Emily Greenwood (14 page)

“Well, let’s speak no more of her, then,” Mrs. Pendleton said, and Felicity, as much as she disliked the woman, could have kissed her.

Mr. Block and Crispin were called away then by Sir Robert Dunlop. Crispin gave Felicity a look as he left that seemed freighted with meaning, but she could not guess what he was trying to intimate.

Mrs. Pendleton’s gaze fell on Felicity. “So, Miss Wilcox, have you been to Town this season?”

“Miss Wilcox does not like Town,” James said, watching Felicity with a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

“What? Not like Town?” Mrs. Pendleton regarded Felicity with particular scrutiny, no doubt, Felicity thought, taking in the odd cut and color of her gown and her simple hairstyle. Felicity tipped her chin up proudly. “When were you last there?” the woman demanded.

“Indeed, Mrs. Pendleton, I have never been to London.”

Mrs. Pendleton’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “And yet you declare that you do not like it!”

“Actually, it was Mr. Collington who said so.”

Mrs. Pendleton glanced at James, who shrugged. “Well, do you or don’t you like it?” she demanded of Felicity.

“As you yourself have suggested,” she replied, trying to keep from giggling as she caught James’s laughing, conspiratorial gaze, “I can’t say I don’t like it, never having been there. I am fond of the country, though.”

Mrs. Pendleton smiled in satisfaction. “Just so. You certainly have that country air about you.” She looked pointedly at Felicity’s attire, frowning. “Your modiste seems to be very old-fashioned,” she pronounced. “You might do with something more current, Miss Wilcox, even if you are never to go anywhere.”

Felicity couldn’t help laughing outright at Mrs. Pendleton. “I suspect the tailor who made this gown has been dead for some years. It belonged to my late Great-Aunt Matilda, who loved balls and parties when she was young.”

Mrs. Pendleton’s eyebrows shot upward another fraction, and Felicity enjoyed a moment of wicked glee, knowing she had thoroughly appalled the woman. She was clearly at a loss as to how to reply to the idea of wearing the outdated clothing of long-dead relatives.

Aunt Miranda moved to join their party just then, and she apparently heard Felicity’s statement.

“Miss Wilcox, how charming, that you are wearing a relative’s gown! That argues to a wonderful appreciation of family. And it does look splendid on her, doesn’t it, James?” she said, putting her hand on his free arm. Mrs. Pendleton still held on to the other one.

“Miss Wilcox always looks charming,” James said, looking intently at Felicity. The merriment was gone from his eyes now. “She has a fashion all her own.”

Felicity burned with pleasure at his words but was afraid to look at him for more than a moment, lest he see how his compliment made her want to beam. Instead, she smiled at his aunt. “Thank you, Miss Claremont. You are most kind. I enjoy wondering what my great-aunt might have been doing when last she wore this. Perhaps it was to a ball.”

“Well, if she was half so pretty as you, my dear, I am certain she would not have wanted for partners,” Aunt Miranda said warmly.

In the next moment, a look of delight broke over the older lady’s face. “But, my dear,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement, “why don’t we just ask her?”

Felicity’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand, Miss Claremont, ask who what?”

“Why, your Great-Aunt Matilda, of course. You can ask her if she ever wore that dress to a ball. And anything else you want to know.”

“Oh, Miss Claremont,” Felicity said, comprehending. “You must not have heard me. My great-aunt died years ago.”

“But I do realize that.”

Felicity was unsure. Was Aunt Miranda playing some game with her? But the older lady looked sincere. Very sincere, and very eager. Mrs. Pendleton, however, wore a disgusted look, and Felicity noticed that James’s face was queer. The viscount merely looked amused.

“We can contact her through my medium!”

Felicity and Lila looked suitably astonished. James hoped he himself did not look aghast. Hal, of course, thought it was a lark. Devil take it, Miranda had always been one to give credence to odd mystical ideas, but this was too much. Was she going senile? Talking to the dead? What on earth had she been getting into in his absence? Clearly he’d been gone too long.

