Her first gentleman caller! How excited she had been. What she didn’t know – what she couldn’t know – was that Ezra would be her only gentleman caller. But at the time the only thing she was thinking about was how handsome he looked in his black tailcoat with his hair slicked back and his jaw freshly shaven.
He stood up when she entered the room, and her cheeks blushed with delight when he lifted her hand and brushed his mouth across the back of it.
“It is my deepest pleasure to see you again, Miss Atwood,” he said, his voice clear and crisp. “Your stunning beauty puts these roses to shame, but I beg you to please accept them as a token of my blossoming affections.”
Felicity’s blush spread from her face to her collarbone, but her impeccable manners did not fail her as she graciously accepted the flowers and dipped into a perfect curtsy complete with a demure chin tilt. “Thank you, Lord Ashburn. I shall treasure these always.”
“I am sorry my husband could not be here to receive you, Lord Ashburn,” Mrs. Atwood said once they’d sat by the front window, Felicity beside her mother and Ezra centered across from them in the middle of a striped chaise lounge. “His father is ailing, I am afraid, and he was called to his bedside early this morning.”
“I am terribly sorry to hear that,” said Ezra. “Please extend my wishes for a speedy recovery.”
Mrs. Atwood nodded. “Thank you, my lord. I shall do that.”
A maid brought in a platter of refreshments, and over tea and scones they discussed a variety of topics from the weather to the opening of a new exhibit in the Leverian Museum. Named for Sir Ashton Lever, the museum boasted the largest collection of natural curiosities in all of England.
Any mention of politics was avoided, of course, as was anything that could be considered gossip. The rules governing polite conversation were quite strict, and both Felicity and Ezra adhered to every one while Mrs. Atwood looked on with a vague smile.
When it was time for Ezra to leave, Felicity accompanied him to the foyer and watched through the stained glass oval in the middle of the door as he walked to his carriage. Her heart fluttered in time with his steps, and before the black coach pulled away she fancied herself in love.
“What do you think?” she asked breathlessly when her mother rested her hand upon her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Isn’t he perfect?”
“No man is perfect, my dear. But,” Mrs. Atwood quickly added when Felicity frowned, “I can certainly find no fault in his character, and I can see how taken you are with him.”
“He is everything I could have ever hoped for. Do you think he will call upon me again?”
“I think he would be a fool not to, and Lord Ashburn does not strike me as a fool.” Mrs. Atwood waited patiently for her daughter to finish gazing out the window like a love struck fawn before she clapped her hands together and said, “Come along now. We have a fitting appointment to prepare for.”
Felicity gasped. “I completely forgot!”
Mrs. Atwood smiled. “I thought as much. Hurry along and change, my dear. I shall wait for you here.”
Giddy with thoughts of Ezra, Felicity did not notice how quickly her mother’s smile faded. Or the hardness in her eyes when she turned and stared out the stained glass window.
Chapter Sixteen
When Felicity and Felix stepped into the parlor Mrs. Atwood was standing beside the mantle gazing at a miniature portrait of her husband, and the children were nowhere to be seen.
“They’ve gone upstairs for an afternoon rest,” she said as she turned around. “The poor dears wore themselves out trying to see who could build the higher tower. Anne won, but only because she knocked Henry’s over. Clever girl.” The only evidence that she was surprised to see a strange man in her parlor was a quick blink as her gaze swerved past her daughter and narrowed on Felix. “And who might this be? You do not look like any solicitor I’ve ever seen. Pesky nuisances, solicitors. Always trying to get you to purchase something you have no need for. You’re not going to try to sell me a fan, are you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Felix.
“Good. Are those flowers for me?”
“Aye, that they are.”
“You may place them in the vase over there. The green one, not the blue. I always thought purple flowers looked best in a green vase. Now forget-me-knots and dahlias, they should always be paired with blue. But for lavender and irises, green is best.” She paused and her eyes, the same unusual color as her daughter’s, flicked from the flowers to Felicity. “You know dear, it is very unseemly to let me blather on without introducing me to your gentleman caller.”
