An Independent Miss (14 page)

CHAPTER 14 ~
WAYLAID

Day 3 ~ London

Lord Andover,

As you see by this letter, we arrived safely
in town. Thomas has been out and about, living as he does, in bachelor
quarters. Mother refrained from putting the knocker out so we may live quietly,
awaiting your return. This is no burden to me, as I enjoy the peace. London can
be so hectic.

Far from the tensions of Montfort
Abbey, Felicity brushed the quill feather across her lips aware that sneaking
into Andover’s family home was not the only tensions she faced. She’d not tell
him any of it, though, undoubtedly, someone would. That horrid Lady Oakston and
her daughters. They arrived at Ansley Park, uninvited, on the eve of The
Scandal. No doubt their intention was to snag a husband, what with Thomas and
his friends about. Instead, they managed to snag an on-dit. The new darlings of
the social scene, their tales grew with each telling.

Felicity heard them all.

A pox to them.

Andover knowing any of this could
wait. Letter writing too easily misunderstood. She must convince him she cared
nothing for society’s censure. That she would survive should they not marry.

They could not marry. Upton had the
right of it, it was a disaster. She needed to make her own life. Somehow.

Unfortunately, she still needed to
work out a way to save her family from whatever shadow she cast. Another matter
on her lap that he would take responsibility for. She could not allow that.

Ideas brewed.

She would not be afraid.

She would ignore her heart. That
tender organ had nothing to do with helping his mother.

She picked up the quill again.

I pray your mother is faring well and able
to enjoy what little pleasure spring has to offer. Such terrible weather, I
fear we will all suffer the doldrums soon.

How do you find Montfort Abbey? Will you be
leaving for London soon? Our last conversation weighs heavily upon my thoughts,
though correspondence such as this fails to offer the proper means of
discussion. I would that we could speak, rather than write, of such important
matters. Is this possible, before London knows of your arrival? Have you any
thoughts on the matter?

I wish you Godspeed with your subsequent
travels.

Sincerely,

Lady Felicity

There, she’d said what needed
saying. If only he would arrive and they could speak. She folded the letter, to
slip onto the silver platter to be franked and mailed.

On the pretext of catching the
first sunlight in days, dressed in practical clothes, paint box and travel
easel in hand, Felicity faced Lady Jane Townsend and her mother coming up the
stairs she meant to descend.

Ruin should promise a quiet life.
Obviously, it did not.

Though neither woman had ever
deigned to cross Stanton’s threshold before this, they were now of the
misguided notion—as Lord Upton’s family, and his being present for The
Scandal, and all of them neighbors to Montfort Abbey and therefore bosom
neighbors of Lord Andover—they were required to attend Felicity.

Resigned, Felicity handed her paint
box and easel to a footman as she instructed Humphrey to arrange tea.

“Tell Mother we have guests, will
you, Humphrey?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“No need,” Lady Westhaven said from
the stairs. “I am here. We will have tea in the blue salon,” she directed.

“Yes, my lady.” Humphrey bowed and
headed for the back of the house.

Lady Westhaven directed her guests
to the salon, gesturing for them to sit. “I’m afraid we are barely settled, not
at all ready for company.”

“Don’t want to be a bother,” Lady
Beston chirruped. “But we felt we must come and see you.” She leaned in close
to Lady Westhaven, who leaned back. “All that folderol! How unfortunate! Rupert
told us all about it, in the strictest of confidence, mind you.” She took a
deep breath, her lips pursing in a mournful moue. “We are so close to Andover.
He is shattered, you know, absolutely shattered.”

“I thought he seemed perfectly fine
when he left Ansley Hall,” Lady Westhaven offered.

“Well, he would now, wouldn’t he?
Such a gentleman.”

“Are you really going to reject
him?” Lady Jane asked outright.

“Of course not,” Lady Westhaven
interjected, as though she and Felicity were not at loggerheads over that very
issue. “An announcement has been sent to the
Times
.”

The Townsend women exchanged
knowing glances. Lady Beston’s lip lifted in an imitation smile. “I wonder how
we could have missed it. We’ve looked every day to see who was marrying.”

