An Independent Miss (13 page)

The hard, hot edge of a foaming
goblet pressed against his lips, as her eyes glowed fire red. He woke, hard,
horrified. He would not take her brew. He would never take a witch’s brew.

Oh God, he wanted her, wanted all
the sweet promise of her, even when dreams twisted hope into agony. He needed
to get away from Montfort Abbey, go to London.

The estate was well in hand. His
father and their steward set a competent working schedule. Accounts in order,
tasks set in motion, he could leave, confident that everything would be looked
after in his absence.

Except his mother. He would not
leave her behind, had already surmised that his absence made matters worse.

There was only one path, to break
her free of the doctors and the medicines and those blasted tonics that stole
her from herself. He would free her. Someone had to. He refused to shy away
from it.

He rang for Barton, ordered the
destruction of all medicines, forbade any doctor to cross the threshold. He
would guide his mother back to her old self. Within a week, without the
apothecary’s brews, his mother would be fit and fine and ready to walk down
Bond Street, her mind full of frocks and ribbons and meeting old friends.

All she needed was firm guidance
and assurance that he was there for her, with her.

He would see to it.

****

The letters to be posted sat on a
silver salver on the table in the front entrance. Felicity lifted the pile of
correspondence, shuffled through until she found the one addressed to the
Times
. It was very wrong, terribly
wrong, to intercept a personal correspondence.

Except this wasn’t personal to the
sender, it was personal to her.

She looked about, up three tiers of
balconies that circled above the entrance. No one in sight.

Her father would notice when the
announcement was never posted.

Her mother would notice when
callers failed to mention the betrothal.

They would all notice when people
continued to shun Felicity.

Taking the letter didn’t,
necessarily, change anything.

A witch’s play. Upton confirmed
what she feared. Andover would see her life’s work as a dangerous hobby, worse
than the professional quacks.

He’d faced too many disasters to
accept what she planned. She would do it anyway, risk getting caught in
flagrant disregard of his explicit request. Risk destroying trust.

Trust.

No turning back once the letter
reached the
Times
.

Felicity slipped the notice of her
engagement into the basket of flowers hanging on her arm, reminded of Lady
Veri, her ancestor who nearly burned at the stake for witchery, who’d started
the journals centuries ago. She faced censure and lived to pass on her
knowledge. Felicity would survive society’s shunning.

She could live alone, in a small
cottage. Distance herself from her family, her friends, rather than taint them
with her sins.

She put the missive back on the
silver salver, though she did not let go, bowed her head. She would lose
everyone.

Her grandmother left society and
was not sorry for the distance.

Another glance ensured no one
watched.

Her grandmother did not have to
give up her family.

Quickly, she slid the announcement
back in the basket.

“Oh, there you are.” Lord Westhaven
came from the hall.

“Papa?” Felicity shot around, tucking
the letter deeper in the basket.

“Writing another letter to Lord
Andover?” He smiled.

“No,” she answered, heading for the
stairs. “Seeing these reminded me that I should finish the one I started.”

“Ah, I see.” Lord Westhaven said,
making her wonder if he’d seen her purloin his letter. “I saw he wrote to you.”

A short missive, telling her not to
join him at Montfort Abbey, referring to it as her future home. He would resent
her if she came to Montfort Abbey, practicing that which he abhorred.

That which encompassed all that she
was.

She rearranged the flowers, the
better to hide what she needed to hide. She did this for him, for her. Another
announcement could be written, sent, another day, if it came to that. Which,
for all involved, it shouldn’t.

For now, she would complain of a
chill, despite the warmth of the afternoon. Feign illness, catarrh, or the
like. She would have a small blaze lit in her rooms.

Nothing drastic, just enough to
burn a purloined letter she prayed her father failed to notice was missing.

“Did you need anything else, Papa?”
she asked, as he shuffled the papers on the salver.

“No, Felicity,” he shook his head,
without looking up. “I believe you’ve answered my questions.”

Which did not answer hers.

****

“She won’t have you?” Lady Jane’s
eyes opened wide.

