by Linda Banche
Mr. Tail Feathers, head down and eyes afire, unfurled his wings and launched himself straight at the human who dared to harm his lady. His snapping bill latched onto Mr. Norris’s nose.
“Ow!” Mr. Norris shook Felicity off. Arms whirling, he swatted at the duck.
Dodging and twisting, Mr. Tail Feathers retained his grip with all the tenacity of a tightly closed vise. Then, after one last wrench, which jerked a yell from Mr. Norris’s throat, he let go. With a squawk, he landed beside his mate and ushered her back to the lake. Looking over his shoulder, he took up the rear as if daring Mr. Norris to follow.
A thunderous-faced Mr. Norris dashed a few paces after the ducks, now bobbing safely in the water beyond his reach, before giving up.
Felicity choked to prevent herself from breaking out into undignified whoops. Good for you, Mr. Tail Feathers. Secreting the bread bag into her reticule with exaggerated care, she composed herself before looking up at her muttering companion. “Are you hurt?”
“Curst bird almost bit my nose off.” He touched the wound. Blood gushed over his gloved fingers and he pulled out a large white handkerchief to stanch the flow.
“Oh, dear.” She forced concern into her voice, but her sympathy rested entirely with the ducks. “Shall we away?”
After one final glare at a smirking Mr. Tail Feathers—if ducks could smirk—, Mr. Norris escorted her to the curricle, which the tiger had led back.
As Mr. Norris helped her into her seat, a fat raindrop plopped onto her nose. “You were correct, sir, the clouds did foretell rain.”
The tiger hurried to put up the top. Mr. Norris climbed into the driver’s seat and caught up the reins. He tapped his foot as the tiger struggled with the covering.
God forbid that he help. Puffed-up gentlemen like Mr. Norris wouldn’t deign to soil their hands with such manual labor, but Frank would have helped the servant.
The rain, as if having a care for the tiger that his master lacked, held off until the top was in place and the servant had hopped on behind. Then the water poured down as if from an open spigot.
Felicity pulled her skirts close to keep the wet off. “I fear the bad weather puts paid to our outing.” Splendid! “No matter. I had a pleasant time.” She grinned because the ordeal of Mr. Norris’s company was over. But he didn’t have to know that.
Although few others were about, everyone converged on the Hyde Park Corner gate at the same time. A thin-lipped Mr. Norris held the skittish horses in check as they crawled along amid the shouting and scrabbling throng.
Only one carriage stood between them and the gate when their left horse, dancing at the press of so many bodies and carriages, slipped on the mud the previous vehicles had churned up. Listing like a drunken sailor, the curricle skidded to the side.
Suppressing a scream, Felicity grabbed the seat edge to avoid being thrown out.
Mr. Norris hauled on the reins and dragged the curricle to a sliding halt. The left front wheel sank deep into the mire.
The carriage lurched again as the tiger jumped down and ran forward to inspect the damage. He straightened and pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Stuck tight, sir. I’ll have to fetch some grooms to help me free it.”
Mr. Norris’s face blackened like a lit fuse seconds away from detonating a gunpowder charge. “Very well. Stay here and I will send help back.” He tossed the reins to the servant before reaching behind the seat and pulling out an umbrella and his walking stick. “We shall have to walk.” After jerking the umbrella open hard enough to rip a small tear in the canvas, he stepped down and then around the carriage to Felicity. He extended his hand.
His words were shards of ice digging into her skin. Walking home meant a longer time in his company. But there was no help for it. She grasped his hand and descended.
Fortunately, the umbrella was large, and they didn’t need to squeeze together to stay relatively dry. Although she wouldn’t have minded if Frank held the umbrella.
Beyond the bottleneck of the gate, the crush rapidly dispersed. They crossed Park Lane and hurried up the pavement. As they reached the intersection with Hertford Street, a curricle, speeding up to take advantage of a momentary opening in the street traffic, splashed through a puddle. A spume of dirty water arced toward them.
“God damn it to hell!”
