Rose trotted out of the room, but not without first glancing at Felicity with a look that promised she would return in a little while.
“Mama, what is the matter? Are you not happy for me?” asked Felicity.
“Oh, child.” Her mother sighed as she sat down in Rose’s place on the edge of the bed. “I am truly worried about you. You have changed so much. I barely recognise you anymore.”
Felicity felt a remark spring to the tip of her tongue, but she quickly swallowed it. It seemed to her that it was a little late in the scheme of things for her mother to be worried about her. But that is how her mother was, she thought. The fine lines in the corners of her eyes, the first lines of silver in her hair, and her hands, revealed the signs that she was no longer in her young years. She had always been gracious, and she loved her children, however, she was first and foremost the Duchess of Evesham, the duke’s wife, and thus predestined for the role of a mother who was not always as available for her children as they might have wished.
“Oh, Mama, please do not worry about me,” she said finally, and sat down next to her mother on the bed. “It is simply that, in the end, I realised that Lord Layton is quite nice...” She blushed at the blatant understatement. “... and that I will have to get married someday. However, he has not proposed – do not forget that.”
Her mother’s face lit up. “I am sure it will not be too long. After your outing today, I am certain that he will ask your father for your hand in marriage. Do you really want to marry him?”
“The question should rather be... is it his intention?” Felicity replied. She glanced at the clock once again.
“Please excuse me, Mama, but I have to go now. Lord Layton will be here at any moment. Please do not worry so much, all will be fine,” she reassured her mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek before she rose.
As if her thoughts had told him to do so, the butler was opening the door for him as Felicity descended the stairs. She nearly stumbled and was just able to hold on to the railing.
It was as if she was seeing him for the first time.
His face was the most distinctive and masculine she had ever seen. His short blond hair curled slightly over his temples. He had blue and alert eyes in a slightly tanned face. There was a powerful elegance in all of his movements. His hands, which she knew were scratched from his last match in the boxing ring, were now hidden inside his gloves. She knew how his hand felt in hers, and how much strength he had, as well as how his eyes narrowed when he was deep in thought. She had felt his mouth on hers.
Felicity felt dizzy. For the very last time, she compared him to Viscount Greywood, whose pleasant looks had only been a façade, covering up his viciousness. The true character of a human revealed itself in the actions he took and not in the words he may speak. Brigid had said something like that.
Whether as ‘the priest’ or Lord Layton – he was a gentleman.
“Lady Felicity,” he said as he came to meet her, stretching his hand out to her. She walked down the last few steps with trembling legs, leaning more into his hand than would have been considered appropriate. “Is everything all right?”
Nothing was all right. “But of course,” she replied sweetly, and heard her mother coming down the stairs behind her to greet their visitor. He did not take his eyes off Felicity.
“I understand.” He straightened his posture to greet the Duchess of Evesham but did not let go of Felicity’s hand. Even when her mother’s eyes glanced at those intertwined fingers, he made no attempt to release them. Before her mother could say something, Felicity said goodbye to her and let him lead her outside, after quickly making his farewells. His warm fingers squeezed hers slightly as they walked down the steps together.
Outside, they were greeted by the humidity of a typically British November afternoon. The prospect of riding in the open carriage for an hour or more, was anything but pleasant. Brigid, who again followed faithfully behind, would be cold, as well. The maid’s eyes widened with relief when Lord Layton handed her a thick woollen coat. It was far too big for her, but it would definitely protect her against the wind and rain. After Felicity had climbed into her seat, he tucked a thick blanket around her, as he had done the first time, and folded the canopy down, halfway. That would protect them from most of the rain, while still maintaining the appearance of propriety by remaining visible to everyone.
“Is that better?” he asked and leaned back as they drove off. Felicity managed a nod, which he accepted with a scrutinising look. “How is Joseph?” he asked so casually, that she was almost certain that he was trying to distract her.
“He is out,” Felicity replied. “Our coachman has taken him under his wing, and he is accompanying him today on the trips he has to do for my father.”
“That is good,” Lord Layton replied. “I am glad that we no longer have to expose him to the dangers that lie ahead of us.” Felicity perked up her ears but did not say anything. “I have spoken to my brother, and he has agreed to help us.”
“That is very kind of Sir John,” she managed to say. A tingling sensation began to spread in her stomach, as one would feel when a thunderstorm approached on a summer’s afternoon. Lord Layton made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if to say that his brother’s friendliness was a matter of course.
“Truly,” Felicity insisted and sat up straight. “I cannot thank the both of you enough for the help you give me. I do not know how I will be able to repay you.” They exchanged a glance that made her feel warm and then cold, and then warm again.
“Let me tell you what we have discovered so far.”
He began to talk.
Chapter 17
He ended his account as they passed Grosvenor Place for the second time. Luke signalled his coachman to continue his rounds. Reporting what he had learned from John took more time than expected, especially since he did not want to burden Felicity with details of the deaths of Finch and Lady Madeline, that John had entrusted to him. Again and again, Luke confirmed that she was fine and that his report was not frightening her excessively.
