An Independent Miss (6 page)

Girlish
interests?

“Cut from the ton?” Mr. Andrews was
stunned. “Good heavens, the doings up in the city. Why would they do a thing
like that to a sensible, perfectly respectable girl such as Lady Felicity?”

As the men debated the rules of
society, Felicity looked down the table. Andover angled himself to hear the
vicar’s wife, who was notoriously soft-spoken, his eyes on Felicity. He winked.

Mr. Chandler’s voice grew louder.
“That’s ridiculous, absolute rubbish that such a thing could happen.”

****

Felicity flopped over in her bed,
kicked her legs free of the twisted sheet, and tugged at the covers. Unlike her
friend Jack, she was safe at home. She should be thinking of him, instead of
foolish notions about her own disastrous betrothal and kisses—or lack of
kisses—and the line of a gentleman’s chiseled jaw, or the way he leaned
close, to better hear what she had to say.

One moment she wished she could
have gone with Robbie to find Jack, the next, her whole body raged with
excitement and confusion and apprehension.

Felicity flipped over again, as
thoughts chased round and round, turning into dreams full of chaotic images of
her brother, his sword at Andover’s throat, while her aunt stood in the
background, laughing in that deep throated, mocking way she had.

Felicity shot up in bed. Just as
quickly, the dream faded.

Just that night, the ladies had
retired to the drawing room, while the men dawdled over their port. Felicity walked
with the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Francis, a sweet, complacent woman who spoke with a
soft, hesitant voice.

“Poor Jack,” Felicity commiserated.

“Yes,” Mrs. Francis replied, “it’s
such a worry, and the Marshalls are refusing visitors. Not a one.”

“But they will need the support,
the distraction…” Felicity worried.

Mrs. Francis nodded. “I tried, but
they are not receiving.” She leaned close. “The servants say Mrs. Marshall has
taken to her bed. Not that I fault her. Jack was a mama’s boy.”

He was close with his mother. “If
there is anything I can do …” Felicity offered, her mind on tonics that might
help Jack’s mother.

“Actually,” Mrs. Francis’ eyes lit with
determination, surprising Felicity as her small, rounded face sharpened with a
zealot’s fervor. “Some of the community discussed this very thing … that
perhaps you could…”

Vi cut her off, as she moved
between the two. “Do, please, let me steal Felicity from you, Mrs. Francis,
just for a moment.” She rushed on, not allowing argument. “We haven’t had a
moment to chat since I arrived, and I will be leaving first thing in the
morning.”

As quickly as the vicar’s wife
revealed a refreshingly unfamiliar eagerness, she slid back to her normal
submissive calm.

“Aunt Vi, please,” Felicity tried,
even as Mrs. Francis shooed her on.

“Go, Felicity, we will speak later.
You go ahead.”

“Very understanding of you, Mrs.
Francis.” Vi tugged at Felicity. “The woman doesn’t mind and—” she
whispered, “—I saved you from the doom of boredom. Do come with me.”

Felicity looked over her shoulder
to see Mrs. Francis standing alone, looking about her as though lost. Vi angled
them toward the balcony doors. “Come, now, let’s have a good visit away from
the ears of censors.”

“Outside? Aunt Vivian, it’s been
miserably cold this spring.” The damp air would compromise her aunt’s
deteriorating health. With her liver in such a bad state, the rest of her had
to be weakened.

“Cissy, dear.” Vi let go long enough to
throw the doors open, revealing a brisk evening, dimmed by low clouds, but no
rain. “See,” she gestured to the terrace. “It’s a pleasant evening, for a
change. We can step out, away from all these dullards, and you can tell me all
about Andover’s courtship.”

Andover’s
courtship.
First Thomas, now Aunt Vivien.

“What courtship?” Nothing had been
announced.

“Come, Cis, I arrived before the
lid was put on the talk.” She tugged at Felicity. “Haven’t we always had fun
together? Shared all our stories?”

“Inside,” Felicity relented. Sans
rain, it was still quite cool outside. “My shawl is above stairs. We can visit
just as easily in there. And you can tell me why we are fortunate enough to
have you visit. And tell me how you are…feeling.”

Vi’s eyes narrowed and, as quickly,
she smiled, closing the terrace doors. “I am feeling fine, Cis, but if you
insist, we will stay indoors and, as you want to know,” she guided Cis to a
quiet corner of the vast drawing room, where two chairs faced each other. “I am
here because of Andover.”

Here
because of Andover.