“Oh no,” Felicity hastened to explain as her cheeks flushed with color just like they had eight years ago, although this time for an entirely different reason. “He is not here to call on me. He is here to...well, come to think of it I do not know why he is here. He has a habit of dropping in whenever he pleases.”
“Does he now?” Mrs. Atwood murmured.
Realizing how she’d made it sound, Felicity’s face turned even redder. “That isn’t what I - oh bother.” So much for only dipping her toe in the water. Another faux pas like that one and she might as well submerge her entire head. “Mother, this is Mr. Felix Spencer. He is a Runner on Bow Street and an acquaintance, not a gentleman caller.” Or a gentleman at all for that matter, she added silently.
This had been a very poor idea. But there was nothing she could do about it now except finish the introductions and get Felix out of the room as quickly as possible. It shouldn’t be too difficult, she reflected. Her mother was not a woman who suffered rogues lightly. Felix wasn’t going to be able to charm her as easily as he had Felicity, and she was confident that within just a few minutes he would be sent on his way.
“Mr. Spencer, may I introduce my mother, Mrs. Atwood.”
“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Felix crossed the room and lifted her mother’s hand to his lips. “It is easy to see where your daughter inherited her beauty. You are absolutely stunning.”
Felicity’s smile was glib as she waited for her mother to deliver a crushing let down, but to her utter astonishment Mrs. Atwood batted her lashes and giggled like a schoolgirl.
“Oh Mr. Spencer, you are a flirt, aren’t you?” Fluttering a hand in front of her face, she giggled again.
“Mother?” Felicity said uncertainly. “Are you not feeling well?”
Mrs. Atwood waved off her concern with a flick of her wrist as Felix put the lavender bouquet in the green vase. “I am perfectly fine. Better now that I’ve such a handsome man as this in my parlor. Pray tell Mr. Spencer, how is it you came to be an acquaintance of my dear daughter?”
Felix slanted Felicity a sideways glance that was nothing less than devilish. “Truth be told it’s quite an interesting story.”
“No,” Felicity said quickly. “No, the story is not interesting. In fact, it is very boring.” It was one thing to introduce Felix to her mother as a Runner. At least that was a respectable position. But if Mrs. Atwood learned her daughter had been keeping company with a reformed jewel thief Felicity did not know what her mother would do, or say. Especially if Felix revealed they’d kissed not once, not twice, but three times! But he wouldn’t dare. Would he? She peeked at him beneath her lashes, saw the wicked glint in his eye, and decided that yes, he very much would dare.
Oh dear.
Oh dear, oh dear.
“Why do we not have a seat,” Mrs. Atwood said, oblivious to her daughter’s mounting panic, “and you can tell me all about it, Mr. Spencer.”
“I really do not think Mr. Spencer has the time–”
“I’d love nothing more, ma’am,” Felix interrupted, flashing her mother’s his most charming of grins.
“Please, call me Dorothea.”
Felicity’s jaw actually dropped. “Mother,” she hissed. “Mother, you cannot be serious.”
“Why not?” Mrs. Atwood lifted a brow. “We are among friends, aren’t we? Surely the world will
not catch fire if we address each other by our given names.”
“Yes, but–”
“Do be a dear and fetch Mr. Spencer a cup of tea, won’t you? The poor man looks positively parched.”
“I am rather thirsty,” Felix said gravely. “Chasing criminals does take its toll, I am afraid.”
Mrs. Atwood clucked her tongue. “I can only imagine. You do this city a great service, young man. We are in your debt.”
Oh for heaven’s sake.
“He is a Runner, Mother. Not the Prince Regent.”
Mrs. Atwood frowned at her daughter. “Please do not insult our guest by comparing him to that man, Felicity. We all know Mr. Darcy would make a better Prince Regent.”
That man, otherwise known as George Augustus Frederick, son of Mad King George and heir to the throne of England, was not highly regarded by…well, by anyone. While his father babbled away to dead people – or so the rumors went – the Prince Regent spent his days gambling and drinking and plotting on how best to overthrow the king.
“The tea, if you would be so kind, Felicity. Mr. Spencer is waiting.”