“I wish Annabelle and her husband were here,” she said when he finished. She chewed on her lower lip, lost in thought, but immediately stopped when she noticed his gaze on her. “I shall write to my sister right away and ask her to send Marcus to us.”
“I have already done that,” Luke replied. He had no doubts about his brother, but he wanted to make certain that both his main suspects were buried six feet under. If Marcus St. John had to look at the corpses, then so be it.
Felicity laughed shyly. “You wrote to my sister? Her husband will not be pleased about that,” she joked, despite the tension that was visible in her posture.
Luke had to smile about himself. “You know what I mean by that. The letter left via a rider last night, but even so, it could take at least seven days for St. John to arrive here.” He was hoping she would assume that he needed St. John’s support, for he was reluctant to go into the details any more than was absolutely necessary in her presence.
“Knowing Annabelle, she will not hesitate to accompany him on his travels back home,” Felicity said, frowning worriedly. “However, I would not like to put her in mortal danger for a second time.”
He would have been even happier, if he had been able to send Felicity and her sisters to the safety of St. John’s country home for a few days. There were too many uncertainties worrying him, but he could hardly go to her parents and ask them to entrust their unmarried daughter to him for the duration of his investigation.
“We do not have enough time to wait for St. John’s arrival, anyway,” Luke replied finally. Now, he needed to address the tricky part of the conversation. “The criminals have given us an ultimatum. If we do not show up on Friday, I am afraid that the worst could happen.”
“Which would be?” Deep in thought, Felicity tapped her gloved finger against her mouth, again and again. For a second, the sight of her mouth distracted him in a way that was far from adequate. It too
k everything in him to pull his gaze away from her lips, which he had tasted once.
“They will go public with their knowledge. One article in the newspaper is sufficient to start up an official investigation.” He did not have to say out loud what the scandal would mean for her.
Felicity fell silent and looked out into the fading daylight.
“And what if we take the wind out of their sails, and I go to the Bow Street Runners myself? I could speak with Mr Hawthorne. He is a pleasant man, and he might understand that I had no evil intentions. If I turn myself in, at least all of this nonsense will end!” By the end of the sentence, her voice rose, and her eyes darted back and forth.
“No,” Luke replied more harshly than he had intended. He saw Brigid’s head turn around to face them and gave Felicity’s maid a reassuring but forced smile. “No,” he repeated in a gentler way. “That is not the solution. It honours you that you do not seem to be concerned about your reputation, but as you confided to me yesterday, the rest of your family would have to suffer unnecessarily. Do not get me wrong,” he quickly added in the same breath, “... I don’t doubt for a second that you are innocent, regardless of how much you resist the idea. No court in the world would find you guilty of the death of Greywood, for the simple reason that it was a chain of unfortunate events and nothing else. But I will not allow you to continue punishing yourself any longer for something you are not to blame for.”
“My Lord,” Felicity replied, “... that is not your decision to make, it is mine.”
“Not anymore,” Luke replied without thinking. Her eyebrows pulled together tightly. “At the moment you accepted my help, your trouble became my affair.” Over the last few days, he had learned to read her face, but all of the contradicting feelings that were flashing over her features, were hard to decipher. He saw defiance, anger about his putative assertiveness, but also a hint of relief and even hope. “Allow me to continue to stand by your side. My brother and I have already hatched a plan to eliminate the two criminals.”
“What would that be?”
“The instruction was that you should return to the same location where the viscount died. My brother and I are both in agreement that this not only refers to the tavern, but also means the room. We were there to rent that particular room for ourselves – it is already reserved. The walls are thin enough, and we will be able to hear everything from the neighbouring room. As soon as there is as much as a speck of danger, we will immediately intervene.”
“How do you know which room it happened in? I have never told you that.”
“John has access to the reports from the Bow Street Runners, and we spoke with Detective Hawthorne, just this morning. Do not worry. He has no idea that we are investigating the death of the viscount. We only told him half the truth, namely that we are looking for Lady Madeline.”
The Runner had seemed to be a decent man, even though he did not appreciate the fact that new investigations were still not allowed, according to orders from the top.
“And the detective believed that two random men just wanted to chat with him about that case and then to have a look at his investigation files? No,” she said thoughtfully, “... I do not believe you. As I said, I have made Detective Hawthorne’s acquaintance and I do not believe that he would be so easily deceived.”
“That is not what I said.” She had a way of looking at him, whilst she was asking him her keen questions, that would befit any inquisitor.
“Please do not ask me why my brother has the authority to intervene in the investigation. He can tell you all about it, if he wants to do that.”
“All right, you will be in the next room listening,” she said, accepting the matter as closed. “And then further? I go there, I listen to what the two have to say – and then?”
