An Independent Miss (20 page)

Felicity ranged far beyond a blue
stocking.

The
depths of her
.

And now Thomas thought they would
suit?

Dazed, Andover abandoned the
infamous tome, stepping out into a garden full of delightful squeals and
laughter. He stood alone, oblivious to the warm sun, willing the gleeful
abandon of children to seep through the shock of this revelation.

She’d learned it all at her
grandmother’s knee. As her father revealed, a heritage going back generations.

A wedding was being planned for the
morrow.

Concentration shattered, he crossed
the terrace, took the stairs to the gardens, to follow the sounds of mirth. He
wondered at his own determination to move forward after viewing that horrific
book, even as he knew, deep in his marrow, through his own heritage.
In good conscience, a gentleman never
withdraws a marriage proposal.

However, a lady could retract an
acceptance.

She said they would not suit.

They would have to, somehow.
Despite Lady Jane’s foolish claims, there were no options. Scandal precluded
any reversal. He was duty bound to see this through, to convince Lady Felicity
to join him in marriage, and to do so soon.

God help them.

“It’s Lord Anower!” little Beth
lisped, shouting and racing toward him, her braids flying behind her, the
twins, Annabel and Charles in her wake. He braced for the tackling blow, as
Beth barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his leg. The other two managed
a touch of dignity, scrambling to stop a foot away, hastily placing hands
behind their backs, smiles turned up expectantly.

He picked Beth up, tamping down any
doubt about joining in this family. “How are you, little miss?”

“Did you bring me candy?” she
asked, without preamble.

“You remembered!” On Easter,
Andover made a point to have candy for the children when he arrived at Ansley
Park for the house party. In the hustle and bustle of guests, he doubted they’d
remember that he was the one with the sweet gift, but they had.

He studied all three children,
brows lowered in a frown. “Is this the only reason you greet me?”

The twins looked to their feet,
while Beth nodded vigorously. “Well, then,” he lowered her to the ground, “I’d
best check my pockets.” And made a production out of patting every pocket, real
or merely design. “Ah!” he crowed, pulling a waxed paper bundle from a hidden
pocket. “Here are some peppermint sticks and…is this a butterscotch?”

“I want the peppermint!
Peppermint!” All three chimed in, jumping up and down, trying to grab them.

“Good thing I have three.” He
winked at Felicity, as she arrived at a more stately pace, with the children’s
governess. Both full of stern censure, though Felicity’s large brown eyes
couldn’t hide her bemusement.

Andover handed the candy to the
governess, “I’ll let you divide the spoils. There’s one there for you, as well,
for dealing with these little devils.”

A chorus of thank-you’s, bows and
curtsies, and they were off, charging back to their game on the lawn, their
beleaguered caretaker running after them.

Sotto
voce
, he leaned toward Felicity. “Actually, I brought the butterscotch for
you. Didn’t you once tell me it was your favorite?”

That had been in the halcyon days
of the house party or, more precisely, in the evening over a game of chess.
Unbeknownst to her, he’d spent that afternoon discussing marriage terms with
her father, while she’d been in the kitchen making butterscotch drops with her
siblings.

That night, heady with the thought
of marriage, he’d leaned over the chess table and teased. “You smell like
sweets.”

“Ah,” she’d leaned in closer,
whispering. “Butterscotch, my favorite, and if you let me win, I might just
find some for you.” She’d laughed. Not the deep-throated laugh of her mother,
but a feminine version of her father’s. As though she knew deep secrets, never
to be revealed.

He checkmated her queen, keeping
his own hidden agenda close to his chest. In a few days, he’d propose.
Butterscotch provided a neat tie to that night.

She snatched the candy from his
hold, laughing and stepping back. “Are you trying to sweeten me up?” She
waggled the candy in front of her, as though challenging him to steal it back.

He bowed. “It is all for you.” And
pulled another from his pocket. “I will not go without.”

“Oh, la!” She popped the stick into
her mouth, swirling it with such childish exuberance, he laughed. He’d been
wise to arrive without fanfare, to catch her at ease with the children, the way
he imagined she would be with her own.

Their
own.

Which was one of the reasons he
wanted to marry her, soon. Evil book aside, he wanted her.

“You weren’t here earlier,” he murmured,
as he offered his arm.

“No.” She shook her head. “I went
walking.” They headed back to the house.

“Walking? I don’t suppose you would
care to abuse your feet once more.”

“I thought we were going riding
later?”

“I’ve a new idea. Come visit my
mama, now. Later she will be resting.”

And there went the innocent child.
Wariness. “Today?”

“If you are free and not too undone
from your earlier walk.” Even as he said it, he noted the slight shadows under
her eyes. She’d left the ball early, for a headache? Or the tension of facing a
cruel society? Either way, had it robbed her of sleep?

