Felicity had followed his career as closely as she could. She knew Nathan’s regiment had been involved in several bloody battles so she should not have been surprised to see he had been wounded, but the scar made it suddenly very real.
Do not be so foolish, she told herself. You should rejoice that he has been punished for the way he treated you! She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. It had been her uncle’s way to call down fury and retribution upon the heads of those that had offended him. But she was not like her uncle and the thought of Nathan’s suffering sliced into her heart. She stared again at the tall figure ascending the stairs.
Look up, she pleaded silently. Look at me.
As Nathan reached the top of the first flight of stairs he paused. Felicity’s heart was thudding against her ribs: if he raised his head now he would see her! For one joyous, frightening, panic-filled moment she thought he would do just that, but then he was turning to greet his host and Sir James’s bluff good-humoured voice was heard welcoming him.
‘Come along up, my lord, do not hesitate out there! Here is my lady wife waiting to make your acquaintance…’
The drawing room door was closed, the voices became nothing more than a low drone. Felicity slumped down, her head bowed. She had seen him. He was alive and apart from that scar on his face he looked well. A burst of laughter reached her: he even sounded happy.
And he was not aware of her existence.
Hot tears pricked her eyelids and she berated herself for her stupidity. It had been foolish to come to London, knowing he would be here. She should have known it would only bring pain. She dragged herself back to her room. It was senseless to think of him, laughing and talking with Lydia and Sir James in the gilded splendour of the dining room below. She would be best to put him out of her mind and go to sleep. That was the sensible thing to do.
But when the Earl of Rosthorne left the house several hours later, the silent grey figure was again watching from the upper balcony.
Having lost his first wife in childbirth, Sir James was morbidly anxious for Lydia. Felicity was aware of this and resolutely stifled her own misgivings as she offered to accompany Lady Souden about the town. Lydia’s delighted acceptance of her company was at least some comfort.
‘Oh, I am so pleased! I knew how it would be, once you saw how exciting it is going to be in town this summer. I only wish we could have been here for the procession in honour of King Louis last month, but there is so much to look forward to; it will be so entertaining.’
‘I am sure it will,’ said Felicity bravely.
Lydia gave her a long look. ‘And Lord Rosthorne?’
Felicity hesitated. ‘I must do my best to avoid him. If I dress very plainly I shall not attract attention. It is possible that he would not even recognise me now. Perhaps, when we go out during the day, I might be veiled.’
Lydia clapped her hands. ‘How exciting! But people will be so curious! We could say you are a grieving widow…’
‘No, no, Lydia, that will not do at all.’
But Lady Souden was not listening.
‘Smallpox,’ she declared. ‘You have been hideously scarred—or mayhap your head was misshapen at birth.’
In spite of her anxieties, Felicity laughed.
‘Shall I pad my shoulder and give myself a hunchback as well? That is quite enough, Lydia. We will say nothing.’
‘But people will think it very odd!’
‘I would rather they think me eccentric than deformed!’
Glancing at her reflection in the mirror the following day, Felicity could see nothing in her appearance to cause the least comment. Lydia had informed her that they were going to drive out in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. Felicity’s russet-brown walking dress was not quite as fashionable as Lady Souden’s dashing blue velvet with its military-style jacket but it looked well enough, and the double veil that covered her face was perfectly acceptable for any lady wishing to protect her complexion from the dust kicked up by the carriage horses.
The drive started well, but there was such a number of carriages in the park and so many people claiming acquaintance with the fashionable Lady Souden that it was impossible to make much progress. Lydia was enjoying herself hugely. She introduced ‘my companion, Miss Brown’ with just the right amount of indifference that very few bothered to spare more than a glance for the plainly dressed female with her modest bonnet and heavy veil. Felicity was beginning to relax and enjoy the sunshine when she spotted yet another carriage approaching, but this one was flanked by two riders, one of them the unmistakably upright figure of Lord Rosthorne.
She gripped Lydia’s arm and directed her attention to the coach.
‘Heaven and earth, Lady Charlotte Appleby! I had no idea she was in town.’