“Oh,” Felicity said slowly. Then she smiled at Miranda, with a genuine look of pleasure that was not in the least condescending, and James could have kissed her for it. “Ah, thank you, Miss Claremont. That would certainly be fascinating, if ever I am in London.”

Miranda’s eyes were alight with excitement. “I’ve already communicated with my dear sister Louise, who died several years ago.”

“Oh, really, Miss Claremont,” Lila said impatiently, “don’t you know that this communicating with the spirits business is all a load of rubbish? I am astonished you give it any credence at all.”

Miranda blinked, her gray-blue eyes vulnerable. James was at a loss as to how to intervene—he didn’t want his aunt’s feelings hurt, but he couldn’t have agreed with Lila more.

Felicity filled the heavy pause. “That must have been a great comfort to you, Miss Claremont.” She placed a kindly hand on Miranda’s arm.

Miranda was pleased. “I believe I should like being in London with you very much, Miss Wilcox.”

Lila was just turning a harshly skeptical eye on Felicity and no doubt preparing a comment when Fulton appeared to let James know that dinner was served, to James’s great relief. He didn’t want his guests engaged in a conversation that could only make Miranda look ridiculous. But later he must think more on this problem of Miranda and the trouble she might get into. She was strong in so many ways, but unfortunately susceptible to charitable pleas and brave new ideas. He meant to bring her to live at Granton Hall, but left alone there when he traveled, he could see her turning it into a meeting place for wayward spirits and a refuge for orphans.

***

Crispin appeared by Felicity’s side to lead her into dinner, his mouth set in a grim line that made her nervous.

“I saw you today,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “When you were pretending to be that—”

She bit her lip. Oh dear. How much had he seen? Well, it had all been harmless, after all.

“Mirabelle,” she whispered. They were the last couple in line approaching the dining room, several feet behind the viscount and Lila.

“I want to know what’s going on between you and Collington.”

“What do you mean?” His harsh tone startled her.

“There’s something between you two. I can see that.”

“That’s—that’s not true,” she said. “There’s nothing between us. I hate that he’s here and I’m trying to get him to give up Tethering by making him uncomfortable.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re tending the orchard for him, acting out crazy charades, and laughing into his eyes every chance you get.” Crispin’s lips met in a tight line. “Did he know that was you today or not?”

“Yes, of course he did,” she replied angrily. He was slipping into full big brother role, and she wouldn’t have it.

His eyes shot wide. “But this is outrageous!”

“Since you are outraged,” she snapped, “you can just leave me alone. You needn’t watch.”

The other guests had entered the dining room, leaving Felicity and Crispin alone in the hallway. She quickened her step toward the doorway, but he grabbed her arm, keeping her from entering, and pulled her back a few steps from the door.

“Just a minute,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t by any chance have anything to do with rumors I’ve heard about a ghostly lady at Tethering Hall?”

Rumors had reached Crispin? But that meant she was having an effect! This was good news.

He was watching her. “You do, don’t you?”

“Crispin,” she said, tugging her arm away from him, “just leave me be.”

“No.” His chin stiffened in that bossy way she remembered from childhood. “I won’t stand by and watch you ruin yourself. As your friend and your vicar, I’m telling you now that if I hear of any more crazy antics at Tethering, I’ll bring this before your father. He’ll know how to make you see reason.”

No! Not that. Her father was too good. He trusted her, and she couldn’t bear him knowing how she’d disobeyed his wishes. He wouldn’t see what was practical and fair here. He wouldn’t understand how she’d needed to do what she did—he’d only push her harder to get married now that he had the idea she needed a husband.

“If you do,” she said, forcing her voice not to shake, “I shall never speak to you again.” And she turned away and made for the dining room doorway.

***

From where he stood at the head of the table, James could see Felicity and Markham in the hallway. What the devil were they muttering about out there? Markham was looking at her in an intense, totally unsuitable manner. What
was
between them? It had damned well better not be something like a secret engagement.