Felicity looked at Felix. If his smug grin and the amusement dancing in his eyes was any indication he was enjoying himself immensely at her expense.
Bothersome man.
She should have known better than to invite him in, but now there was nothing left to do but grit her teeth and suffer through. She still could not believe how her mother – her practical, no nonsense, do-not-fidget-and-keep-your-chin-up mother – was behaving, but perhaps she was coming down with a fever. It would certainly explain the giggling and the eyelash fluttering.
“Of course.” She managed a tight smile. “Just a moment.”
While her mother and Felix sat down across from one another, Felicity stomped to the side buffet and poured a cup of tea. She poured another cup for herself and seriously entertained the idea of adding a splash of her father’s whisky before deciding she needed wits about her more than she needed a stiff drink.
“Here you are, Mr. Spencer.” Delivering his tea with the sweetest – and fakest – of smiles, she started to sit beside her mother, but with a shake of her head Mrs. Atwood pointed at the empty chair right next to Felix.
“You know how I like to look at someone when I am speaking to them,” she said.
Felicity knew nothing of the sort, but not wanting to argue she did as her mother asked. She could feel Felix watching her as she sank gracefully into the chair and smoothed out her skirts and she kept her gaze straight ahead, not wanting to look at him any more than was absolutely necessary. “So,” she began brightly, “what do you think about this weather? It has been unusually sunny, has it not?”
“Mr. Spencer, I believe you were going to tell me how you and Felicity first met,” said Mrs. Atwood, completely ignoring her daughter’s desperate attempt to steer the conversation in direction that did not lead straight to reformed criminals and stolen kisses.
“Aye, I believe I was.” Felix leaned back in his chair, the soles of his boots disappearing beneath the wooden coffee table as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Fact of the matter is, Mrs. Atwood–”
“Dorothea.”
Felix’s grin was adoringly bashful. “Of course. Please excuse me. Fact of the matter is, Dorothea, when I met your daughter I was in the middle of a jewelry heist, such as it were.”
This, Felicity predicted darkly, was not going to end well.
“As it was a secret assignment for Bow Street I can’t give ye all the details,” Felix went on, “but I can tell ye that your daughter came upon me while I was gathering evidence and I was forced to detain her or risk the entire operation going under.”
Mrs. Atwood gasped out loud. “Oh my goodness. How thrilling! What happened then?”
Thrilling? Her mother thought Felix breaking the law was thrilling? The fever was getting worse, Felicity decided. Although her mother did not look like she was sick. Truth be told she looked the best she had in months. There was a missing sparkle in her eye and her cheeks were pleasantly flushed. She seemed…happy. Just like Henry had when Felix offered to take him Ponding and little Anne when he’d taught her the different horse colors.
Considering, Felicity took a sip of tea as Felix continued.
“Your daughter, thinking I was a nefarious sort for some reason or another–”
“Because you were stealing jewelry,” she could not help but interrupt.
“Let the man speak,” Mrs. Atwood chided. “Go on, Mr. Spencer. You were saying?”
“Unbelievable,” Felicity muttered.
“I wasn’t stealing jewelry, love.” Felix looked hurt at the mere suggestion. “As I told Dorothea, I was gathering evidence.”
“Evidence you’ve yet to return,” she pointed out. “Evidence that does not belong to you.”
“Aye, ye are right about that. It’s property of Bow Street now.” He tilted his head so only she could see his quick, mischievous wink. “And who knows when it will be needed again?”
“I believe it is safe to say that case is closed, don’t you?” she said meaningfully. “Given that the two individuals involved have most assuredly resolved their differences.”
His rangy shoulders lifted and fell in an innocent shrug. “Ye never can tell about these things.”
“Since we both attended their wedding, I think in this particular case we can.”
“Aye, ye might be right about that.” He lowered his voice. “But I’m still not giving that hair comb back.”
Their gazes met. Held. Lingered. Felicity felt the muscles in her stomach clench as the butterflies she’d been doing her very best to suppress stirred to life and stretched out their wings. She bit her bottom lip, an unconscious gesture that drew Felix’s gaze down to her mouth. His eyes darkened, dusky beige turning to deep bronze as he shifted towards her, a subtle movement that brought their bodies within inches of touching.
