Jonathon smiled down at her, gently pulling her so that she fit securely against his chest. “No. The stars were made for dreams.”
And he was falling again. The sensation was much stronger this time, and he was struck by a sudden panic that it would be much more painful when he inevitably hit the ground. Why was he becoming lost in her large chameleon eyes when he knew he did not belong there? And why was he charming her when he needed to get her as far away from him as possible? Gregory would not rest until he could destroy all possibilities of Jonathon’s happiness, especially if he discovered that Jonathon was afflicted by a fancy for the duke’s daughter.
“White.”
Jonathon’s head jerked up quickly and he offered a return nod to the passing black-clad lord. “Fenna.”
Lord Fenna’s expression was decidedly amused as he continued past, but Jonathon was grateful for the well-intentioned interruption. Felicity was nervous in his arms, like a horse ready to bolt. Jonathon fought the urge to laugh as he realized that perhaps he had been wrong, and women and horses were not so dissimilar.
“You should return to your father,” he murmured, releasing her elbows. “The dream is over.” He felt dull teeth gnawing against his heart when tears swelled in her eyes.
“What if I do not want to wake up?”
“We cannot keep living if we do not wake. Maybe someday I will be able to pursue dreams, but it is not yet that day.” He brushed his gloved fingers against her cheek, wondering what had just happened to his life. Felicity confused and attracted him, and that was a dangerous combination for a man unused to such distractions.
It was obvious she had no desire to step away from him, so he took the initiative. “Good afternoon, Lady Felicity.”
Felicity twirled a loose strand of hair around her fingers, her elbows propped against her windowsill and her knees trapped between the back and cushion of an old armchair. The night air felt pleasant against her skin, gently cooling her cheeks as a teasing breeze snuck through the open window. Stars blinked down at her from the endless stretch of dark sky, but though she tried to name the constellations, tears blurred her vision. She scrubbed the salt from her cheeks.
It was his fault.
She did not understand the painful longing in her chest, or the melancholy sigh that escaped her lips as she tried to utilize her favourite pastime to improve her mood. The stars had been cruelly stolen from her when he told her the dream was over, and she did not know how to return to the land of slumber. Even if she could, would he be there?
Mr. Jonathon White.
His name should not send a soothing balm through her veins. His name should not lift the corners of her lips into a faint smile, nor make her heart flutter inside her chest. She had no reason to believe herself in love, not when she had been angry with him until that afternoon, but she could think of no other ailment to cause such peculiar sensations in her body. Perhaps it was simply a passing fancy. He was handsome, and polite, and liked her better when she acted the way she wanted instead of the way she had always been told. Those traits were enough to make any woman fancy any man.
She had never fallen into a fit of fancy before and so was uncertain how to proceed. If her mother were alive she could seek guidance from a fellow woman, but the duchess had died when Felicity was a babe and Felicity had always been forced to question her father, which was unacceptable in the current situation. She had no choice but to sort out her feelings on her own.
If it was merely fancy, it would pass and the stars would soon enough be hers. If it was something more…
Her father would stand in the way. The Duke of Avondale did not tolerate upstarts, and he would view Mr. White with disdain even if Jonathon were the richest man in all of England. He wanted a title for his daughter, and would be satisfied with nothing less.
Felicity did not think she cared one whit for a title, or a plethora of money. She had lived twenty-four years with both and had never been remarkably happy; at least not as happy as she had felt while in Jonathon’s arms. There was no one in London she truly considered a friend. It was tempting to use her pin money to buy fare to America, where she could escape the pressures her father placed on her, and be herself. However, a woman on her own was not respectable. Though she desired freedom she was terrified of being seen as anything less than respectable.
If she travelled with Jonathon, and they were married…but he seemed determined to be alone. His words and actions aroused her curiosity. He spoke like he viewed her as a dream he could never achieve, but he held her in his arms and made her feel the most wonderful sensations of safety and joy. He acted like a gentleman, but spoke like a man on the verge of destitution.
There was something—or someone—standing between them, but should she see that as a sign that Jonathon was not right for her? Or should she see it as a challenge, a search for truth like in a play? She did not want to end up like many of the women in Greek tragedies, but if it was her only chance at finding true happiness she had no choice but to take the risk.