True to his word, Lord Upton
arrived on Andover’s doorstep with his sister, Lady Jane. Andover shifted in
his seat. “It was very shocking for her.”

The only lady in the room, Jane
poured tea, blithely unaware of any discomfort. “Foolish of her, quite foolish.
After all, her whole future is in the balance here.” She hesitated, turning to
practical matters. “Sugar, Lord Andover?”

“No, thank you.

“Cream?”

“Please.”

She poured a dollop of cream in his
cup. “One would think a woman who is to be a marchioness would have more
respect for society. After all, your name and title are ancient. They garner
respect and demand that those who are under that protection be respectful.” She
passed the cup and looked to her brother.

“Tea, Rupert?’

“Of course I want tea. It’s tea
time, isn’t it?”

“Of course.” She smiled, as only a
sister can smile at a brother. “As I was saying, you may be better off without
her.”

“There is no thought of that.” Andover
snapped.

Lady Jane studied him then, in the
covert way young ladies were known to do. “You are so very noble, my lord.”

With a clink, he put his cup down
and rose, crossing to the empty fireplace. “The question is not one of reneging
from the marriage, but of how to ease her mind to accepting me.”

“Have you thought of buying her a
gift? Some jewelry, perhaps?”

“Yes, but I concluded that wouldn’t
work. She would see it as a bribe.”

“Really? How…” At his look, she
stopped. “…unusual.”

“She’s a most unusual woman.”

Lady Jane smoothed her skirts. “You
may over estimate her dislike for a ‘bribe,’ as you call it. She does so love
jewels.”

That interested him. “Does she?”

“Yes.” Jane looked up at him. “She
is an artist, is she not?”

“She paints most admirably.”

“See!” Jane exclaimed. “I daresay
it’s the sparkle and color of jewels that attract her. The more extravagant,
the more she will admire it. Have you ever seen her paintings of diamonds and
emeralds and pearls?”

“Paintings of stones?”

“Yes, in settings of her own
design. She has a little folder and she keeps them in a particular order. We
were all quite fascinated, wondered why she was so adamant they not be
rearranged.”

“Peculiar, if you ask me,” Rupert
murmured.

Andover was more thoughtful. “She
is a very orderly woman.”

“Ah, yes,” Jane tapped her nose. “According
to some, she was thinking ahead. Those pictures were in the order she wished to
commission them.” She picked up her cup and sipped. “But you know how young
girls are. Maybe she said that, maybe she didn’t?”

“You are funning us, aren’t you,
Jane?” Rupert scratched his head. “Lady Felicity’s not that grasping.”

“Rupert! You are the one who told
me not to trust a charming gentleman until you, yourself, have had an
opportunity to check him out. Men see a side to each other that we women will
never see. It is no different for young ladies. We see sides of each other that
one doesn’t see in other arenas.”

Andover sat again, leaned in toward
Lady Jane. “What else did you learn about her, then?”

Smiling, she shifted closer to him
and told her tales.

CHAPTER 13 ~
HAUNTED

Andover ignored the scratching at
his door, burying his head under the pillow.

His mother had exhausted him. They
had walked, talked, argued. He arranged for her to be bathed in warm, calming
water three times in one day. There had been heated milk, soothing soups,
anything to tame her discomfort, subdue her first day without the quack’s
medicine.

She fought it all.

He needed sleep. Had arranged for
Nellie and Mary to watch over his mother in the night. They knew what worked
and what didn’t. They were strong, capable farm lasses, not prone to hysterics.
His course of action would not be easy, but no doubt, she would be better in
the morning.

The scratch turned to a knock.

“Is the abbey on fire?” he barked,
voice thick with sleep.

“Please, my lord!”

Sleep retreated. He lifted up.
“What the devil is it?”

“Lord Andover…” In nightshirt and
wrap, candle flame flickering, stoic, sturdy Barton trembled.

Andover sat up
higher, ran his fingers through his hair. “What is it, Barton?”

“Your mother,
sir.”

“Yes, Barton. We
discussed this, anticipated it would be a restless night.”

“She is rather
more than unsettled, sir.”

“Have either
Nellie or Mary tried singing to her? She calms with singing.”

