What a Lady Wants

by Victoria Alexander

  “Is minimal,” she said firmly. “I do, however, enjoy knowing that I am not the only female intrigued by gazing up at the heavens. It is a pursuit that is at once precise and somewhat magical, if one believed in things like magic.”

  “Do you?”

  She hesitated. “No, of course not. How absurd.”

  “If I recall correctly, you told me that I had changed your mind about things like magic.”

  She shrugged dismissively. “Flirtatious banter, Mr. Cavendish, nothing more than that, and, as such, quite meaningless. Surely you have engaged in flirtatious banter on occasion?”

  “On occasion.”

  “But allow me to ask you the same question. Do you believe in magic?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never given it much thought.” Yet another thing he had never reflected upon. It struck him that there might well be any number of issues Lady Felicity had given thought to that had never so much as crossed his mind. She was much more intelligent than most women of his acquaintance, although admittedly he had never been overly interested in a woman’s mind. He felt like something of an uninformed dolt.

  “What have you given much thought to, Mr. Cavendish?”

  “I was just wondering the same thing myself,” he said with a dry chuckle. “I thought about a great many things during my school years. Art, literature, philosophy. I can recall having passionate philosophical debates about whether ideals or realities shape the course of history. Now…”

  “Now you are far too busy living your life rather than studying about life. In many ways it would be quite admirable.” A slight smile curved the corners of her lips. “If that life wasn’t so scandalous.”

  “Fun though.” He grinned.

  “No doubt.” She thought for a moment. “I suppose that’s why I enjoyed travel so much. I was living my life rather than waiting for something to happen.” She sighed. “But then the lot of women like myself is to wait for life to happen to them rather than going out and living it as you have done.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She smiled. “Neither do I.” She chose her words with care. “It seems to me that women—how did you put it? Ah yes. Women of good family and good reputation, trained to be everything a man would want in a wife, spend the first part of our lives waiting to be selected, as it were, by an appropriate man, whereupon we will spend the remainder of our lives being precisely that good wife that we are expected to be. It’s all very proper and respectable and, from what I have seen, quite, quite dull.”

  He chuckled. “Surely it’s not that bad.”

  She cast him a skeptical glance.

  “But you said you wish to marry.”

  “Of course I wish to marry. As you said: I have no real choice.”

  “If you had a choice? If you could do what ever you wished?” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know but he did. “Would you pursue astronomy as something more than a dabbler?”

  “Probably. Although if the entire world were open to me…”

  A thoughtful light sparked in her eye. “I should wish to do something rather more adventurous than simply study the stars. Sail to them, perhaps.”

  He laughed. “I daresay that would be adventurous. Impossible but adventurous.”

  “Then I shall have to sail somewhere else,” she said with a laugh. “The South Seas, possibly, in search of primitive tribes. Headhunters and the like. Oh, that would be exciting. Or I should like to explore the jungles of darkest Africa. Or search for the hidden riches of the pharaohs in Egypt.”

  “Have you always had this desire for adventure?”

  “I’m not sure.” She considered the question for a moment. “I think it was always there but it seems to have grown in me in recent years. I suspect it was travel that brought it to a head. Seeing new places, meeting new people, that sort of thing. Now I find I don’t wish to settle for an ordinary life although I daresay I shall.”

  “I doubt your life would ever be ordinary,” he said gallantly and realized as he said the words he did indeed mean them.

  “It’s kind of you to say but”—she shook her head—“this is my fifth season, not including last year, and if I am going to marry at all I should do so soon.” She slanted him a pointed look. “And I do intend to marry.”

  “Yes, I believe you mentioned that.”

  She stopped and turned toward him, her gaze meeting his. “And what, Mr. Cavendish, would you do if you could do anything in the world? What would you be?”

  “Better,” he said without thinking and then cringed to himself. Why on earth had he said that?