What
the
devil?
Now Markham was grabbing her arm! James was just making for the door when Felicity entered looking flushed.

“Miss Wilcox,” James said, “here you are at last. Your seat is next to me.” He indicated the chair to his right. Before Markham could move, James had stepped behind her chair and pulled it out for her.

James smiled with secret nastiness at Markham. “You’re at the other end, Markham. Next to Mrs. Pendleton.” The vicar, who looked for a moment as if he wanted to run James through, scowled deeply and went toward his seat.

Felicity sat down, and before James could even say a word she was talking to Hal. The servants appeared and began serving soup, and James watched with growing irritation as Felicity ignored him for his disgustingly handsome cousin. What could they possibly have to say to each other in such quantity?

Eventually, keeping an ear tuned to Hal and Felicity’s conversation was taking up so much of James’s attention that several times he found Robert jabbing him in the ribs and saying, “Isn’t that right, old boy?” James merely agreed with Robert each time since he had no idea what was being discussed between him and Mr. Wilcox.

Now Hal was telling Felicity exaggerated tales of his daring. To be truthful, James had to admit that the tales were not really exaggerated. Hal
had
done heroic things during his military service. But James could not stand the look of admiration that had settled onto Felicity’s face as she listened to him.

Finally, Hal began to speak of his mastery of foreign languages. This James definitely could not stomach.

“Come now,” he broke in, “what is this faradiddle you are peddling to Miss Wilcox? You most certainly do not speak French like a native. Why, I am certain that innkeeper in Paris is still trying to understand why you asked God to wound him when he sneezed.”

Hal winced and Felicity laughed.

James wished mightily that he and she were alone. Then he could raise a hand and touch her sweet lips with his fingers, and brush them against her satin cheeks. Her laughing eyes made him yearn to possess—there was no other word for what he wanted—the creamy skin of her shoulders and bosom, so richly alluring in the flickering candlelight. It would be like fragrant satin, he guessed, and as intoxicating as he found her every time he’d touched her. He almost regretted that she had agreed that Lovely Annabelle wouldn’t make an appearance while he had guests. He yearned to tussle with his ghost, bedamned to propriety, fairness, and every other limitation.

Felicity could feel James’s eyes on her. She turned her head to look at him and with a jolt saw the raw desire in his eyes. His gaze felt hot—at least, it was making her feel hot, as if he were kissing her with his eyes. She sensed them on her, warming the bare skin of her shoulders and bosom. Her lips and skin hummed with the memory of his kisses.

“And how is your Spanish these days, cousin?” Hal asked James.

James pulled his eyes away from hers and chuckled. “
Touché
, cuz. Not good, but adequate for talking with my staff at the bodega. And I have engaged a master to begin lessons on my return in August.”

“What’s this?” Mrs. Pendleton demanded from across the table, where she sat between Crispin and Mr. Block. “You’re not studying Spanish, James?” She coughed scornfully. “Surely you have people there to deal with the natives.”

“I prefer to handle things myself,” he replied. “Though Hal is right. I spent so much time learning the sherry business that I haven’t taken the time to learn written Spanish. But I will correct that this autumn, when I make a visit.”

Mrs. Pendleton rolled her eyes theatrically in a thoroughly English expression of disdain for lesser peoples. “What can you possibly learn from the Spanish?”

“The local people have much to teach me about sherry production.”

“I hope they’ll have helpful advice when you are poisoned by the food and contract some vile local disease,” she said.

He laughed. “All at once, Lila? That would be quite a feat.”

Felicity fixed him with a gimlet eye. “The first time
I
encountered
you
, sir, I ended up covered in mud.”

He looked surprised by her mention of their first meeting, and embarrassed too, at the suggestion her words carried that he had done something ungentlemanly. The idea that he was squirming delighted her.

“What’s this?” Crispin asked in a tight tone.

“Yes, it sounds like the devil of a story!” chimed in Mr. Block.

Felicity regarded James archly. “The first time I encountered James Collington, he startled me into Yardley Stream.”

