“He definitely has been.”
He and Gertrude exchanged a significant look that hinted at numerous confidences, and Mary’s fury grew.
How dare he gossip to Mary’s detriment!
Jordan was always kind and funny. He treated her like an equal. He valued her opinion. He made her laugh, he made her happy, and after spending so much time with him, Harold seemed more fussy and pedantic than ever. She felt as if she was choking on her future.
Mary peeked at Mr. Dubois and muttered, “If you could give me a potion to avoid this fate, you might convince me that you’re a miracle worker.”
He snorted again and spun to his shelf, then sneaked a bottle into her reticule.
“I don’t have anything powerful enough to counter this disaster, but I suggest you try some of this. As needed. In liberal amounts.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s my Woman’s Daily Remedy. It’s loaded with alcohol. Drink plenty.”
He added a second item, and she raised a brow in question.
“It’s another dose of Spinster’s Cure,” he said. “Swallow it while staring at your fancy lord again.”
“Why would I?”
“You have to find a conclusion that’s better than this one.” He glowered at Harold and actually shuddered. “Good luck, Miss Barnes.”
You’ll need it
hovered in the air.
“Mary, are you coming or not?” Harold griped.
“Yes, Harold, I’m coming.”
She walked over to the carriage, and Mr. Dubois helped her up, giving her fingers a supportive squeeze.
Harold clicked the reins, and they lumbered off. They were silent, the moment extremely awkward.
“I’ve been meaning to stop by”—Mary was eager to break the tension—“to inquire about the dance on Saturday night. Are we still going? I hope your mother isn’t too ill that you won’t be able to attend.”
“Yes, we’re going, and I’ve invited Gertrude to join us, so she can meet some of the other neighbors.”
“How nice.” Mary forced a smile. “I’m certain you’ll enjoy yourself, Miss Talbot.”
“I’m certain I will, too,” Gertrude replied, and her expression could only be described as malevolent. Her dislike of Mary was blatant and unsettling.
Mary yearned to be anywhere else in the kingdom, and she peered over her shoulder, seeing Mr. Dubois in the distance. He waved, and she waved back, which brought identical scowls from Harold and Gertrude.
“Really, Mary,” Harold scolded, “the company you keep. It boggles the mind.”
Mary bit her tongue and blindly gazed at the side of the road, not speaking again the entire way.
“How long have you known Lord Redvers?”
“Oh, it’s been ages.”
Felicity studied Mrs. Bainbridge. “Would you consider yourself to be
close
friends?”
“Of course. Why?”
Felicity frowned. Mrs. Bainbridge was so old and so worldly. Felicity wanted to come straight out and ask her if she was Redvers’s mistress, but she couldn’t decide how to delve to the heart of the matter.
How did a girl probe for details about her betrothed’s amours? Was there an appropriate method for discovering what she was dying to learn?
“Will you continue your acquaintance after he’s wed?” Felicity queried.
“If Lord Redvers’s wishes it.” Mrs. Bainbridge chuckled. “And I’m positive he’ll
wish
it. We’re rarely separated.”
Felicity’s suspicions were definitely aroused.
Why would Redvers travel with Mrs. Bainbridge unless there was mischief occurring?
If Mrs. Bainbridge was a harlot, then Redvers’s bringing her to Barnes Manor was an insult to Felicity.
Was she being humiliated by him without her being aware? Did everyone suspect Mrs. Bainbridge’s true role? Were people snickering at Felicity behind her back?
“You seem awfully confident of his affection,” Felicity dared to say.
“Don’t I, though?”
“You should know that, if I become his wife, I intend to occupy all his time. I’ll demand that he dote on me.”
Mrs. Bainbridge laughed. “Be sure to tell him so, will you? He’ll be delighted to hear that you expect him to be a devoted spouse.”
She sauntered off, leaving Felicity to stew all alone on the terrace.
It was obvious that she’d failed to make her point clear. Mrs. Bainbridge had to accept that Felicity wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense from Redvers. Nor would she allow Mrs. Bainbridge’s association with him to tarnish Felicity.
