Emily Greenwood (23 page)

Felicity went over to the ornate desk in the chamber she’d been given and ran her hand over its smooth, rich surface. It had obviously been given a cursory dusting immediately prior to her arrival in the room, as dust still lingered thickly at the corners where the swipe of a rag, or perhaps a shirtsleeve, had not reached. She looked around the room, which was handsomely appointed with maroon velvet drapes and bed curtains and several substantial pieces of dark furniture. The decor spoke of grandeur and elegance, though it smelled musty.

She moved to the windows and pushed open the curtains to let in the early evening light. Then she sneezed violently over the cloud of dust she had stirred up, which was evident now in a sunbeam. After some moments of struggle and more sneezing, she got the window open. The view gave onto a terrace dotted with statuary.

Granton Hall struck her as a house that wanted to be important. With its queenly exterior and rooms filled with velvet, rich carpets, and gold-framed paintings, it looked as though it existed to impress, to announce its inhabitants’ respectability and eminence. It did not look like the cozy home of a family. Well, what did she care—she was not going to be living here unless the worst came to pass and she was pregnant. In future she’d have all the coziness she needed at Blossom Cottage. She’d long since been wishing for its cheerful familiarity.

She’d taken the dower house for granted all this time when she’d been focused, hell-bent even, on securing Tethering. And that had all been for naught, she thought as she began pulling out hairpins, having decided she would not go down to dinner and asked the maid to send up a tray.

Now her anger over James selling Tethering had cooled to numbness, and she realized that thinking of Tethering didn’t bring despair. Instead, what she felt was almost relief. Tethering was as good as gone. Nothing could be done about that, and she was almost grateful, as if an impossible burden had been lifted. Almost, because the only person she could be grateful toward, barring Jonathan’s contribution, was James. And she had nothing for which to be grateful to James.

But that was not exactly true, she mused, picking up a brush and bringing it through her hair. She loved James. Knowing him, loving him, had opened her horizons to the world beyond Tethering Hall, as if a breath of fresh air had swept through her life, sweeping away old ideas and opening her eyes to new ways of looking at things.

She thought now of Blossom Cottage, where her father was at that moment, and found that it didn’t any longer seem like a terrible come-down. It was simply a place to live in the world, and really a comfortable one at that. She didn’t feel defined by it or attached to it one way or another. It was a house, a place to live, which was a perspective that had not been possible before her world had been shaken up by the arrival of James. She didn’t need Tethering to give meaning to her life. Gratitude and love gave her life meaning.

Putting the brush down, she went over to her suitcase and found the little box that held her mother’s necklace. She took it out and closed her fingers around it as if it were some part of her mother that she could touch, like a hand. But a necklace wasn’t flesh and blood any more than a house was, she thought. Tethering wasn’t an extension of her mother, some part of herself she’d left behind on earth before fading away in death. And, she realized, opening her hand around the pearl and looking at it fondly against her own palm, that was all right. She didn’t need the walls and doors and trees of Tethering estate to feel connected to her mother now—everything they’d ever shared together lived on and grew within her.

Her mother’s words to her when dying now had a different meaning.
Take
care
of
Tethering
and
it
will
take
care
of
you
. Instead of an insistence on the family being at Tethering at all costs, she now saw the words as her mother expressing her desire for Felicity and her brother and father to be happy, well, and safe. And knowing that, owning it, was so freeing—a feeling that she could relax her hold and live according to what the days brought, whether it was sorrow or joy, fear or pleasure. Hadn’t she, in a way, been
tethered
to Tethering? And now the cords had dropped away.

Maybe this was growing up, this feeling of trusting yourself to be able not just to contend with what life brought, but not to be beaten down by it, she thought as she put the necklace away. Maybe it was the power of her love for James; love was love, whether it was filial love, platonic love, romantic love—true love was meant to free us.
Love
bears
all
things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things
. She understood these words now in a way she never had before.

But loving him didn’t mean surrendering to him, to his plans. Surrendering her dignity. That would be surrendering her own worth completely. And that she would not do. Even though she was finally at peace with the loss of Tethering, she felt profoundly betrayed by his cavalier disposal of it. They’d shared intense closeness, they’d made love and perhaps there would even be a baby, and through all of that he couldn’t see that she would be hurt by his secret plans. Or worse, he didn’t care that she would be hurt by his betrayal. He didn’t love her.

A knock at her door announced the arrival of the maid with Felicity’s dinner tray. Once the girl had left, Felicity put the tray on her bed and, uncaring of the crumbs that would ensue, commenced to eat her dinner on the bed.

***

James came downstairs to find Miranda awaiting him in the drawing room, reading a book on a divan. The room was so much larger and grander than Tethering’s funny drawing room with its walkway that he felt startled for a moment by the unaccustomed feeling of its vastness. She looked up when he came in and greeted him.

“Is everything as it should be with your room, Miranda?” he asked.

She bobbed her head noncommittally. “Fair enough. Things have been a bit neglected perhaps.”

He nodded. “We had to expect that, I suppose. I think the admiral just stayed here every now and again. The place will have suffered a bit for not having a focused caretaker.”

“Well, now you’re here I’m sure all can be set to rights.”

“Exactly.” By Jove, he was feeling excited, motivated into action by being—finally!—back at Granton Hall. Since returning from India three long years ago and finding the family affairs in a shambles, he’d dreamed and worked toward the day when he would return to Granton and begin the process of restoring to the Collington name the respect it deserved, and clearing away the last of Charles’s messes. A seat in the House of Commons all but awaited him, and with Felicity by his side—once she’d calmed down and seen reason—he’d have all going as it should.

After some minutes of conversation with Miranda, he wondered aloud what was taking Felicity so long to come down.