Felicity jumped. Partly in reaction to the frigid water spraying her, but also from Mr. Norris’s expletives. Most unacceptable for a gentleman in the presence of a lady, whatever the provocation. She raised her eyebrows. “Language, sir.”
His face contorted, so savage that, for a moment, she quailed. Then she stiffened her spine. “As I said, language, sir.”
His aspect still fierce enough to tear the sky open, he mumbled an apology that didn’t sound at all apologetic.
Felicity shivered. Some cold water had soaked through to her skin, but an additional, worse chill speared through her. How could she marry a man who raged over a trifle?
Snatches of Mr. Norris’s muttered curses burned her ears as he shook water off his greatcoat. Around them, unconcerned passers-by flowed along, and the previously pent-up traffic filled in the gap left by the long-gone curricle. A horse passing in front of them stopped and relieved itself. A curl of acrid steam and a tell-tale ammonia stench rose from the pile.
Felicity wrinkled her nose.
Mr. Norris scowled and pulled her a few steps down the street. “Filthy city.”
A ragged girl, carrying a broom and smiling despite the weather and the fetid odor, approached. “Sweep your way, sir and miss?”
“No!” the word exploded from Mr. Norris’s lips.
Smile still in place, the waif tipped her head toward the newest addition fouling the byway. “The street be very messy, what with the horses and the rain.”
“I said no!”
“But…”
“Can you not understand English?” Mr. Norris dropped Felicity’s hand and snatched up his walking stick, which hung on the arm holding the umbrella. He jerked the cane up. “I will teach you to annoy your betters.”
“No!” Felicity grabbed the cane.
The girl’s eyes widened and she bolted away.
Mr. Norris flung Felicity off. “What are you are doing? That urchin deserves a thrashing.”
“No, she does not!” Felicity gathered up her skirts and dashed after the street sweeper. The sheeting rain obscured her sight, but the girl ducked into the first alley in her path. Felicity followed.
The street sweeper leaned against the gritty wall, her chest heaving. Rain mixed with the tears streaming down her face. At Felicity’s approach, she mopped her face with an unwashed sleeve and backed farther down the passage. “I didn’t mean no harm, miss. Truly I didn’t.”
“I know. The man’s behavior was inexcusable.” Felicity plucked a shilling from her reticule. “No one will harm you. But if you see him again, stay away.”
The girl nodded as she clasped the coin in a shaking hand. “Thank ’ee miss. I’ll sweep up for you any time, no charge.”
“Miss White, where are you?” Mr. Norris’s voice echoed along the dank walls. Umbrella held high, he stood silhouetted at the end of the alley, facing toward the street.
The waif tensed.
Felicity grabbed her arm. “Go to my house at Number 6 South Audley Street and tell the housekeeper I sent you for a meal. My name is Miss Felicity White.”
The girl gave a wobbly curtsy. “You be too kind, miss. I thank ’ee again.”
“There you are.” Mr. Norris’s voice boomed down the cramped passage.
The girl hissed in a breath. Then she pivoted and hurtled toward the opposite exit to disappear into the street beyond.
Mr. Norris stepped forward, but the open umbrella prevented his entrance into the restricted space. More curses assaulted Felicity’s ears as Mr. Norris furled the umbrella before stalking toward her. “Blasted city. I’ve a mind to follow that whelp and give her the thrashing she deserves, but she is long gone.�
�� He halted beside her. “I assure you, nothing like that occurs on my estate. Quiet, peaceful and everyone does my bidding.”
“Mr. Norris, you are—”
He tapped his cane on the pavement, and then scowled as the tip stuck in something noisome. “Let us remove ourselves from this vile hole.” They returned to Hertford Street, where he snapped open the umbrella. “Why did you follow that urchin?”
“I paid that poor, terrified girl.”
“For what? She did nothing.”
“Because you would not let her.” Felicity drew herself up to her full height. Her pulse hammered, but Mr. Norris’s actions were loathsome. “The street sweepers are destitute and must make money however they can.”
“She was insolent.”
“Nonsense. You acted badly.”
“You dare to upbraid me?” His shout rang above the din of traffic and pedestrians.