Felicity kept her head lowered,
adjusted her skirts and sat. Aunt Vi always verged on inappropriate.

“I thought, perhaps, you arrived
for a tonic.”

“I was visiting with his mother…”
All thoughts of tonics shattered. “She said he was here, mentioned she had
hopes of a match.”

The cold gleam in Vi’s eye could
mean so many things, jealousy, calculation, success in attack, determination.

“She approves?” Felicity tried not
to care.

His mother, at a distance, had
known he was going to propose. Her parents knew, Vi knew, yet she hadn’t the
foggiest.

Vi’s harsh laugh transformed to
languid. “She’s a bore, Cis. An absolute rigid bore, and sunk so low from
mourning I doubt anyone else would care to visit with her.”

This was not an answer to her
question, which was an answer in itself.

“She doesn’t approve of me?”
Felicity shook her head, bewildered, trying to understand. Although not equal
to her mother’s beauty, she was still all that was appropriate, except for her
work with herbs and the ill. But surely Andover’s mother knew nothing of that.
Yet.

Vi patted her arm. “Of course she
approves. Of half of you, at least. Foolish woman. Does she want her
grandchildren to be as dull as she is?

“Not that it matters. Right now,
she would approve a guttersnipe if it meant some little ones running about.
Really, Felicity, you can do better than Andover.”

“You do not approve, either, I take
it. Because of his mother?” Felicity asked.

“Disapprove, dearest?” Vi went all
aristocratic and condescending. “You are a lucky girl, Felicity, just think of
what you can do with that wealth. He is terribly handsome, which will help,
though of course it was the title you were after, clever girl. Power, that’s
what that title means; power. If that is what you are looking for in marriage,
which I doubt.”

She doubted right. Felicity had not
accepted Andover’s proposal for wealth or privilege or power. Not, entirely, on
his handsome good looks, or to be a marchioness.

“You do not believe I care for him
or that he cares for me?”

“Jenny Wren,” Vi patted Felicity’s
cheek. “I can see the wisdom in his choice. You are so undemanding. You will
let him get on with his life. So sensible.”

Felicity didn’t want her marriage
lowered to a sensible union, either.

Vi smiled. “Of course, you have
your own interests, so you are marrying for your heart.”

“Is that such a shame?” Felicity
countered.

Felicity jumped as Vi’s fan hit her
arm.

“Handsome men break hearts,
Felicity. They break hearts.”

Vi held her gaze for a moment, then
rose and swirled to face the door just as the men came through. She headed
straight toward Thomas, leaving a trail of exotic scent and unanswered
questions.

It seemed Thomas and Vi both
agreed, but what was it they knew that she did not?

Felicity threw the covers back and
got out of bed.

CHAPTER 6 ~
INDISCRETION

It was not a good evening.

Lord Richard Henry Albert
Carmichael, Marquis of Andover, Earl of Sutton, Viscount St. John looked at the
woman who had just walked into the suite of rooms the Earl and Countess of
Westhaven made free to him. They were luxurious, the perfect set of rooms for
the fiancé of their only daughter.

In their generosity, they failed to
entertain the idea of his using it for a romp with the Countess’s sister. As
had he, though Lady Stanhope appeared intent on just such a plan, interrupting
a perfectly good read coupled with a fine glass of brandy.

Not that the evening hadn’t been
trouble enough already. Thomas had halted announcement of the betrothal,
followed-by a change in Felicity. Nothing he could pinpoint. Just not her
normal, easy self. Something troubled her and that something seemed to be him.
Lady Stanhope and Thomas came to mind.

If Vivien hadn’t meant to cause
trouble before, she certainly managed to do so now.

Arms crossed, he tapped a finger on
his bicep as he studied her, considering the best tactic to get the blasted
woman to leave.

Those high cheekbones and large
green eyes had not failed her. An hourglass figure, softened since the days his
adolescent self ached for this woman ten years his senior. Then, too, she’d
displayed herself in nothing but a wisp of fabric alluding to a night rail and
wrap.

She could bloody well go attract
another man. He was not attracted, had learned the foolishness of such fancy
when still wet behind the ears.

She shivered.

Good, if she stayed she would catch
a cold in this brisk March air. He hadn’t fed the fire, as his brandy warmed
him nicely, thank you very much.

He wouldn’t feed the fire now, as
he did not want her there. His mother taught him beauty is as beauty does. That
fact wiped out much of Vivien’s appeal.

She showed no interest in the
fireplace.

Women
.
They could make a man’s life decidedly difficult.

Andover cut her off, as she headed
for his bedchamber.

