was important. Very important.
“The mother she is becoming, however, will take the news with a sigh and
pretend she did not hear.”

He met her gaze for a moment,
before it was pulled to some distant place. A difficult topic.

“She may not be as bad as you
suspect. She rallied for my aunt.”

“Your aunt?” He skewered her with
one glance. She nodded, determined not to step back, away from a simmering
anger.

“Lady Stanhope? She went to my
mother?” Andover asked.

“Yes…” Not a safe topic. “…which is
why Aunt Vi came here. She said your mother would not approve of me.”

Not a safe topic at all.

Andover broke free, turned, stepped
away, turned back, fists clenched, nostrils flared, skin white over that poor
crooked nose where it wasn’t purple and green with bruising, his eyes bright
with fury.

Felicity backed up but he stopped
her, a hand on her arm. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

But he did frighten her. His anger
was so different from that of her own family. Her mother, her brother would
shout and rail, her father would offer a look. Tempered steel, barely
restrained, was new to her.

She tried to explain. “On her way
home from a house party, Aunt Vivian called in, to see if a room could be
spared for the night.”

“I’ll throttle her.”

“No, it is not her fault. Your
mother chose to see her, spoke of the families being joined. That is why Aunt
Vi came here. I believe that is why she did what she did. To protect me. She
did not believe your mother would ever fully approve of the match.”

“It was a fool’s errand. Of course
my mother approves of you. She needs you.” Except he threw that out so quickly,
so dismissively, Felicity wondered if it were, indeed, true.

And then she realized what he’d
just said.

“Your mother needs me?” she asked.
“You want me for your mother?”

“I didn’t mean that.” He stared at the
carriage, the escape it offered. “I need you as well, Felicity. Montfort Abbey
needs you, your calm.”

“She is melancholic—not you,
your mother.” Everything fell into place, the dream, the ingredients, the
patient who would need such things.

Felicity knew all too well what a
physician would prescribe for a woman unsettled by mourning. Foolish men. They
would expect her to be stoic, to carry on and ignore the loss of all that love.
Of course her nerves were unsettled. That did not mean she needed to be numb to
that loss. How was she to deal with it if she wasn’t allowed to acknowledge it?

His mother didn’t need her
presence, as he thought. She needed her blood, her body, cleansed and calmed.
It was more than nerves, no doubt.

“Yes, Mother is melancholic, but
not by nature. The deaths changed her. I have no doubt she will thrive in your
presence, as I have done.”

“Do not leave,” she warned him. “Do
not leave. I know exactly what she requires. I have most of the ingredients…”
Frantic, she barely registered the change in him, like a storm roiling and
building, growing ever darker. She placed her hand on his arm. “You say she
needs me, so I am going to go with you.”

“No, Felicity.”

“Yes!” she argued, though her mind
was on what she would need. “You are right. I can help. I’ve meant to explain
to you…”

“No!” A thunderclap command, the
harshness well in place now.

“Andover, my reputation is beyond
help, you know that. A carriage ride will not make it any worse.”

Her mind raced to where she might
find the burdock along the way, whether red clover would be accessible, if there
was a decent apothecary near Montfort Abbey, who would have a good store of
valerian.

“It is not your reputation. I have
no qualms about getting a special license, marrying immediately.”

“Then wait for me.”

He held up his hand. “Montfort
Abbey is not ready for you.”

“I care not a wit for that. Your
mother needs me. I know how to treat what is ailing her…”