She needed to know if Jonathon was the one.
Chapter Three
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“Our situation is finally improving,” Jonathon informed his reflection with a grin. “Pranks proved that gambling is not a lecherous disease in the family. Although I will not be surprised if Gregory lost even more of my money,” he added, his expression turning grim. “It is a good thing I deposited most of my winnings with my investor.”
Weeks of being deprived of every odd penny he earned had instilled a thorough distrust in the safety of his pocketbook. Gregory was certain to find any money Jonathon carried on his person or stored in his rooms, so he was taking every precaution to protect his dwindling funds. He carried only what he needed for the day, and left the rest in the hands of Toby, an old cavalry friend turned investor and banking expert. It made it dreadfully difficult to carry on a decent living, but Jonathon would do whatever it took to keep his brother’s hands off his money.
“If only I could explain that to Lady Felicity,” he muttered, straightening his cravat.
The past few days he had acted against his reason and casually pretended to have chance encounters with her in Hyde Park. It saved him the trivial money for flowers—and the social homicide of his brother discovering he was fond of a duke’s daughter—while preserving his pride and providing him the opportunity to continue their acquaintance without pressure of courtship. He hoped she understood that he could not court her, but he had seen the glimmer of a smile in her eyes when she first sighted him in the park. She was thrilled to see him every day, thrilled to speak with someone who did not force her to act out a social charade, and thrilled to laugh at his witty remarks about their fellow park-goers. Perhaps it was wrong of him to pretend that their moments together were anything less than an attempt to secretly impress her, but he would be lost forever if he admitted to himself that her laugh warmed his heart.
At first he believed her eyes were a chameleon shade of grey, but now he was convinced they were the colour of the stars that twinkled as soon as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. While he was pleased by his ability to describe her eyes, he was having a difficult time falling asleep; he thought of her every time he glanced out his window to watch the stars.
He recognized that he was turning into a melancholy romantic, but he was unsure how else to proceed. Having never been exposed to honest emotions in male figures during his childhood, he had no basis for how he should react to the emotions Lady Felicity Ryans incurred. He admired her patience, he envied her sharp wit, and he appreciated her blunt honesty. Though he enjoyed the few conversations they had shared in Hyde Park, his greatest pleasure came from watching her interact with society. Now that he knew her true personality, it was entertaining to watch the way she politely shied from those she found repulsive. She struggled to interact with those outside her usual acquaintance—an effort he suspected was for his gratification—but society feared the duke’s daughter, even when
she smiled so becomingly with her full, soft lips.
The only similarity between Felicity and Lady Felicity Ryans was her raven black hair and starry eyes. Lady Felicity Ryans’s overwhelming beauty faded away when she simply became Felicity. She was still beautiful, of course, but Felicity’s beauty radiated from her smile and eyes, from her laugh and the shy tilt of her chin when she caught him watching her from across the room. They were careful not to stray too close to one another in the ballroom, but that did not stop Jonathon from experiencing the curious sensation of falling every time their eyes met.
He let out a sigh and turned away from his reflection, reminding himself that he needed to remain in control of his emotions. It was simple enough to believe oneself in love—or even simply smitten—and another thing entirely to actually be in love. He did not think he was in love, but he certainly harboured more interest for her than he had ever felt for any other woman. He feared she would make him forget his resolve to wait for his investments to grow if she continued to impress him during their clandestine meetings in Hyde Park.
“I should at least buy her a single rose,” he decided, placing his black beaver hat on his head. “She deserves that much as a sign of my interest.”
He paused in the process of donning his black leather gloves when the front door of his apartment burst open.
“You look too proper for a man on the verge of bankruptcy, brother.”
Jonathon grimaced as his older brother sauntered through the door. Gregory’s broad shoulders blocked much of the light from the clear London sky outside, but Jonathon still had to blink several times while he waited for his brother to close the door.
Gregory’s thin lips twisted into a sneering smile as he raked his eyes over Jonathon. “You do not look pleased to see me, John.”
“I am headed out, Gregory,” Jonathon stated bluntly. “We can socialize at another time.”