Felicity had big dreams regarding her life in London. She would be the belle of every ball, the most sought-after guest, the most gracious hostess. She had it all planned out, and she wasn’t about to have Mrs. Bainbridge interfering.
She went into the house to speak with her mother. Victoria could handle any situation, and she’d know how to handle this one, too.
Felicity found her in her sitting room, busy with correspondence.
“Mother,” Felicity started, pulling up a chair, “I must ask you a question.”
“What is it?”
“Yesterday, Cassandra was being particularly horrid. She said the worst things to me.”
“About what?”
“She claims that Mrs. Bainbridge is Lord Redvers’s ... ah ... his ... his ... mistress.”
She hissed the last word, embarrassed to say it aloud, but some topics couldn’t be avoided.
“She said
that,
did she?”
“Yes, and it’s upset me terribly.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
Victoria returned to her writing, effectively dismissing Felicity.
“Mother!”
Victoria glanced up. “What?”
“It can’t be true.” When Victoria didn’t leap to agree, Felicity tentatively added, “Can it?”
“Felicity, you’re very young, and you have little understanding of what matrimony actually entails.”
“I’m not a child,” Felicity huffed.
“No, you’re not, but you don’t seem to realize that the status and identity of Lord Redvers’s companions is not—and never will be—any of your business.”
“Was Cassandra correct? Is Redvers
involved
with Mrs. Bainbridge?”
“How can it matter if he is or he isn’t?”
“Is he?” she snapped.
“If you insist on knowing—yes.”
“How long have they been carrying on?”
“Several years, I’m told.”
Felicity was stunned. “You knew, and you let him bring her here?”
“Why would I refuse? Mrs. Bainbridge has no bearing on your relationship with him.”
“No bearing! Are you insane?” Felicity jumped up and stamped her foot, her voice rising with indignation. “I’m insulted, Mother! I’m offended to the core of my being!”
“Calm yourself,” Victoria ordered. “I will not deal with you when you’re acting like a spoiled toddler.”
“He will be my husband,” Felicity seethed, “and I will not permit him to—”
Victoria seized Felicity’s wrist and yanked her down into her chair, pinching her arm hard enough to leave a bruise.
“Listen to me, and listen well,” Victoria threatened. “When it comes to females, men are like beasts in the field. They wander where their interest takes them. They have no concept of loyalty or fidelity. You’ll have to get used to it. Every woman does. You should consider yourself lucky.”
“Lucky!”
“You’ll learn this lesson early in your marriage. It won’t be a painful surprise later on.”
“He will not shame me,” Felicity vowed.
“He
will do whatever he pleases, and you will turn a blind eye.”
“I won’t!” Felicity swore. “I demand that you speak with him. I demand that he send her away. At once!”
Victoria scoffed and waved toward the door. “Go away. I can’t abide such juvenile behavior.”
“Fine then,” Felicity said. “I’ll speak with him myself.”
Victoria stood and rounded the desk. She and Felicity were about the same height, but Victoria’s girth made her much larger, and when her temper was roused, she was a formidable sight.
“You will say nothing to him,” Victoria advised.
“I will!” Felicity persisted.
“If you breathe a word of this conversation to anyone, I will whip you to within an inch of your life.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Victoria looked lethal, as if the beating might commence immediately, and Felicity reined in her fury. She’d lost the battle, but wouldn’t lose the war.
While usually she’d do whatever her mother commanded, she wasn’t about to submit to such humiliation. She would find a way to be shed of Mrs. Bainbridge. If her mother wouldn’t help her, she’d have to resolve the situation herself.
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Felicity declared, and she flounced away.
“LORD Redvers, it’s dreadfully hot in here,” Felicity said. “Would you stroll with me in the garden?”
Without waiting for a reply, she waltzed over to the door that led to the terrace.
Jordan glanced up from his cards and frowned. Several of Victoria’s supper guests had noticed her little drama, and they were snickering.