“I can assure you that Lord
Westhaven sent it in days ago,” Felicity’s mother assured them, even though,
that very morning, both her mother and father riffled through the paper
complaining about the delay. “However, Lord Westhaven did send it from Ansley
Park, and you know how the post is from the country. Always a dreadful delay.”

“Of course,” Lady Beston agreed,
occupying Lady Westhaven with tales of errant postal deliveries, leaving the
younger ladies to speak amongst themselves.

“Did you really post the announcement?”
Lady Jane tilted her head. “We will have to watch for it. As it is, I have been
speaking with Lord Andover, you know.”

“Have you?” Felicity froze. Might
Andover seek solace in Lady Jane? The lady in question narrowed her eyes.

“Are you surprised?” The fair lady
sniffed. “He is an honorable man, and will do what is expected, but that
doesn’t mean he failed to be alarmed by your behavior.” Lady Jane smiled, a
cat-like smile, “Dear Felicity, the poor man doesn’t know what to make of your
behavior.”

“What behavior are you speaking
of?” Felicity challenged, wondering exactly what Andover divulged.

“Oh ho! Do you think I don’t know?
And look at you, so pleased with yourself.” Jane sniffed.

“Am I?” She wasn’t pleased with
herself. Not at all. In the end, she would destroy her family’s name, and for
what? A kiss at midnight?

“You managed to snare quite a
catch, even if he is reluctant.”

“Reluctant?” She refused to rise to
the bait.

“Well, you were terribly forward.”

“We are betrothed,” she lied,
hating, in the end, Lady Jane’s right to her smugness.

“A lady never goes to a man’s
rooms, not even his wife, not without having her visit announced.”

“What a formal marriage you will
have, Lady Jane.”

“I was raised to understand these
things.”

“How unfortunate.” And suddenly
Felicity was glad her parents chose to sleep together, foregoing the worry of
when to approach each other’s rooms as Lady Jane planned to do.

Felicity rose, as much to move
away, as to pass the cups her mother poured.

“I see you had your paints out,
Felicity.” Lady Westhaven diverted the conversation.

“Yes, I had hopes of catching the
sun.”

“It’s been so dreadful of late.”
Lady Beston lamented.

“Yes.” They all agreed.

Felicity looked out the windows at
a gorgeous day spoiled by thoughts of Andover having a traditional marriage
with someone like Lady Jane.

A
lady never goes to a man’s rooms, not even his wife, not without having her
visit announced …I was raised to understand these things.

Was that what Vi tried to teach
Felicity?
Better to be hurt now before
you allow yourself an attachment that will never be returned.

Her mother was right. She never
should have read those novels of passionate love. So full of false promises.

“For you, Lady Felicity, from Lord
Andover, I believe.” Humphrey stood, just inside the room, a package in his
hands.

Her humiliation was complete.

“Thank you, Humphrey.”

He never would have intruded, if
not for listening at the door. Only she didn’t want a helping hand. She knew
what he held. He did as well. Another gift from Andover. They always arrived
this time of day. Much as Humphrey might think it so, a sign to let the ladies know Andover had not
forsaken her, these gifts were personal, not for prying eyes. “Have it put in
my room.”

“Oh no,” Lady Jane cooed. “You must
open it for us to see. What fun!”

Lady Westhaven clapped her hands,
delighted for her own reasons. “I agree with Lady Jane. Felicity, do open it
now.”

“Not now, Mama,” Felicity argued,
but her mother’s enthusiasm overrode her own words.

“He sends her something every day,”
Lady Westhaven told them. Which he did, she presumed, to avoid her last letter
requesting a conversation. He believed all discussions were over and done with.

Her mother continued. “So very
thoughtful, and romantic, especially as he is not in town where one can
actually find interesting gifts.” She looked at Felicity. “Do open it. Let’s
see what he has sent today.”

“Oh Mother, it is of no interest to
anyone but me. No one else can understand their meaning.” They were personal.
Too personal. Like the slingshot, similar to the one she’d given the Smith boy,
when he was forced to play outside with his mother’s illness.