“You need to leave,” he told her.

He wouldn’t bother asking if she
had been seen. The question would only amuse her. She loved to outrage society.

Elegant and voluptuous, her
chestnut hair untamed and falling from its earlier coil, Vivien leaned against
the settee behind her and cocked her head to one side.

She was too worldly for such childish
ploys as a pout, but that never stopped Vivien. “You haven’t asked if I’ve been
seen.”

So he had robbed her of that.
Good
.

“Do you ever think,” he asked, as
he moved around her to shut the doors to the suite’s bedchamber, “of how cruel
your actions are? How they affect others?”

Her laughter peeled through the
room. “Andover, don’t you know? It’s the cruelest of actions that offer the
greatest gifts.”

Only Vivien would say such a thing.
A grating contrast to her niece Felicity’s straightforward nature,
consideration of others.

“How sweet, you’re thinking of
Felicity, aren’t you?” Vivien asked. A smile barely edged her lips, as she
watched him cross the room. He did not trust that smile.

“Of course I am.”

“And if it weren’t for Felicity,
you would have enjoyed a t
ê
te-
à
-t
ét
e?”

“A t
ê
te-
à
-t
ét
e?” To stall, he opened
the door between his sitting room and the hall, looked out, ensured it was
empty, and motioned her to leave. “I paid the price the last time, Vivien. A
man can learn lessons, you know.”

She didn’t budge. “You aren’t still
upset about that little problem with my husband, are you?”

“Barely surviving with my life may
be a small problem for you, but I can assure you it is of no small consequence
to me.”

“Close the door, before I am seen
then,” Vivien instructed.

Why had he thought it would be
easy? She had invited herself into his bedchamber when he was fourteen and she
twenty-four. That time, he was eager and untrained and far too naïve to realize
her goal was more than his manhood. His only gratitude to that day, though
humiliating at the time, was in reaching climax before she reached the bed.

He’d never claimed her. Thank God.

She’d been delighted to bring a man
to fulfillment with her mere presence.

Vivien lapped up jealousy like a
lioness to the blood of a wounded gazelle. In that case, it was her husband.
She teased him with Andover. A cruel game Andover failed to understand until
too late.

The tables were now turned. Vivian
was jealous of her niece’s youth and appeal, and she was ready to strike out.
Pistols at dawn were not her style. Seduction was.

“You are such a bore, Andover. The
most gorgeous of footmen promised to bring refreshments. You don’t want to
waste good champagne, now, do you?”

“Left over from my betrothal
celebrations?” That never happened. He gave up, closed the door, and faced her.

“Vivien, you can leave now, or I
will. No doubt Westhaven wouldn’t mind being troubled for a game of billiards.”

He had her with that one. She knew
he would stay up all night if he had to. She knew he was good at avoiding her,
because he had been doing it since that eventful week. He’d learned well to
avoid all women like her.

Damn nuisance, marrying into a
family with a notorious female letch.

Sulky and seductive, she moved
around the room, picking up his book to study it.

A quick tattoo of knocks stopped
them both. Viv leaned forward, over the back of the chair that stood in front
the fire. Her breasts threatened to flee her ensemble.

“It’s the champagne!” she cooed. “We
could share a drink.”

Loath as he was to do so, he
pointed to his bedchamber rather than toss her out of the room like a drunk
from the pub. He did not want witnesses to her visit.

He would answer the door, tell the
footman he was mistaken and then—bodily, if he had to—he would send
her packing.

He shook his head, as he remembered
how she had taken advantage of his youth, knowing her husband would walk in.
Three weeks it had taken him to recover enough to get out of bed. Then there
were the broken bones to mend, and worst of it all, his shattered ego.

Vivien had been insulted the fight
was so short. It’s hard to defend yourself when you know you are in the wrong.

Still shaking his head at his boyish
foolishness, Andover opened the door.

Not to a footman.

Not to a curious guest.

“Felicity?”

“Please,” she urged, and he spun
them both around so fast she gasped. He shut the door behind him, held her in
place, facing him.

She couldn’t have seen Vivien, for
she was facing him and more concerned with being seen herself. No chance to
look for her aunt and risk Felicity following his gaze.

“I need to speak with you, Lord
Andover.”

“Just Andover,” he reminded her
absently, not daring to check whether the bedchamber door was closed,
frantically trying to remember if he heard it shut at all.

“Andover,” she repeated shyly, as
she backed into the room, her eyes on him, thank goodness, for he could now see
Vivien still rooted to her spot by the chair. He prayed the woman had enough
sense, and a modicum of consideration, to keep her mouth shut.