  “Better?” She studied him, and for a moment he had the oddest sensation she could see right through him. “Better in a moral sense?”

  “My morals are just fine, thank you,” he said firmly, then paused. “At least they have suited me thus far.”

  “Then what did you mean by better?”

  “I don’t know. It was a silly thing to say. I have no idea why I did so.”

  “Surely you have some idea why—”

  “No.” He shook his head and offered her his arm. “Would you care for some refreshment? I find I am somewhat parched from our walk.”

  “Are you?” She took his arm. “And I thought you were simply changing the subject away from something you would prefer not to talk about.”

  “That too.” He chuckled. “But I am thirsty.”

  They turned off the path and started across the vast expanse of lawn that led to the tents that stood along the back of the appropriately grand Burnfield-White house. There were tables as well on the terrace that overlooked the tents, and nearby a wooden floor had been laid across one section of the grass for the dancing that would begin when the late afternoon drifted into evening and the lanterns were lit. Guests milled about between the tables and beneath the tents. Others strolled through the well-tended plantings. A spirited game of croquet occupied a laughing crowd off to one side of the wide lawn.

  Edgar Burnfield-White’s annual garden party was a marathon that began in midday and typically ended near dawn. The length of the event, coupled with the vast amounts of spirits imbibed and the sheer number of guests attending, virtually guaranteed there would be at least one noteworthy incident, and usually more, for gossips to dwell on in the coming weeks. Affairs both public and private had started and ended here. Scandalous behavior, again both public and private, regularly occurred. Those who were married and unmarried and various combinations thereof were routinely discovered in compromising situations. And yet the Burnfield—White garden party was not considered especially scandalous. Indeed, even the loftiest members of society considered it an event not to be missed. Why, one never knew what might happen, and one would hate to miss being on hand when it did.

  “Lady Felicity,” Nigel began.

  “Mr. Cavendish,” she said at the same time.

  They laughed and he tried again. “It seems to me in these past few minutes we have forged a sort of friendship.”

  “Why, yes, I believe we have.”

  “In the spirit of which I should very much like you to call me Nigel.”

  “I’d like that especially as I have been thinking of you as Nigel all along.” She smiled in an innocent manner. “Why, every time I have seen you following me I have thought, ‘There’s Nigel again.’”

  “I have not…” He sighed. “Coincidence, Felicity, nothing more than that.”

  “There are some who say there is no such thing as coincidence. That everything we do, everything that happens to us, is preordained by some greater power.”

  “Are you speaking of fate?”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.” She paused. “Do you believe in fate, Nigel?”

  He chuckled. “I must confess I have given fate no more thought than I have given magic or the benefits of travel or any number of other things.”

  She met his gaze firmly. “You should, Nigel. You should give it serious thought. It is well worth thinking about.” Her gaze slid past
him and she nodded. “I see a friend I have not seen in some time and I believe she wishes to speak to me.”

  He turned in the direction of her gaze. A short, roundish young woman dressed in a multitude of flounces and lace headed toward them. If Felicity resembled a blossom, this creature looked very much like a full-blown bouquet. “You mean the determined-looking female bearing down on us?”

  Felicity nodded. “She is my dearest friend, and determined is an apt description. If you will excuse me I shall head her off and save you the inquisition she surely has in mind.”

  He raised a brow. “Inquisition?”

  “Most definitely.” Felicity’s gaze stayed on her approaching friend. “Eugenia wed last year and is bound and determined to see me married as well. The mere fact that you and I are walking together has no doubt set off her matchmatching instincts like a vulture scenting fresh prey.”

  “Ouch.” He winced. “That’s far too vivid a picture.”

  “But accurate nonetheless,” Felicity said under her breath. “You see, Eugenia, who is really a dear, feels I should lower my standards when it comes to a match. She feels any husband is better than no husband.”

  “And obviously you disagree.”