Her pulse thundered. “When I see something unjust, I speak up.”
“You need to learn your place, too.” He gripped his walking stick harder and raised it slightly. “If you were my wife…”
Felicity backed up, her stomach twisting. “I am not your wife, nor will I ever be. Never come near me again.” She spun on her heel and dashed away. Her throat closed up. Would he follow and strike her? He looked as if he might.
“Miss White, I—damnation!”
She darted across Hertford Street, daring a peek over her shoulder only when the milling vehicles and people separated her from Mr. Norris.
Hands pressed to her middle, she laughed out loud.
Mr. Norris had stepped into the steaming horse pile he had refused to pay the street sweeper to remove.
Chapter 23
Bates paused in the drawing room entrance. “Mr. Norris to see you, miss.”
Felicity clenched her hands to still their trembling.
She had run home, ignoring the stitch in her side and casting glances behind her the entire way. Would Mr. Norris follow?
But he hadn’t. Apparently, tending his horses or cleaning his boots were his first priorities, for which she sent up a grateful prayer. As she ran gasping up the front steps, she steeled herself. Whatever Mama said, she would have nothing more to do with him. She burst into the drawing room, ready to blister her mother’s ears with the tale of Mr. Norris’s atrocious conduct, but Mama had gone visiting. Aunt Philadelphia snored in the corner, or she would have told her, too.
She caught up the leather-bound notebook that contained her latest manuscript. “Tell him I am not at home. In the future, I will never be at home to him.”
Bates nodded and turned away.
A masculine form shouldered him aside. “Miss White, I must speak with you.”
Felicity clasped her book to her chest. “Mr. Norris, we have nothing further to say to each other.” She nodded at the frowning butler. “Please escort this man out.” She would not call him a gentleman when he was anything but.
Bates stepped in front of Mr. Norris. “Sir, if you will follow me?”
Mr. Norris thrust out a hand and knocked the servant against the door frame.
Felicity gasped. “Bates, get several footman and remove this intruder.”
His normally impassive face hard, the butler straightened. “As quickly as I can.”
Settling his lapels, Mr. Norris, a sticking plaster on his damaged nose, strode forward as if he owned the room. “Miss White, I cannot allow you to continue as you have.”
“My actions are none of your concern.” She would not back away from him, although her knees had turned to pudding.
“Yes, it is. Your behavior on the street was unpardonable.” The sticking plaster lent him a clownish aspect, but the fire in his eyes scorched her.
“My behavior?” What effrontery! “Nothing of the sort. Yours was distinctly lacking.” She pointed at the door, thankful her hand didn’t shake. “Please leave.”
“No. Men are here to decide for women. Your foolish writing led you to defy me.” He curled his lip at the notebook she held. “Your book?”
At her nod, he sneered. “Women cannot write. Everyone knows the female mind is too inferior to pen an intelligent book.”
“Why, you—you—fool!” If she were a volcano, she would spew red-hot lava all over him. “Women are just as intelligent as men, if not more so.”
At the condescending tilt to his eyebrows, Felicity gripped her manuscript tighter. How she itched to plant him a facer. If she were a man, she would.
“And you mean to prove it by writing rubbish?” He waved at her book.
“Since you have never read my book, you cannot know whether or not it is rubbish.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, his every inch proclaiming his words were the final say. “I do not need to read it. Everyone knows women’s books are only for the feeble-minded.”
“You are totally illogical.”
He scowled. “Nonsense.”
Holding her manuscript before her like a shield, she advanced on him. “No. You condemn something without knowing what it is, and you expect me to bow down before your stupidity simply because you are male. Then those ‘everyones’ you speak of—and they are undoubtedly male, also—are as stupid as you.”
His face turned the red of a hot poker. “I see I must take you in hand. When we are wed—“
“I never agreed to wed you.”
“You will. And to make sure you do as I say, I will start with this dross.” He grabbed the manuscript, wrenched the fire screen away from the hearth and cast the book onto the burning logs. The covers fell open and the pages fluttered in the heated air.