“I don’t believe
that is possible, sir.”

“Last I saw her,
she promised to sleep.”

“The situation
has escalated.”

Andover threw
off the covers, as Jones came through from the dressing room, robe in hand. “It
is not a comfortable thing, sir,” Jones offered.

“What, what is
happening?” he asked over his shoulder, as Jones helped him with his robe.

“I think you’d best see for
yourself, sir.”

“Right.” He strode from the room,
flipping the ties of his robe into a knot, as ire climbed his gullet. He had
arranged for others to watch over his mother for a few hours, no more. Just a
few hours, until daylight. Surely one of them could calm her for that long.

Sleep would be impossible after the
hike to her rooms, at the opposite end of separate wings. He had an army of
servants. This was not an intellectual pursuit. Damn it.

A wail stalled him. He tilted his
head, turned it. Montfort Abbey was centuries old, with as many stories of
ghosts and hauntings as any other building of that age.

He didn’t believe in hocus-pocus.

Wind down a chimney—that was
the noise.

He started up again as another
eerie cry sent shivers down his back, the soaring high-pitched cry of a wild,
deranged animal.

“It isn’t good, my lord,” Barton
whispered from behind him.

Horror stole his words as he spun
to see Barton, cheeks lined with tears.

He spun back, realizing what his
mind refused to believe and ran, hell on his heels, to the only family member
he had left. To the mother who had been unfashionably attentive and caring by
society’s standards. To the woman who deserved better than a life of grief and
sorrow and pain.

A life full of despair with no
hope.

The keening wail rose to a
crescendo as he burst into his mother’s rooms. Two maids held her down, but
they had not restrained her fast enough. Fingers bright with blood, her face,
arms, legs ravaged by her own hands.

“Stop them!” she howled. “Stop them
from crawling all over me!” She writhed as her scream tore through him,
shattered his heart. He fell to the floor, grabbed her into his arms, pinned
her down in his hold.

“Find some tonic, anything,” he
cried. “Find whatever you need to ease her pain.”

Like a tiny child, she curled into
a ball on his lap. A mere slip of a woman, no more than a thinly veiled
skeleton, whose body had shed its mass while her mind slipped from reality. He
bent over her, surrounded her, a sorrow-filled shield.

He meant to free her, not cast her
into the abyss.

Oh God, what was he to do? How was
he to save her? Was he selfish to want to keep her in his life? Would she be
better served following her sons, her husband, to the grave?

“Lord, please help us,” he begged,
believing there was no help, no happily-ever-after, only misery.

****

“Shhhhh,” Felicity warned Bea. “We
mustn’t be heard.”

“My heart is going to explode,” Bea
whispered, as she followed Felicity through the shadowed gloom of the wide,
curving staircase.

It had been a hard fight, getting
to this point, sneaking into Montfort Abbey, Andover’s ancestral home, in the
dead of night. She refused to lose this one chance to help Lady Andover just
because her cousin didn’t have the stomach for such adventures.

“Breathe deep,” she whispered to
Bea, hoping the sound didn’t carry up the spacious sweep of stairs, to the open
floors above, now lost to the pitch of night. “Then let it out. Slowly,
gently.”

Bea stopped to follow the
instructions.

“Quietly,” Felicity hissed. “Do it
quietly.”

Felicity tamped down her impatience
to get to her patient. She hadn’t wanted Bea to join her any more than Thomas
wanted Felicity to go to Montfort Abbey, but it seemed they were a troupe. Even
Upton joined in despite having declared them all mad.

Perhaps they were, but it all
seemed so simple. Thomas was to escort Felicity and Bea to London. Upton was
very nearly on the way. It made practical sense to stop and include Upton for
the last part of the journey. Especially as his parents and sisters had already
left for the city.

Everyone agreed. Go to Upton, spend
a night at his home, Beston Manor. Perfectly respectable, as Upton’s Aunt
Mildred, who lived at Beston, could act as chaperone. They would set off for
London the next day.

Andover’s home, Montfort Abbey, was
the nearest neighbor to Upton and Beston Manor. Felicity determined this would
be her one chance to help Lady Andover without Andover any the wiser.