“But I didn’t know you were there at the time,” he protested.

“You fell into the stream?” Mrs. Pendleton asked with a scandalized expression that said ladies didn’t fall into streams.

“Yes, I was picking watercress at the time.”

“Really!” Mrs. Pendleton was aghast. “Don’t you have servants for that?”

Felicity knew delicious mischief was dancing in her eyes at James’s discomfort, because she could feel it bubbling up inside her. He scowled at her, though his eyes were merry, and she almost giggled. She couldn’t stop herself from teasing him, playing with him, tormenting him.

Her father looked at her. “So that was the cause of your mud-splattered clothing that day, my dear.”

James looked pained.

“James!” scolded Miranda. “I am horrified that you caused this young lady to be covered in mud.”

Felicity almost felt bad for him.

“I have already apologized, as Miss Wilcox is well aware,” he said, sending Felicity a meaningful look. “But I will do so now again.”

He bowed his head apologetically. “I beg you will accept my deepest apologies, Miss Wilcox.” A lock of his black hair had fallen forward to curl above his eyebrow, and in the candlelight the masculine planes of his face were even more defined. He was far, far more handsome than any man ought to be. His cousin the viscount might be equally handsome, but James held a special appeal for her, something that went far deeper than the way his features were arranged.

As he looked at her, his lips wore a wry expression but his eyes smoldered, demanding she remember all that was between them.

“Accepted,” she said. “It was, fortunately, a very old dress.”

“Do you have any that are not?” Mrs. Pendleton asked.

“Lila, dear,” Hal said, “weren’t you going to tell me all about the Manderly affair?”

The party broke up not long after dinner, with most of the guests pleading fatigue after their travels. As James was seeing Felicity, Mr. Wilcox, and Crispin to the door, Mr. Wilcox recollected something in the library that he needed, and he left them all standing in the entry hall.

Crispin’s hand was on the doorknob and he looked from Felicity to James with a dark expression that worried her.

“Well, good evening, Markham,” James said. “Thank you for joining us this evening.”

Crispin, tension written in the stiff line of his posture, did not look as though he wanted to leave, but he could not reasonably do otherwise.

He compressed his lips firmly for a moment, then abruptly said, “Thank you for the invitation, Collington,” in a voice devoid of gratitude. “Good evening.” He gave Felicity a pointed look, sketched a bow, and departed without another word.

They were left standing alone by the door. James lifted an eyebrow to her in silent commentary, but she made no reaction.

A candelabrum on the narrow hall table cast shadows on the pale green-painted walls. The night was growing cool, and she wished she had brought a wrap. She hugged her arms.

From above them, sounds of the guests moving about in their rooms filtered down. But the first floor was quiet, and intimate, with James standing not two feet from her.

“It seems your father is either among books or thinking of books,” he said, breaking the silence.

She sighed. “Yes, and the Tethering library is probably his favorite place of all. You have been generous. Thank you.”

She looked at him steadily, at the now-familiar face of the man who was living in her family’s home. She could no longer conjure the anger and resentment she had first felt toward him. Her heart sank. She was losing her fire—in fact, it had almost entirely faded. Her ferocious feelings against James had been replaced with warmth, affection, and desire. Despair crept in.

He shrugged, his broad, capable-looking shoulders in his dark evening coat making her heart turn over. How good his shoulders had felt under her hands the night before.

“You are both welcome here. And I do value your contributions to the estate and the orchard. Although,” he said, fixing her with a shrewd look, “I don’t think I shall ask you for any more staffing recommendations. My palate has barely recovered from Cook’s first assault.”

Felicity laughed softly, thinking of him eating whatever foul meal Cook had prepared. However, her efforts in that area had ultimately had little effect. Despite what may have happened initially with the cook and housekeeper, the house and food bore witness that James had obviously brought the staff around to wanting to please him. Just as he was doing, with the magic of his charm, to her. Was there anything this man couldn’t accomplish when he set his mind to it?