Or did she traipse about, traveling
in the wee hours of the night, unescorted, to play Mrs. Comfrey to his mother.

Surely not.

Damn him, for thinking such a
thing. It was that blasted woman from last night. He’d arrived home in the wee
hours of the morning to see a strange woman slipping out the side door. He’d
shaken his head, thinking he was foxed enough to be seeing things but no,
another look and he knew he’d been seeing true.

“Stop!” He’d banged on the roof of
the carriage, stopping the coachman as he jumped out to give chase, to no
avail.

Nothing in the house had been
disturbed, or so Barton informed him. He’d gone to check on his mother,
peacefully asleep, her bedcap hiding well-tended hair, her room tidy and full
of the scent of lavender.

He’d put the disturbance down to a
randy servant and some maid. A broken household rule he couldn’t, as a man,
truly fault, but he would certainly see Barton enforced it in the future.
They’d have to find their own trysting places, and not the upper stories of his
house.

That morning, his mother told him
of Mrs. Comfrey’s visit.

It
couldn’t be Felicity.

Impossible
.

Felicity,
an imp who climbs trees in search of wild weeds?

“I have a fitting this afternoon,
my lord. I couldn’t possibly let my mama down.”

Startled, he met her eyes. Lying
eyes? “No, of course not,” he agreed. One did not disappoint mothers.

He didn’t stay to speak of the
wedding in a night’s time. The possibility extinguished itself.

Perhaps later, when they went for a
ride.

When he’d had time to sort out just
what he thought, felt. How they could live together without animosity.
Distaste.

He thought of his mother’s parents.
His grand papa’s unrequited love for a witch of a woman. His grand mama’s
loathing of them both.

He did not want a marriage of
revulsion.

CHAPTER 2
1 ~ ANOTHER MAN

Felicity left the receiving line on
Andover’s arm. Her plans ruined, when her parents decided to ride in the
carriage with them to the Littletons’ ball.

“You aren’t out of the woods yet,
dearest,” her mother had whispered, reminding her the gossips still ruled her
actions.

She might never be out of the
woods, especially if she didn’t get a chance to speak with Andover. If only her
mother had excused her from fittings to go for the ride with Andover—but
no, she said he would understand.

She glanced at the furrow between
his eyebrows, aching to reach up, trace the worrisome fold, massage it, even as
she prepared to reveal hard truths. Realities, an awful breach of trust that
would, no doubt, push him away when what she wanted was to draw him closer.

Deep yearning for him, a quickening
of her heart whenever he neared, put her at fault. Kept her from being firm in
ending the match. She tried, she truly tried to call a halt, but bungled it
every time. Being too soft, because her heart was too soft. But he must know
her true nature, what gave her reason to be.

And he must know of her duplicity.

She couldn’t, in good conscience,
go on without total honesty.

Her parents met them in the salon,
when he’d come for her. They all discussed marriage, as soon as tomorrow night.
Andover, as though to take care of something he’d left too long. Her mother in
tearful excitement, fretting about what people might say. Her father watching
her so closely.

She wanted it, she truly did. Like
a sappy puppy, she could follow him around. Be kissed by him. Bask in his kind
strength, the depth of his loyalty, for he was all those things. She’d learned
that much of him.

Though he might not be so kind,
once he learned of her deceit.

She only had tonight to speak with
him.

“Ah,” he smiled down at her.
“Rupert and Lady Jane are just over there. Shall we join them?”

Her hand flexed on his arm.

“Is there a problem?”

“I thought we would go out to the
garden,” she told him, “and have a quiet word.”

“We will.” His deep voice settled
inside her. She wanted to grab it close, hold on to it, a treasured keepsake.
But she knew it would dissolve in the mist of time just as the thrill of his
gaze, intent on her, only her, would dissipate once he was gone.

He teased her. “Are you, perchance,
remembering the last time we stood in a garden?” He leaned close, “the kiss?

She shook her head, too sick with
worry to join in his playfulness.

They stopped, forcing people to
move around them into the ball. “Could this not wait until we greeted people,
perhaps danced?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She met his
eyes, knowing what he thought without his saying a word. Understanding the
darkening of his eyes, the narrowing of his lids.

“For a lady on the eve of her
wedding, you are very serious. All I can imagine is that you want the privacy
of the gardens to tell me you wish not to wed me.”

“No.” Horrified, she urged him to
listen. “That is not…”
what she intended
,
she wanted to say, but Lord Upton and his sister joined them and Jane had that
look in her eyes. Determination at all costs. No doubt, that determination set
on humiliating Felicity.