“Felicity,” he tried gently, as he
didn’t want her to think he reprimanded her. “This is not the most auspicious
time to speak.”

She shook her head, cleared her
throat. “No,” she hesitated a moment, “but it is the only time we won’t be
badgered by others, and this is important.”

He took a deep breath, leaned
against the door to ensure she kept her focus in that direction. She wrung her
hands, desperately. Alarmed, he worried she might pace. That would not be good.

Wildly he sought solutions, even as
he fought to be attentive to Felicity, while assessing Vivien’s potential to
destroy everything.

The thought crossed his mind that
Vivien set this whole scenario up. It reeked of her manipulations.

“Important?” He stepped up to
Felicity, took those tortured hands into his and found them cold despite the
neck-to-toe muslin nightdress and warm shawl draped over her shoulders. Even
her neck and hands were covered, albeit with a delicate lace collar and cuffs.
It was an unseasonably cold March.

A gentleman, if one would have
allowed a young lady, even his betrothed, to cross the threshold of his rooms,
would lead her to the fireplace. He didn’t dare, even if it had been lit. The
object was to remove her from this farce of a situation.

He managed not to look at Vivien,
though from the corner of his eye, he knew she had not moved. Nor had she made
a sound. Perhaps that was better, perhaps he could get Felicity to leave
without her any the wiser.

She lifted her chin, sniffed,
frowned, started to look around the chamber.

“Felicity?”

As always, her gaze went directly
to his eyes, even as she pulled her hands free. The contrast between the two
women caught him off guard. Most girls were too missish to meet a man’s gaze
directly, but would welcome the touch. Her intelligent gaze clouded, and for
once she looked away from him, to the floor, to the far wall, anywhere but at
him. Something worried her.

He wanted to protect her, he
needed
to protect her. It was part of
her appeal. She offered warmth and steadfastness, and he would offer her
security. He never anticipated exposing her to a sordid circumstance like this.

It took a moment for her words to
interrupt his musings.

“I am so very sorry, Andover, but I
am concerned that…that you don’t know me very well or I, you. There are so many
questions I have, to see if we…” She hesitated, blushing deeply.

“Suit one another?”

The brightness in her smile, so
absent this evening, was back. He wished some other subject had been the
catalyst, but at least now he knew the problem.

Or part of it.

“There is no doubt in my mind,” he
promised her, “but you are quite right in suggesting we speak. Early tomorrow
morning? A quiet walk in the gardens? Will that offer solitude enough to
discuss this matter?”

“You will not speak with me now?”

“What if your father comes? He has
done so, in the past few days, to invite me down for a game of billiards.”

“Oh?” She looked away. “Do you
think we could get away with a quiet walk on our own? Without any of the guests
or one of the children trailing us?”

“If we rise early enough.” He
ushered her to the door. She was right, they had very few moments to
themselves, beyond that walk to the Smiths. Between the flurry of guests and
her brothers, both younger and older, privacy was not an option.

Nor should it be. A young lady must
be chaperoned. But there were ways around that, especially once betrothed.

Perhaps it would be good, now that
they were set on a course, to discuss the matter. He certainly had discussed
the marriage quite thoroughly with her father. One did not skimp when it came
to business affairs.

“I will trust you to arrange it
then.” She smiled, looked up at him as he stood beside her and, as always
happened, something in him settled. Even with Vivien there, with the risk of
her being seen barely dressed, Felicity managed to ease his worries.

Another reason he wanted to marry
her. There was no doubt their life together would be physically pleasing, once
he introduced her to desire. They would have a lifetime to explore that avenue.

And lifetimes were fragile.

Vivien hadn’t said a word and
Felicity was nearly out of the room. Just a turn of the handle away from
disaster. Andover did just that, pulled the door open as he smiled down at his
betrothed, who was as tall as the top of his shoulder. He was thinking she was
just tall enough, not too short, when he realized he no longer had her
attention.

He looked up sharply to find
Vivien’s handsome footman holding a silver tray with covered dishes and an
ornate wine bucket spouting a bottle of champagne.

“Robert?” Felicity asked the
stricken footman, just as Andover rallied from his own shock to declare, “You
have the wrong rooms.”

Robert started to turn when Vivien
cooed in her most seductive voice, “Don’t be a spoilsport, Andover. Tell him to
bring it in. I’m certain Felicity could use a nice glass of bubbly, couldn’t
you, dear?”