‘But Rosthorne is with her,’ exclaimed Felicity. ‘Can we not drive past?’
‘Too late,’ muttered Lydia, pinning on her smile. ‘They have seen us.’
She was obliged to order her driver to stop. Felicity held her breath and sat very still, praying she would not be noticed.
With the two carriages side by side, Nathan brought his horse to a stand and raised his hat to Lady Souden.
‘Good day to you, ma’am. You know my aunt, of course.’
‘Yes indeed.’ Lydia Souden turned her wide, friendly smile towards Lady Charlotte and was rewarded with no more than a regal nod. Nathan’s lips tightened. His aunt made sure no one ever forgot she was the daughter of an earl. Lady Charlotte raised her hand to indicate the second rider.
‘Let me present my son to you, ma’am. Mr Gerald Appleby.’
Nathan grinned inwardly as his cousin took off his hat and greeted Lady Souden with all the charm and courtesy that his mother lacked. Young scapegrace!
‘Delighted, ma’am! But we are remiss here, I think—will you not introduce your friend?’
Nathan blinked and berated himself. It was unusual for Gerald to show him the way, but he had not even noticed the rather dowdy little figure sitting beside Lady Souden, still as a statue.
‘Oh, this is my companion, Miss Brown. Lady Charlotte, you are in town for the Peace Celebrations?’
‘Yes. We were obliged to hire, since Rosthorne House is no longer available.’
‘You know that if you had given me sufficient notice I would have had rooms prepared for you, Aunt,’ replied Nathan.
‘In my brother’s day there were always rooms prepared and ready for me.’
‘Heavens, Mama, the house has been shut up for the past year or more,’ replied Gerald Appleby. ‘Nathan wasn’t expecting to come to town this summer, were you, Cos?’
‘No. Consequently I have only opened up such rooms as I require.’
‘Fortunately my man was able to secure a house in Cavendish Square,’ Lady Charlotte addressed Lydia. ‘With so many visitors in town this summer there was very little to suit. So different in Bath, of course, where I have my own house…’
‘My dear ma’am, there was any number of apartments that would have been ideal if you had not insisted upon having so many servants with you.’ Gerald glanced at his audience, a merry twinkle in his eye. ‘Only imagine the task: not only had her poor clerk to find somewhere with sufficient rooms for Mama’s household, but then he was obliged to find stables and accommodation for her coachman and groom, too!’
‘Really, Gerard, do you expect me to do without my carriage?’
‘No, but you might well do without your groom. You no longer ride, ma’am.’
‘Harris has been with me since I was a child. He comes with me everywhere.’
‘I wonder if perhaps he might have enjoyed a holiday,’ observed Gerald, but his mother was no longer listening.
‘My man had instructions to find me the very best,’ she announced. ‘And I do not think he has managed so ill.’
Nathan’s attention began to wander as the ladies discussed the forthcoming arrival of the foreign dignitaries. Gerald, he noticed, was passing the time by trying
to flirt with the veiled companion. While his mother’s attention was given to speculation about the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg’s latest conquest, Gerald was leaning over the side of the carriage and murmuring outrageous remarks. The poor little dab looked quite uncomfortable. Nathan tried to catch Gerald’s eye. Damnation, why couldn’t the lad behave himself? Nathan’s hand clenched on the reins. He must get out of the ridiculous habit of regarding Gerald as a boy. He was eight-and-twenty, the same age as himself, but his cousin had not served a decade in the army, an experience that Gerald declared had left Nathan hardened and cynical. It might well be the case, but it was quite clear that the little figure in the carriage was not enjoying Gerald’s attentions. He was leaning closer now, his hand reaching out towards the edge of the veil.
‘Cousin, you go too far!’ Nathan’s voice cracked across the space between them. It was the tone he had used on new recruits and it had its effect. Gerald’s hand dropped.
‘I beg your pardon,’ Nathan addressed the rigid little figure. ‘My cousin sometimes allows his humour to go beyond what is pleasing.’
She did not reply and merely waved one small hand. He threw an admonishing glance at his cousin, who immediately looked contrite.