“She’s in a snit, Jordan,” Lauretta murmured. “You’d better scurry over before she throws a tantrum.”
“Lord Redvers!” Felicity was growing impatient.
Paxton peered over at her. “Does she think you’re her pet?”
“Obviously,” Lauretta retorted. “By the by, Redvers, this afternoon, she peppered me with questions about my connection to you.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. Apparently, it’s dawned on her that I’m not your sister.”
Jordan sighed, searching for Victoria, who was nowhere to be found.
“I have a brilliant idea,” he said. “Paxton, why don’t you marry her instead? I’d gladly let you have her dowry.”
Paxton gave a mock shudder. “I’d rather be boiled in oil.”
Felicity cleared her throat, ready to call out a third time.
“You’d best see what she wants,” Paxton urged. “It appears she won’t calm till you obey her summons.”
Jordan tossed down his cards, and he stood and went over to her.
“Let’s step outside, Miss Barnes. Now!”
She spun on her dainty slipper and pranced out, but she stopped next to an open window, where everyone could eavesdrop on their quarrel. He grabbed her elbow and escorted her down the stairs and onto a lighted pathway.
He pulled her along, practically dragging her, until they were a safe distance from the other guests. Then he halted and whipped around, struggling to control his temper.
Even though she would be the worst wife imaginable, he was going to marry her no matter what, so why was he balking?
He should simply haggle over the details with Victoria, then apply for a Special License, yet he couldn’t force himself to proceed.
Felicity would never be the wife he wanted or needed, and delay wouldn’t change that fact. Why, oh why, couldn’t sweet, amusing Mary have possessed a fortune? Why couldn’t fate have shined on him just once?
“You had something you wished to say to me?” When Felicity couldn’t respond, he pressed, “Get on with it.”
“I... I...”
“If you’re suddenly tongue-tied, it’s the first time ever. Speak your piece, or let’s go back to the party.”
She gave herself a good shake, which yanked her from her stupor. “Yes, there is a subject I’d like to address.”
“I can’t wait to hear what it is.”
“I don’t care for your two friends, Mrs. Bainbridge and Mr. Adair.”
“You don’t like my friends?”
“No, I don’t. They’re both very rude to me—Mrs. Bainbridge in particular—and I want you to send them back to London.”
The girl was either stupider than any he’d ever met, or she had more gall.
“Might I ask where you come by the temerity to instruct me as to my choice of companions?”
“I realize that it’s too early to mention it, but Mother assures me that you’ll propose.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and since it’s about to happen, we should begin as we mean to go on.”
“What the devil are you trying to say? And be precise, because my patience for your nonsense is completely exhausted.”
“As we’re about to marry, it’s perfectly fitting for me to inform you that I don’t like Mrs. Bainbridge.”
“No one does.”
“There have been some awful rumors about the two of you, and I can’t have you fraternizing. After we’re wed, I absolutely won’t allow the association to continue.”
He was so stunned that he was at a loss as to what his reply should be.
“How old are you again?” he inquired. “I’ve forgotten.”
“I’m eighteen.”
“Does your mother know that you planned to discuss this topic with me?”
“She said I oughtn’t, but the issue is important to me, so I forged ahead.”
She’s only eighteen,
he told himself.
Only eighteen.
He stated her age over and over, like an incantation, using it to compose himself, but it didn’t work. He was angry at the world, at his father, at his destiny, and the prospect of marrying her was so ghastly that he felt as if he was about to swallow a vial of poison.
“You’re very young,” he started.
“I may be young, but I know what I want.”
“There may be things you
want,
but you won’t receive them from me, so let me be very clear: You will never interfere in my private affairs.”
“I will!”
“I will come and go as I please. I will have the friends I please. I will live my life as I please. You will never—I repeat: never!—order me about.”
“We’ll see about that!”
“Yes, we will.”
“You will do as I say,” she warned, “or I won’t marry you, and you won’t get my money!”
“Your mother and I will decide if I should wed you or not.
Your preferences are irrelevant. Now, I’m weary of your antics. Let’s go back.”