Miranda said, “She’s eating dinner in her room. She sent me word through a servant.”

James frowned. “A message I did not get. Is she ill?”

“I don’t believe so. Perhaps she’s just tired from the journey.”

“Yes, perhaps,” he said, going to stand by the window. Outside night had fallen, and through the open window he could hear the chorus of summer insects swelling. It was peaceful here at his home. Granton Hall was such a grand old house, he was certain Felicity would come to love it, if only she would give it a chance.

A servant arrived a few moments later, sent by Felicity to confirm what Miranda had said.

“The devil!” James muttered darkly.

“What’s that, dear?” Miranda asked innocently from the sofa.

“Nothing. Let’s go in to dinner,” he said, coming to offer his arm as gently as he could and concealing his escalating frustration, which was an all-too-familiar feeling where the maddening Felicity Wilcox was concerned.

***

Outside the windows of Granton night had fallen thickly under a moonless sky. Felicity sat on the bed brushing her hair, dressed for bed in her shift, a pretty, delicate garment that was part of the clothing James had paid for while they were in London. She supposed she ought to give it back at some point, though what would he do with a woman’s shift? On second thought, she didn’t want to know. She must teach herself not to be interested in him and his plans. But she was a long way from the hope of success, fascinated as she still was with him.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Yes?”

“Felicity,” came James’s deep voice from the other side of the door. Her heart quickened at the sound. “Are you feeling all right? We missed you at dinner.”

“Oh.” She’d forgotten what she had told the maid some hours ago. She wasn’t really all that tired. She just didn’t want to have dinner with him. But she didn’t want to confess that. “Yes, thank you, just a touch tired.”

“Could I come in to talk for a few minutes?” he asked in a reasonable voice. But coming in to talk was not a reasonable idea. To begin with, she didn’t believe that if he came in now, they would end in just talking. And that would only make matters worse.

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Well,” he said, beginning to sound less reasonable, “
I
think it’s necessary. We need to resolve some things.”

“Really, James,” she said sharply, not wanting to be pushed, and then realized how loud her voice sounded in the quiet house. She got off the bed and padded over to the door in her bare feet. “I can’t see that there’s anything to resolve. We both know what happened,” she said in a lowered voice.

“Felicity,” he said, clearly exasperated. “I’m coming in.”

Her heart raced. She couldn’t let him in. She didn’t trust herself not to melt at the sight of him. Quickly she reached out and turned the key in the lock. At the sound of its snick, she heard him smack the other side of the door.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he said in a low growl.

“Keeping you out there. We can talk perfectly well like this.”

Close as she was to the door—she was pressed against it, her ear only an inch or two away from the wood—she could hear the noise he made in the quiet corridor on the other side of the door, a quick inhale followed by a forcible exhale. She could almost see him gritting his teeth.

It was quiet for several moments, and she began to think he’d crept away and she had somehow not heard. But he was still there.

“Sweet,” he began in a quiet, tender voice. “What is going on?”

“Nothing is going on.”

“I mean with us.”

“But I told you, there is no more us. As soon as you are done here, and you said you would only stop a day or so, you must return me to Teth—to Blossom Cottage.” There, she had said it, asked for what she needed, even if it wasn’t at all what she so dearly wanted.

“So this is all about Tethering. Just as I guessed.”

“No, it’s not about Tethering.”

“Then what? Why break off the engagement?”

Because
I
don’t trust you
, she thought.
You
have
your
own
plans, you’ll do what you think necessary. I’m not part of the figuring, and why should I be? You’re not in love with me.
But these were all words she would never say. They had to do with what was too deeply connected to her inner life, to her love for him.

She took a deep breath and prepared to lie, truly grateful that he couldn’t see her face. “James, acquiring Tethering was one of the reasons I agreed to marry you, the other being the way Lila found us. But now Tethering is gone, and in a week or two I can quietly break off the engagement without attracting much attention to either of us.”

“But I don’t want to let you go,” he said, sounding surprisingly earnest, somewhat frenzied even. It must be her wishful imagination. “I want you here with me at Granton. I want…you.”

She heard him shift on the other side of the door. “Put your ear against the door,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he said in a tender, irresistible tone. “Please, Lis.”

She pressed her ear flat against the door.

“Are you there?”

“Yes,” she whispered, feeling the breath of her speech rebound back to her against the door.

“Good. Now listen.” She heard a soft rubbing sound, a little muffled by the thickness of the door. “I am imagining this is your skin I am rubbing.” More sounds, strangely mesmerizing, a soft shushing that seemed to physically enter her ear and curl down into her. “If I were there next to you, I would put my thumb on your lower lip and rub softly for a bit before I gently inserted it between your beautiful lips.”

What was he doing? “James,” she said with a note of warning—and panic—in her voice.

“Just listen,” he insisted. “You owe me that much.”

She listened. After all, she told herself, how much could happen with a door between them?

“My cheek is pressed against the door, and I’m hoping your soft skin is right on the other side. I love the beautiful bones of your face. And your skin, your luminescent skin. In my mind, I’m feathering my fingertips over your eyelids that cover those brilliant hazel eyes.”

His tone was rich and soothing, like a velvet blanket sliding along her body and covering her, as centering as a tuning fork calling all her senses to his voice. She closed her eyes and listened, her lips warm and buzzing, longing for the touch of his mouth on hers.

“I’m sliding my hands down your slender neck now, down over the flesh of your arms. I think you must be wearing only your chemise. Do you realize that just the thought of this fairly unmans me?”

That
was
all she was wearing, and even though they had a door between them, it was as if he had some magical connection to her, an ability to read her mind. Her rational mind squeaked that this was impossible, but her body had its own opinions entirely, and it was loving his voice and the way it was bringing her alive, as if his hands really were on her.