‘Indeed, Miss Brown, Rosthorne is right; I went too far and I beg your pardon.’ Gerald directed his most winning smile towards her. ‘Well, will you not speak? Pray, madam, take pity on me: I vow I shall not rest until you say that you forgive me. Miss Brown, I beg you.’
Nathan could not but admire Gerald’s tenacity. He was—
‘I do forgive you, sir. Let us forget this now.’
His head jerked up. That voice, the melodic inflection—it struck a chord, a fleeting memory: surely he had heard it before. He stared at the lady, trying to pierce the thick curtain of lace that concealed her face.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, frowning. ‘Have we—?’
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ interposed Lady Souden with her sunny smile. ‘We are causing far too much congestion on this path. That will never do; we must drive on. If you will excuse us…’
There was nothing to do but to pull away and allow the carriage to pass.
‘Well, well, one must admit Lady Souden to be most charming,’ declared Lady Charlotte graciously. ‘She intends to hold a ball later this year. I have told her I shall attend. And you must come too, Gerald.’
Mr Appleby grinned across at his cousin. ‘Not really my line, Mama, but if you insist. What of you, Cos?’
Nathan shrugged. ‘If I receive an invitation I must go, I suppose.’ His thoughts returned to the veiled figure in the carriage. Something nagged at the back of his mind, a thought that he could not quite grasp. He said, ‘Who was the female with Lady Souden? Miss Brown. Have you met her before, Aunt?’
‘Lady Souden said she was her companion,’ replied Lady Charlotte. ‘No doubt she is some penniless relation.’ She turned to address her son. ‘And as such she can have no attraction for you, Gerald.’
‘Devil a bit!’ responded Gerald, grinning. ‘Just trying to be friendly, Mama.’
‘Better that you should remain aloof, like your cousin,’ retorted Lady Charlotte.
‘What, be as grim as Rosthorne?’ Gerald laughed. ‘Impossible! I swear his dark frown could turn the milk sour!’
Nathan allowed himself a smile at that. ‘Try for something in between, then, Cousin.’
‘Precisely.’ Lady Charlotte nodded. ‘You must remember your breeding, my son.’
As the carriage pulled away Gerald threw a rueful glance across at Nathan. ‘When am I ever allowed to forget it?’
‘So. It is done. I have met him.’
Felicity closed the door of her little bedchamber and leaned against it. Her legs felt very unsteady, so much so that she dare not even attempt to walk across the room to her bed. She closed her eyes. Nathan’s image rose before her, so familiar, so dear. She had studied him closely while the two carriages were stopped. In profile she thought him even more handsome than when they had first met, his face leaner, his look more serious. Even when she saw again the scar across the left side of his face she was no longer horrified by it. She was thankful the dreadful disfigurement did not seem to have affected his sight; his eyes were as keen as ever and for a moment she had quailed beneath her thick veil, convinced that he would recognise her. Even worse than the fear of detection was the fierce disappointment she had known when he had addressed her; he was clearly unaware of her identity and his indifference hit her like a physical blow.
‘But it is done,’ she said again. ‘Now I have seen him I know what to expect, I am prepared.’
However, being prepared did not prevent her from feeling slightly sick when Sir James announced cheerfully that she would be required to accompany his wife to Lady Somerton’s later that night.
‘I know I promised to attend, but I have fallen behind with drawing up my plans for Tsar Alexander’s arrival in London—I gave my word that I would report to Carlton House tomorrow morning.’
‘Then you must remain here and finish them,’ replied Lydia calmly. ‘But there is not the slightest need for Felicity to come with me: Lady Somerton is such an old friend…’
Felicity felt Sir James’s eyes upon her and she said immediately, ‘There is nothing I should like more than to go with you, Lady Souden.’
Lydia blinked. ‘You would?’
‘Of course,’ Felicity lied valiantly. ‘You will recall you showed me Lady Somerton’s invitation and said she hoped that Lord Byron would be there and would read for her.’
‘But I thought you disliked Byron,’ objected Lydia.