“Good evening, Lady Felicity,
Andover,” Upton bowed. “Not too bad of a crush yet. No need to scowl like that,
Andover.”

“Of course he should scowl!” Jane
trilled, rapping Andover’s free arm with her fan, as he bowed to her. “To keep
his reputation of another mad, bad, and dangerous to know Byronesque.”

“Please, Lady Jane,” Andover
complained. “I have no care to emulate the man.”

Gratefully ignored, Felicity stood
quietly and watched the two, on such intimate terms.

“You tell her, Andover.” Upton
clamped a hand on his shoulder. “The gal is always trying to cast you as some
romantic scoundrel.”

“Women see things differently,
Rupert.” Lady Jane argued. “Don’t you agree, Lady Felicity?” Caught off guard,
Felicity failed to stop Lady Jane pulling her close, a grand gesture of
friendship, and nearly fell, if not for a quick catch by Andover.

“Oh, so clumsy, Felicity,” Jane
cooed. “Nothing changes.”

“Getting pulled off her feet
doesn’t help, Lady Jane,” Andover snapped.

“Thank you.” Felicity brushed her
skirts and stepped away from Andover. “If you will excuse me, I believe I tore
my hem.”

Unwilling to add a false friendship
with Lady Jane to her faults, she headed for the ladies’ retiring rooms.

“What was that about?” Andover
caught up with her.

Felicity kept going, wended her way
through the crowd. “I’m sorry,” she finally admitted over her shoulder. “That
was rude of me.”

He caught her arm, slowed her to a
stop. “Not that.” He leaned over, so their eyes were of a level. “You were
distressed. Why? I’ll admit, the Upton women can be intolerable, but they’re
not dangerous.” He looked back. “Well, not usually, but then I’ve never seen
one pull someone over before.” He chuckled.

“It wasn’t funny.” She sniffed.

“No,” he agreed, but didn’t stop
smiling. “Neither was it when she spilled a glass of red wine down your white
dress. Or the time she made your horse bolt.”

“You know about that…those?”

He nodded. “I’ve been an idiot.
Upton dismissed those incidents as accidents and suggested his sister might
tell me how to gain your interest.”

Felicity snorted, immediately
clamping her hand to her mouth. “No, she would not know.”

“So I guessed when you nearly cut
off my circulation.” He shook his wrist, teased with a smile, though he did not
mock.

“I’m sorry.” She chafed his wrist.

“Ah, being a good wife already,
caring for her husband-to-be?”

Her eyes shot up to catch him
watching her, his smile not matching the knowing gleam in his eyes.

She sighed. “We need to talk.” She
tried again. “I meant to speak with you earlier. I had hoped you would arrive
before my parents came down.”

He watched her, not as warily as
before, but obviously watching her closely. “Mother has made it a habit to
speak with me before I leave of an evening. There were serious matters to
discuss. I’m sorry it delayed me.

“As you suggested earlier, let’s go
somewhere quiet.” He led the way to the side of the ballroom, where chairs
lined the wall for those who weren’t chosen, or couldn’t, dance. The night was
still young enough, no one used them.

Head bent, he spoke quietly into
her ear sparking more than conversation. She bit her lip against the shiver of
interest coursing through her.

“So tell me about Lady Jane and you,” he
asked, nodding to a group of friends, as he continued to lead Felicity through
the edges of the crowd.

“Please. I don’t wish to speak of
her.”

He squeezed her arm affectionately.
“That’s funny. She would delight in speaking of you.”

Again, Felicity snorted, this time
without trying to hide it. “No doubt.”

She wasn’t certain how he did it,
whether it was in that crooked smile, or the light in his eyes when their gazes
met, or his dark frown of concentration, but he made her feel like the only
person in the room, the only special, worth-listening-to person.

She was about to destroy that.

“So Lady Jane is your Sir
Reginald.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He tugged her closer to their
destination. “You mean Thomas never told tales about Sir Reginald?

Stories of Eton. Of course. “The
school bully.”

“At least for our form,” Andover
acknowledged.

“Whatever happened to him?”

Andover coughed around a chuckle as
he seriously said. “I believe he is in the church.”

“Good God! That’s horrible.”

“Perhaps he mended his ways.”

“Never. Oh, how I would love to
attend one of his sermons!”

“I believe he is as far north in
Scotland as it is possible to go.”

“Good.” She nodded with feeling,
“They will out-bully him there, if he gets up to any of his tricks. The Scots
don’t suffer fools lightly.”

“I daresay you are right.”

They reached the end wall. Andover
eased her behind a pillar and asked, “So tell me, why does our wedding frighten
you?”