“You will not set a foot inside the tavern. You will be safely in your parents’ house,” he replied and clearly saw that she was about to object. He quickly added: “We are sending another woman in your place, who will pose as Lady Felicity.”
“And, of course, neither the woman, nor her accomplice, will realise that it is not really me,” she said dryly and shook her head. “That is crazy. It will not work.”
“The lady will wear a veil, so nobody sees her face,” Luke explained. He was squirming internally, because Felicity was putting forward the same objections as he had to his brother, earlier. There were clearly too many unpredictable variables in this plan. But how else could he overwhelm the couple, since he had not the slightest clue who they were?
“I will not allow another woman to put herself in danger in my place,” Felicity insisted. “Either you find a way to include me in your plan, or I will find another way to speak with the woman face to face.” She smiled at him. Anyone else would have thought it a sweet, innocent smile, but not Luke. He trusted that she was quite capable of starting her own investigation. The thought of Felicity wandering, alone, around Whitechapel asking questions, made Luke feel ice cold.
They stared at each other, neither of them willing to yield even an inch.
“It looks like we have got a stalemate,” he finally commented, feverishly thinking of a way to make Felicity back down. “I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger.”
“And I will not allow anyone else to take responsibility for my mistakes,” was her reply.
“All right,” Luke said cautiously. “I will allow you to negotiate with the blackmailers yourself.” She did not need to know that he preferred to have her near him until the whole mess was over. “But” – He raised his hand in warning – “I will accompany you. There was never any talk of you going there alone.”
“That is true,” Felicity said. “Most likely, they know by now that I have found an ally in you.”
“We have one trump card to play,” Luke said. “They do not know that my brother will be there, as well.” He did not mention that his biggest fear was that the two criminals proved as unpredictable as he thought they might be. Never before had he wished more that John had inherited their father’s talents, as he did at that moment.
Had she been right to insist on her presence?
That was the question Felicity kept asking herself over the course of the next day. Deep down, she knew that she was doing the right thing, but there were moments when she wanted to make herself small and invisible. Lord Layton had told her that he would collect her on Friday evening at exactly half-past eight. He had obtained her father and mother’s permission to take her out once more, and they had immediately agreed, which had quite astonished Felicity, given the fact that she and Lord Layton were not officially engaged to one another. Her parents either had to be desperate to get her married off, or they had given up all hope of persuading Felicity to at least appear of virtuous behaviour, as a lady should.
She did not seriously believe that her parents were indifferent towards her, but despite all their amiability, her mother always seemed rather absentminded and her father was constantly preoccupied with his own pursuits. His club, his seat in the parliament, and lately his ever-expanding business (whatever nature it was) kept him away from his family. If she truly were to marry in the near future, then she would only take a man who loved his children enough that he was willing to spend sufficient time with them. She let out a hearty sigh. These were just idle thoughts, and right now, she did not have time for them.
Much more important was the question of what to expect tonight. She had chosen to wear her dark-blue cotton dress. It was fashionable enough for an outing with a suitor (and that meant her mother would not be suspicious) and paired with a dark coat, it was inconspicuous enough for Whitechapel. The bonnet… There was a knock on the door. She quickly pulled the coverlet over the dark fabric, but it was only Brigid.
“My Lady, there’s a gentleman who wishes to speak to you, but in private, he said.” She handed Felicity a card made of stiff white paper bearing Mr Hawthorne’s name. “He’s waiting for you at the garden gate. Do you wish to see him, or shall I notif
y the butler or the stable boy?”
It said a lot about Brigid’s care for Felicity that the woman had not instantly chased away the stranger. Well, with all the secrecy, the nightly excursions, and all the dangers they had faced so far, it was hardly surprising that Brigid now considered Felicity to be a woman of dubious morals. Maybe, Felicity thought as she descended the stairs, Brigid knew from her own painful experience, that one did not always have the luxury of acting as fine society expected.
To her relief, there was no one present in the parlour nor inside the garden, who could have seen her. The narrow alleyway behind the house was empty except for the Bow Street Runner, who was waiting for her, his hands stiffly folded behind his back. He was wearing a coat that had obviously been made by a skilled tailor. Felicity had to shake her head at herself. What on earth had gotten into her, that she should be thinking about the fashion of a man who possibly suspected her of a murder, at a time such as this?
Her heart was pounding wildly as she pulled the gate shut behind her and walked the few steps towards him.
“Mr Hawthorne,” she said as calmly as she was able to.
“Lady Felicity.” He pulled his hat off. “Forgive my unorthodox manner of contacting you, but I could not think of a plausible excuse to visit you in your parents’ house.”
She was silent. What could she have possibly replied? Anything she could say would only have confirmed his suspicions about her. As much as she had played with the idea of confiding in him last night, it was utterly impossible today. Not after Lord Layton had been wounded on her account, his brother had been informed, and the two men would be risking their lives by accompanying her.
The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy Page 37