Mrs. Atwood cleared her throat. Loudly. “I do believe we can all agree that the circumstances under which you met my daughter were unusual, Mr. Spencer.”
“Aye.” Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from Felicity, Felix straightened in his chair. “That we can.”
“And now the two of you are…friends?”
“Acquaintances,” Felicity said quickly.
Felix leaned forward. “Would ye like to hear the truth, Dorothea?”
“Always,” Mrs. Atwood replied without hesitation.
“Well then, the truth is that I fancy daughter. More than fancy, to be honest. And I’d like your permission to court ‘er.”
“Mr. Spencer,” Felicity gasped even as a delighted thrill shot down her spine and her cheeks flushed a deep, delighted pink. “My mother does want to hear–”
“Yes,” Mrs. Atwood said calmly. “Your mother does. Now then, Mr. Spencer.” She gestured at him to continue with an elegant wave of her hand. “Go on. Before my daughter so rudely interrupted – again – you were saying…?”
Felix settled back in his chair, hands lightly curled around the scrolled ends of the armrests. “I’ve been tryin’ to court her, but it seems I haven’t been doing a very good job as she’s not yet fallen for my considerable charms. Seeing as she’s fond of rules and such I thought if I did it all proper like, with your permission, she might be more…”
“Agreeable?” Mrs. Atwood suggested.
Felix flashed her a grin. “Aye. More agreeable. She’s a stubborn woman, your daughter. Has an answer for ever damn thing, no matter what it is. And she’s always picking fights.”
“I am not always trying to pick a fight!” Felicity exclaimed. “You are the one who is argumentative.”
Felix glanced at Felicity and then back at her mother with one brow raised as if to say, ‘Do ye see what I mean’?
The corners of Mrs. Atwood’s mouth twitched, but she managed to retain a sober expression. “I must admit I find this all very interesting, Mr. Spencer, as the daughter I know would never dare d
o anything as unladylike as argue. Nor would she keep company with a man of your…shall we say, temperament.”
Shame and embarrassment had Felicity squirming in her chair. Hadn’t she already put her poor mother through enough with the divorce? And her father! She wouldn’t have been surprised if he was turning in his grave. Oh, why had she allowed herself to be wooed by a rogue? And not just any rogue, but a common born thief! One who had openly admitted to any number of inappropriate acts, the least of which was stealing precious jewelry from her own closest friend! Felix was exactly the sort of man her mother had once warned her to stay far away from. She never should have spoken to him, let alone fallen in love!
As if you had much choice in the matter, her heart reminded her. He may have pursued you first, but he wasn’t the only one participating in those kisses. Or have you forgotten?
Oh do be quiet, her head replied. You’re the one who got us in this mess in the first place!
“Mother, please let me explain–”
“Do be quiet, Felicity.”
“But Mother, if you would just–”
“I said be quiet.”
Felicity’s cheeks paled. She may have been a woman full grown, but when Mrs. Atwood used that tone of voice she would forever be an eight-year-old girl with her hand caught in the cake tin.
“Yes Mother,” she said meekly, lowering her gaze to her lap where her fingers had twisted into one large knot of abashment.
“Now then. Where were we, Mr. Spencer? Oh yes,” Mrs. Atwood said pleasantly. “You had just ask for my permission to court my daughter, and I was about to tell you how exceedingly inappropriate the ton would find such a relationship. Why, I dare not even imagine the gossip it would stir. Have you thought about what people will say?”
“No. That I haven’t.”
“And why not?” Mrs. Atwood queried.
“Because I don’t give two shites what anyone thinks. Never have before, and I don’t plan on starting anytime soon.” He leaned back in his chair, embodying a perfect air of nonchalance save for the sudden rigidity in his fingers as his grip on the armrests tightened. “I know I’m probably not the sort of man you envisioned ever asking for permission to court your daughter.”
A Dangerous Proposal (Bow Street Brides Book 2) Page 16