Finally in a place she’d sought for
days, alone with Andover, cowardice surfaced. She looked at the doors to the
gardens, not so very far way, yearned for escape.

“Come now.” He lifted her chin,
urged her to look at him.

She closed her eyes, rather than
see the change in his. “I have lied to you.”

“Ah.”

Her gaze shot up to meet warm
curiosity, but not doubt or censure or anything of surprise.
Ah?
A knowing sound. He knew. But how?

“Yes.” Off-kilter, she raced on
before cowardice overtook her again. “But that is not the worst of it. I have
done things behind your back. Actions sure to anger you.”

Stoic stillness, so remote she
could not see his anger.

She looked toward the garden doors
once more, surprised when he took her arm, led her toward them. Privacy, so she
could explain it to him, which was more than she expected. If they spoke, she
might have a chance.

Robbie blocked their path, stood
boldly before them. “I believe this is my dance, Lady Felicity.”

Andover tightened his hold, as
Robbie stretched out an arm.

She left the telling of truths too
late, closed her eyes, knowing what she needed to do, unable to take that step.

“Did you promise a dance, Lady
Felicity?” The chill, soft question shivered across her skin, his frosty eyes
searched for an explanation she couldn’t offer, not here in a crowded ballroom,
where anyone could hear.

She nodded, though they both knew
she hadn’t had time to promise a dance to anyone.

“Will you promise me the next set?”
He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, please, I would like that,”
she lied, even as she willed her disappointed down.

With his usual decorum, he bowed
and moved aside. “I will wait then, Mrs. Comfrey.”

Oh,
Lord, he knew. How long had he waited for her to own up?

She had lied, when she wanted to
tell the truth. Lied now because it was too late for truths. Robbie said he
would come for her when it was close to the end.

She would not save the next set for
Lord Andover. He would never trust her again.

She had run out of time.

****

Andover watched Felicity cross the
ballroom with Robbie, stopping near the dance floor as they waited for the
current set to end. At least she had the decency to look back at him. Good, let
her stew in his last words. A name she did not deny.

They waited for the current set to
finish. Obviously, this Robbie held something over Felicity. She promised anything.
For his brother or for himself?

There was something not right with
Robbie. Desperation, an edge.
Not safe.

Was it an affair? Is that what she
lied about? Was this Robbie fellow set on keeping it going?

“Lord Andover.” Lady Jane and
Rupert flanked him.

“Do you know the fellow Felicity is
standing beside?” Andover asked Upton.

“No, not particularly. Bea will be
able to tell us more when she gets here.” He looked toward the doorway.

“Bea? I thought you were to escort
her.”

“She needs to companion her mother.
She warned me they may be late.”

Lady Jane took Andover’s arm and
tugged. “I saw that man earlier today.” She smiled, as she always did with
tittle-tattle to share. “Felicity was with him then as well, standing in a
doorway. Odd neighborhood.”

“Jane,” Rupert admonished.

“No,” Andover stopped Rupert. “Let
her finish. What neighborhood?’

“Well, I can’t tell you exactly,
but our coachman could. He has his short cuts. Not in a terribly shabby part of
town, but…” She thought for a moment. “One would say fading.”

“And you say Felicity was in the
doorway.”

“Yes.” Jane pursed her lips. “Not
at all the thing.”

“Do you know what sort of
establishment it was?”

“Oh.” She looked up at Andover with
wide blue eyes. “It looked like a private home to me. Not any sort of
establishment.”

“I see.”

The set broke-up, Robbie took
Felicity’s hand, led her to the dance floor and kept going, their heads bent
close, the exchange urgent.

Andover excused himself, cut
through the assembling dancers and out onto the balcony.

“What was that about?” Rupert
followed him. Unfortunately, so had Lady Jane.

“He’s an old friend from home.”

Overcast, no moon or stars to
create a glow, torches were hard-pressed to create any sort of light.

“I don’t think she wanted to dance
with him,” he told Rupert.

“Do you think she is in danger?”

“I don’t know.” He looked again at
Lady Jane. “You should take your sister inside.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she argued.
“I can help you look for her.”

“She isn’t lost.” He shot Rupert a
look. “You should both be watching for Bea. I dare say her coach will have
arrived.”

“Rupert can go. I will stay with
you.”

If he wanted her help, it would
have been a valiant offer. Instead, it annoyed.

He sent another look at Upton.

“Come on, Jane.” Rupert tugged her
toward the house. “You’ve been filling your dance card. Better go find the
rascal who signed his toes away for this one.”

Andover scanned the garden paths,
stepped down toward them, when he saw Robbie pull Felicity around the house but
not onto a path that would take them through shrubbery or flower beds, or to
any kind of privacy. It was the path around to the back of the house and the
carriage yard.