“You cur!” She shoved him so hard he staggered, and then she ran to the fireplace. She pulled at the binding, but the flames almost engulfed the book. She reached for the tongs…
“What goes on here?” Frank filled the doorway. The butler, several footmen and maids hovered behind him.
“Mr. Norris threw my manuscript on the fire!”
Frank leaped to the grate. He plunged his hands into the flames and seized the smoldering notebook. He dumped the burning bundle onto the flagstones before the hearth, snatched a decorative blanket from the settee and tossed the cloth over the book.
The fire, as if disappointed at being deprived of easily-burned fuel, spat and hissed.
Frank spun around and hurled himself at the smirking Mr. Norris. “You blackguard!” His fist flew up and crashed into Mr. Norris’s nose, exactly where Mr. Tail Feathers had bit it.
Mr. Norris’s eyes rounded. Then he went down like a wall under a battering ram.
Frank, an avenging god having punished an erring mortal, towered over the inelegantly sprawled Mr. Norris.
Her hero.
Although his shaking his bruised hand ruined the effect a little.
The servants burst into the room and broke out in cheers.
Loud clapping sounded from the corner. “Good punch, young man.” Aunt Philadelphia clapped once more before folding her hands primly in her lap. “I do like a man who is handy with his fives.” She tilted her head toward Mr. Norris. “I never cared for that one. Too full of himself. I made a point of pretending sleep when he visited.” She yawned, adjusted the cushion behind her, and then dropped off into a real nap.
Felicity caught up Frank’s hands, red from the fire. “You are burned!” She motioned to the goggling maids. “One of you, fetch cold water, and return as fast as you can. The other, ointment and bandages. Run!” The servants dashed off.
She cradled his dear, scorched hands in hers. “Why did you do it?”
“Your book means a great deal to you. I could not let Norris destroy it.” He flexed his fingers and winced. “I am not that burned. I caught the edge of the cover that was not completely engulfed.” One corner of his mouth quirked up in his ever-ready smile. “I am most glad you bound the manuscript in something sturdy.”
“But you still need tending.” His hands were so red! When would those maids return?
&nb
sp; “How did your manuscript fare?” With a grimace, he lowered himself onto the sofa. Whatever he said, he still hurt.
Felicity lifted one side of the coverlet. A curl of smoke caught in her throat and she coughed, but the fire was out. After flipping the blanket aside, she riffled through the book. “A few sheets are singed, and the pages where the book opened are charcoal. But not too much damage. I can rewrite what was lost.”
“Good.” He bit his lip. “But I would also be most happy for that cold water.”
The crowd at the threshold parted to allow the returning maids entry. They quickly deposited the articles Felicity had requested on a nearby table. The one who brought the water pushed the bowl close to Frank. “The water is extra cold, sir. I added ice.”
Frank immersed his hands in the basin and grunted. “If one must rescue a manuscript from the fire, ample ice should always be available.” He grinned.
Felicity’s mouth twitched as she sank onto the sofa beside him. “Frank, you are so good to me. I am grateful.”
He stilled, and his face grew uncharacteristically solemn. “Anything for you, Felicity.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed. Could any other man be so wonderful? “But please, never do anything like that again.” She pleated the fabric of his sleeve. “I want you whole and healthy.” She pulled in a shaky breath. “For a long, long time.”
He removed a hand from the water and patted her shoulder, leaving a wet print on her dress. “I intend to be so.”
She sagged, as limp as a damp washrag. “Now, to clean up.” Without taking her gaze from Frank, she waved in the direction of Mr. Norris. “Bates, remove the rubbish.”
“With pleasure, miss.” The butler beckoned to three footman, who stooped to grab up the recumbent villain. From their murderous expressions, they didn’t intend to be gentle.
Mr. Norris stirred. Sitting up, he thrust the footmen’s hands away and rubbed his nose. Blood came off on his hand. “Wynne, I expect to meet you on the field of honor for this.”
Frank snorted. “Do not be a fool. I am the injured party here. What I should do is give you a good thrashing for insulting Miss White.” He stood, curling his dripping hands into fists. “In fact, I may do so right now.”