For that one, Andover’s note read,
If I ever get out of line, use this on me.

Another time he sent a lush velvet
ribbon of a deep warm brown. That note, scrawled in in his bold script;
Not a match for the beauty of your eyes, but
the closest I could find.

Private exchanges, between the two
of them, not for the likes of Lady Jane. But her mother insisted, and of
course, the Townsend ladies refused to let it drop.

“If you will.” Felicity took the
package from Humphrey, who stood still and watchful through the exchange.

“Here.” Her mother retrieved a pair
of scissors from a side drawer so Felicity could cut the strings.

Carefully, as she never knew what
might be inside, she pulled the paper free.

A book of gems.

She frowned, unsuccessfully
searching for a conversation or reference that would have prompted such a gift.

Lady Jane gasped and, for the first
time that afternoon, looked beyond any snipe. She seemed positively touched by
the gift.

The illustrations were stunning,
but what meaning did they hold?

“The card,” Lady Jane implored.
“What does he say?”

“Here,” Lady Westhaven found it on
the floor, “It slipped out.”

“Really, he did not mean these to
be read in front of others,” Felicity argued.

“Of course he did!” Her mother
argued. “Such a gallant gesture deserves to be known.” She reached over and
nudged Felicity. “Go ahead, read it for us.”

Slowly, wishing she were alone,
Felicity pulled the note from the envelope.

This missive proved longer than the
others.

“Oh.” Her throat closed.

Not so reticent, Lady Jane snatched
the note from Felicity’s fingers with practiced alacrity and read it for all to
hear.

These
gems are no counter to your beauty,

Rubies
paled by the warmth of your heart,

Sapphire
outshone by the light of your soul,

And
a diamond, poor diamond, dulled in your presence.

The women sat, hands to their
throats, their hearts, or, as in Lady Jane’s case, her mouth. She rallied
first, lowering her hand and blurting, “He’s not much of a poet, is he?”

Gently, in honor of his efforts,
Felicity took her note back, carefully placed it in its envelope. She did not
want these gifts to remind her of what she would never have.

Lady Westhaven countered. “Men are
not poetic by nature. They are too busy running estates and planning hunts.”

“True,” Lady Beston admitted. “My
Hubert could never write a poem, though…” she looked wistful, “…when we were
younger, he was known to try.”

Felicity placed the card with the
book and pulled the wrapping paper around it, as though that could shield the
privacy invaded.

“Well, I daresay,” Lady Jane
offered her unwanted thoughts. “Andover is clever enough that if he wanted to,
he could have written a proper poem. He must have been overwhelmingly busy.”

She reached over and patted
Felicity’s hand, making her jerk with the shock of it. “He just didn’t have
time to put much thought to it. ‘
Rubies
paled by the warmth of your heart
?’ Can you imagine?” She laughed. “What
woman wants to be considered powerful? Oh, my, but then there is The Scandal.”

“I do not believe he referenced
that,” Felicity said, hating Lady Jane for that, knowing full well Lady Jane
would delight in Felicity and Andover’s failed match.

“You handled that beautifully,”
Lady Westhaven wrapped an arm around her daughter.

“My jaw is sore from clamping it
shut.”

“But you did, and she came off the
worse for it. What a wretched girl.”

“Her mother encourages her.”

“Two peas, as they say.”

“Poor Bea!” Felicity rolled her
head.

“Oh dear, it’s all a bit much,
isn’t it?” her mother commiserated. “Let’s go upstairs and have Jasmine rub
your back. You’re as tight as a clock spring.”

But a neck rub was not what
Felicity wanted. Her parents had been watching her as if they half expected her
to run off. Or worse, run into someone who would give her the cut direct. That
had happened once, in the park. A place she now avoided.

“I will nap,” she lied, again thrown by
this new ability for falsification.

As soon as her mother closed her
chamber door, Felicity snuck out of her own.

****

Andover considered
his words carefully, measuring the balance between dictate and consideration.
He’d put considerable thought and effort into finding just the right gifts for
Felicity. Surely, by now, she would know he cared for her happiness, even if he
couldn’t allow the practice of herbalism under his roof.