If only Bea’s misguided and
stubborn loyalty didn’t have her following Felicity into the lion, or in this
case lioness’s, den.

Felicity took another tentative
step, praying Bea didn’t hyperventilate into a faint.

“How will you find it in the dark?” Bea
asked for the tenth time.

“It’s the only room with light.”
Lord Upton had pointed it out from the gardens when they arrived at Montfort
Abbey. They would go up the stairs and turn to the right, follow the wall to
the furthest hallway, and turn left. “It’s the seventh doorway on the right.”

“What if she has gone back to
sleep?”

“Then we will deal with that.”

Felicity counted on the
inconsistencies of the morphine-eater. Not that Lady Andover had a clue what
was in her tonics.

However, Felicity knew. Half of the
patented medicines had morphine as their primary ingredient. The other half
contained something called cocaine. No doubt Lady Andover balanced the stupor
of the one with the hyper-excitement of the other. Disrupted sleep patterns
would be the consequence.

“What if she has a maid with her?”

They had worked all this out during
the carriage ride to Beston Manor. Felicity had a plan. Of course, if they
didn’t stop whispering and Andover—or anyone—heard them, Felicity’s
plan would be for naught.

Andover would fight her methods, abolishing
any chance of Felicity helping his mother. Discovery would definitely bury the
chance of a life as his wife.

He was the only reason she almost,
almost
, didn’t enact her scheme.

She accepted the risk. His mother
needed help, and she didn’t believe anyone else could give it to her. Besides,
helping his mother might nudge him toward understanding just what she did best.
A weak platform, but the only one available.

If they ever made it to her rooms.
They hadn’t even reached the first floor yet.

She turned, pointed to Thomas and
Lord Upton, who stood at the base of the stairs. “Bea, go back to the men.”

“You can’t go alone.”

“Of course I can,” Felicity urged.

If the light coming from the room
meant Lady Andover was awake, it also meant she’d soon be given another dose of
the morphine tonic so she could sleep.

“No, you can’t.” Bea’s voice
warbled with fear.

“You’re terrified,” Felicity leaned
down, confirmed it with a hand on her cousin’s shoulder, amazed the girl’s
teeth weren’t chattering, she shook so badly. “You will slow me down.” She
turned Bea, gave her a nudge. “Go.”

Without waiting for a response,
Felicity headed back up the stairs, the bannister her guide in the darkness.

She’d had a devil of a time
convincing Thomas to bring her here. If not for the missive from Upton, who
heard from the servant’s grapevine, Thomas wouldn’t be here at all. It seemed
Lady Andover’s situation was now severe. Andover was beside himself, looked
like hell. Worse yet, he refused guests. Even refused Upton.

When they arrived at Beston Manor,
Upton argued. “Foolish and damn risky of you.” But he could offer no
alternatives.

Just as she reached the top of the
right flank of stairs, a tread creaked behind her. Frozen, she waited, jumped
as a hand landed on her shoulder.

“Cis.” Thomas, now.

Hand to chest, she held her heart
from jumping out. “What?” she snapped. Close to the upper floor bedrooms, they
were that much more likely to be heard.

“I’m here with you.” Thomas spoke
into her ear.

“Go back,” she ordered. “If we are
caught and Bea is alone with Upton, there will be trouble.”

“You can’t do this alone.”

“Of course I can, with fewer
problems. Go. All of you, wait for me outside.”

Thomas studied her for a moment
before offering a curt nod and turning back to the others.

By the time she reached the hall of
Lady Andover’s suite, it was a miracle light still glowed from beneath the
door. She knocked with her nail tip, aware anyone could be there, an abigail,
or worse, a dutiful son.

When no one answered, she peeked
inside.

Lady Andover sat alone, in her bed,
scratches on her face, hair disheveled and knotted, eyes dulled. The stench
alone, enough to make her ill.

Felicity stepped inside, and took
on a whole new persona. One she had carefully prepared. One who belonged in
this room. One who would make a difference.

“Good evening, Lady Andover.” She
closed the door behind her. “I am Mrs. Comfrey and I’m here to help you.”