  “Indeed I do.” Her jaw set in a stubborn line. “I have no intention of spending the rest of my days trapped in a dull, boring, predictable life with a dull, boring, predictable husband. No marriage is better than that kind of marriage. Make no mistake, Nigel”—a firm note sounded in her voice—“I do wish to marry and I do intend to marry, but marriage simply for the sake of marriage will not do. I would rather spend the remainder of my life alone staring at the stars than wondering what I have missed.”

  “I see,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met a woman quite as forthright as Felicity Melville. And he certainly had never spoken as freely with any other woman as he had with her. Perhaps it was her outspoken nature that had led him to be as candid with her as he had. Regardless of the reason, it was at once refreshing and more than a bit confusing.

  “Now then.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “We shall part here and I shall spare you her inevitable quizzing as to your intentions.”

  “Which I don’t have,” he said quickly.

  “I believe we have established that,” she said in a wry tone, nodded, and started to leave.

  “Felicity.” Impulsively he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I cannot think of anything worse than you lowering your standards.”

  “You may rest assured, Nigel.” She cast him a brilliant smile that did the oddest thing to the pit of his stomach. “I do not intend to.”

  “What on earth were you doing with that man?” Eugenia said the moment she reached Felicity. “Do you know who that is?”

  “And good afternoon to you too, Eugenia.” Felicity smiled at her friend and continued to stroll in the direction of the refreshment tables. She was every bit as thirsty as Nigel had claimed to be, and there was the strangest feeling in the pit of her stomach. More to do, she suspected, with Nigel’s presence than with the fact that she had not yet partaken of any of the delicacies offered by Mr. Burnfield-White’s excellent kitchen staff. “I’m famished. I feel as if I haven’t eaten for a week. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry,” Eugenia muttered and fell in step beside her. “But you are avoiding the subject. What ever are you thinking? Being seen in the company of Nigel Cavendish?”

  Felicity grinned. “Are you afraid he’ll ravish me on the spot?”

  “Yes!” Eugenia huffed, then sighed. “Well, perhaps not. You are not the type of woman a man like Nigel Cavendish typically pursues.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  They reached a table laid out with fruits and pastries and all manner of tempting delights. There would be a more extensive supper later in the evening and yet another at midnight. Mr. Burnfield-White did not stint on quality or quantity when it came to food or entertainment or anything else at this annual soiree. The man himself was something of an enigma. He was the youngest son of a marquess with a fortune that came from his mother’s side of his family as well as from his first two wives. Mr. Burnfield-White himself was a charming man of about forty years. Aside from his penchant for large, elaborate parties, he was said to be somewhat reserved. Felicity had met him, of course, but she could not claim to know him and had on occasion wondered if anyone truly did.

  “Well?” An insistent note sounded in Eugenia’s voice, and Felicity wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if the other woman had stomped her foot. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  Felicity handed her parasol to a nearby servant, picked up a plate, and surveyed the offerings. “The strawberries look good.” She selected two, placed them on her plate, then took a third for good measure. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to tell me what you were doing with Nigel Cavendish.” Eugenia fairly hissed the words, which would have been more effective had she not been piling her own plate with fruit tarts and cakes.

  “I wasn’t doing anything.” Felicity selected a peach tart. “I was just speaking with him.” She paused and watched Eugenia take a bite from an iced raspberry cake. “I find him fascinating.”

  “Fascin—” Eugenia choked and coughed and turned a rather remarkable shade of red, somewhat darker than the color of the cake but complementary nonetheless. Felicity patted her on the back and signaled a servant for a glass of lemonade. She handed her friend the drink, and Eugenia gulped it down, then glared. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Not entirely.” Felicity smiled apologetically. “I am sorry but I couldn’t help myself. You were being so…so…”

  “Concerned?” Eugenia snapped.

  “Scandalized,” Felicity said firmly.

  “I am scandalized. Felicity.” Eugenia pressed her lips together in the manner of a chastising governess. “You cannot afford to be wasting your time with a man like Nigel Cavendish. He has an appalling reputation and has been the center of one scandal after another. Are you aware of that?”