‘His style of living, perhaps,’ Felicity persisted. ‘His poetry is quite—quite impressive.’
Her friend looked at her in surprise. Felicity maintained her calm, aware that Sir James was also regarding her, but with approval, and she drew some comfort from this as she ran upstairs after dinner to change her gown. And what if Nathan should be there? Felicity knew this question would be on Lydia’s lips as soon as they were alone together. She had no answer, and could only pray that the earl was not a lover of poetry.
Lady Somerton’s tall, narrow town house was crowded and noisy. Felicity followed Lydia as she swept up the stairs to the main reception rooms, ostrich feathers dancing, and was immediately surrounded by her friends and acquaintances. Felicity stayed very close. In her plain grey gown she elicited barely a glance from the gentlemen vying for the beautiful Lady Souden’s attention and no glance at all from the matrons who came up to claim acquaintance with one of the most fashionable personages of the ton.
Lady Somerton laughingly chided Lydia for arriving so late and ushered them into a large salon where the poetry reading was about to begin. Felicity followed on, but such was the crush that she was unable to secure a seat beside her friend and was obliged to find a space for herself towards the back of the room. This suited her very well, for she was able to observe the crowds from the shadowy recesses.
Any hopes that Nathan might not attend were soon dashed when she saw him stroll into the room. At first she thought it was her imagination that there was a change in the atmosphere as he entered, but there was a definite murmur of excitement rippling around the salon. A young lady to her right fluttered her fan and muttered, ‘Mama! The Earl of Rosthorne is come.’
‘Then stand up straight, Maria,’ retorted her turbaned parent. ‘You will not catch his attention if you slouch. Shoulders back, my love; he is surveying the company.’
The young lady plied her fan even faster. ‘Oh, Mama, he looks so severe, I vow he frightens me!’
‘Nonsense, child, it is merely the effect of that dreadful scar. Smile now… Oh, how vexing, Lady Somerton is carrying him off. Never mind, Maria, while he is in the room there is still hope. Keep your head up. And do not squint, girl! You will need all your wits about you if you wish to become a countess.’
A cold chill settled around Felicity’s heart. Was that the reason Nathan was in town, to find
a wife? Why should he not? she asked herself miserably. She had done her best to disappear, doubtless he had forgotten her in the inevitable confusion of removing the army and its followers from Corunna.
The evening dragged on. Felicity heard very little of the poetry—her attention was fixed on Nathan. At one point he looked around, as if conscious of her gaze, and she was obliged to draw back into the shadows. When there was a break in the recital Felicity noticed that he was immediately surrounded by ladies, all eager for his attention. The turbaned matron lost no time in joining the throng and was soon presenting him to her daughter. Felicity longed for it to be her hand he was carrying to his lips, her words that made him smile. She forced herself to look away. It would do her no good to dwell on what could never be.
She spotted Lydia at the centre of a laughing, chattering group of ladies and seeing that she was as far from Nathan as the room would allow, Felicity made her way across to her. Lady Souden looked up as she approached, excused herself with her charming smile and stepped away from the group to take Felicity’s arm.
‘Well, my dear, what do you think to it?’ Lydia giggled. ‘I have rarely heard such execrable verse, I think.’
‘Was it so very bad? I was not really listening…’
‘Dreadful, my dear,’ Lydia murmured, smiling across the room at their hostess. ‘Rosthorne is here, have you seen him?’
Felicity almost laughed at that. She had eyes for no one else!
‘Yes. By staying in the shadows he has not noticed me.’
‘But you are uneasy.’ Lydia patted her hands. ‘Shall we make our excuses and leave? If Lord Byron had been here I might have made a push to stay and be sociable but as it is, I think I would prefer to be at home with darling James.’
Felicity nodded. She looked across the room at Nathan. She would have liked to stay and prolong the torture of watching him, but she knew that was senseless, so with a word of acquiescence she turned and followed Lydia out of the room.
They were in the entrance hall, waiting for their carriage when Lydia reached over and deftly flicked up the hood of Felicity’s cloak.
The Earl's Runaway Bride Page 3