  “I believe I’ve heard it mentioned.” Felicity took a bite of a strawberry. It tasted as good as it looked. She wondered if she could get Nigel to join her for a meal later. Just as a friend, of course. For now.

  “There isn’t anyone who hasn’t heard. The man is infamous for his affairs and his…his…well, any number of things too improper to mention.” Eugenia popped the rest of the tart in her mouth.

  “Still, you must admit he’s quite a catch.” Felicity’s gaze wandered past her friend to the far side of the lawn, where she caught a glimpse of Nigel speaking with a group of gentlemen including Lord Norcroft. “I think he has a great deal of potential.”

  “Utter rubbish.” Eugenia snorted. “It would take a lifetime to reform a man like that.”

  “I believe that a lifetime is precisely the length of a marriage,” Felicity murmured.

  “Good God!” Eugenia’s eyes widened, and Felicity feared they might pop right out of her head. It was an interesting, if somewhat gruesome, image. “You’ve set your cap for him!”

  Felicity forced a laugh and prayed for strength. “Don’t be absurd.” She set her plate down, grabbed Eugenia’s elbow, and directed her away from the table and any number of guests who might be more than a little interested in their conversation. Burnfield-White’s garden party was well known as an event where one could effortlessly pick up all sorts of scandalous information simply by lingering near the refreshment tables. “If you do not lower your voice, you’ll attract no end of attention. I would prefer that the center of gossip at this year’s garden party be someone other than myself.”

  “But”—Eugenia glanced at her plate—“I wasn’t finished.”

  “No, I didn’t think you were.” Felicity smiled and nodded a greeting to those they passed but continued to steer Eugenia to a point where they would not be overheard. Nigel was right. No one would dare to miss Mr. Burnfield-White’s garden pa
rty. Nearly every face she and Eugenia passed was familiar. And no doubt each and every one was curious as to where Lady Felicity and Lady Kilbourne were going with such a determined step.

  They reached the rose garden, where the low bushes made it easy to spot any curious eavesdropper. Felicity released Eugenia in front of a stone bench. “There. Now you may finish.”

  “I am no longer hungry,” Eugenia said in a lofty manner and set her plate on the bench. “However.” She clasped her hands together in front of her. “I am by no means finished discussing Nigel Cavendish.”

  “Imagine my surprise.”

  “Are you or are you not”—Eugenia fixed her with a firm gaze—“pursuing Nigel Cavendish?”

  “I am not,” Felicity said without hesitation and noted to herself that it wasn’t actually a lie. While she was determined to marry him, she wasn’t pursuing him in the strictest definition of the word. What she was doing was encouraging him to pursue her. As such it was a different thing entirely.

  Eugenia narrowed her gaze. “I don’t believe you.”

  Felicity laughed. “Why on earth not?”

  “Because I know you. I’ve known you since our first season and I have never once seen you spend as much time with any gentleman as I saw you spend with Mr. Cavendish today.”

  “Nonsense.” Felicity scoffed. “I was barely with him for more than a few minutes. And we were never out of sight.”

  “It scarcely matters. The man is a scoundrel.”

  “But a scoundrel with outstanding prospects,” Felicity said with a grin.

  “Even so, it takes a great deal of time and effort to reform a rogue of his nature. Time, my dear friend, that you simply don’t have. This is your sixth season.”

  “Fifth,” Felicity murmured. “I missed last year.”

  “Precisely my point.”

  “What if I don’t wish to reform him? What if I like him exactly as he is?”

  Eugenia gasped. “You can’t mean that.”

  “I’m not saying that I have any plans whatsoever in regards to Mr. Cavendish—”

  “I should hope not!”

  “But if I did,” Felicity continued, “it seems to me that the very appeal of a man like him lies in what you see as his flaws.”