“Socialize?” Gregory tilted his head to the right, and then to the left, as if stretching the long tendons of his thick neck. “I do pity you, John. You never learn from your mistakes. Or, perhaps, you are simply oblivious to the truth.”
“I do not have time for you, Gregory.” Jonathon did not like the sudden gleam in his brother’s dark brown eyes. He had never thought he shared any traits with his older brother beyond their colouring, and that was reinforced by Gregory’s ever-expanding waistline. Gregory stood a few inches shorter, though his shoulders were a few inches wider, but his form revealed the true difference in their lifestyles. Jonathon had always been athletic; Gregory had always been fond of rich meals and bountiful wine cellars, to which he somehow retained access despite the fact he could no longer afford either.
“You will always have time for me, John,” Gregory murmured, his fingers playing against the emerald that capped his hawthorn cane. His left hand slipped inside his bulging coat to retrieve his fob watch, and he studied the time languidly, as if determined to do everything he could to annoy his sibling. After replacing the watch he gifted his brother with a smirk. “After all, I own you. Everything you have is mine.”
“The courts might see that differently.”
“The courts?” Gregory chuckled and shook his head in amusement. “You do not have the money to take me to the courts, John. Although…”
Although Jonathon’s chest tightened he kept his breathing even, unwilling to let his brother see him so unnerved. He had been wise to dispose of his winnings, but he had no ready answer for why his apartments and bank account were devoid of said winnings. Gregory would suspect foul play and would, like a hound, sniff until he found his prey.
“I’ve heard that Pranks treated you well, brother.”
Jonathon remained obstinately silent.
“How much did you win?”
“Not enough to satisfy your taste for Watier’s,” Jonathon retorted. “How did you lose my money this time, brother? Macao or hazard? Or did you simply overindulge in the edible delights?”
Gregory bowed in recognition of his brother’s blunt accusations. “You know me well, John, but you forget our debt.”
“I am not in debt to anyone,” Jonathon contradicted, shoving his hands into his gloves. “It is not my fault that you gambled away the family fortune while I fought for England.”
“Don’t throw your patriotism in my face, John,” Gregory snapped. The end of his cane sharply prodded Jonathon’s chest before Jonathon could move. “It does not impress me.”
“Nothing impresses you unless it is doused in oyster sauce.”
Gregory patted his stomach and regarded his younger brother with amused curiosity. “Your wit is improved, but not your temper. As much as I would love to stay and banter, I have an engagement to keep. The money, if you do not mind, John.” He held out his hand expectantly.
Jonathon squared his shoulders. “I have ten quid in my pocketbook, Gregory, no more.”
“I doubt that.” He snapped his fingers. “Give it over. Now.”
“No.”
“Oh, John,” Gregory sighed, retracting his hand and shoving it under his coat. “We must work on your stubbornness. I do not have time for it.”
Jonathon grimaced as his brother drew a pistol and levelled it against his forehead. “Will you really shoot me, Gregory?” He did not believe his brother capable of murder, but an unfamiliar glint in Gregory’s dark eyes made Jonathon nervous.
“Neither you nor I wish to know the answer to that, John,” Gregory warned. “This is my favourite coat, and I have no doubt your blood will stubbornly cling to me.” He cocked the pistol. “Do not try my patience, John.”
Jonathon tossed his pocketbook against his brother’s stomach. “Take it, then, but you will be disappointed. In paying off your debts I have given you everything I have, Gregory. I cannot afford future gambling losses.”
Gregory returned his pistol to his coat as he frowned at his brother’s pocketbook, which did include only ten quid. “This is not enough, John. You must have more than this tucked away.” He narrowed his eyes and again lifted his cane to rest against John’s chest. “Are you lying to me, John? Trying to reform my ways? Mama could not accomplish that, and nor will you.”
Jonathon acknowledged his brother’s words with a frown. “I have nothing left to give, unless you wish to sell me to Thompson as a slave?”
“Not a bad idea,” Gregory muttered. “If I find out that you have not been honest with me, I will squeeze you for every last half farthing. Keep that in mind for our next discussion, eh, John?
“You are lucky you have these apartments through the year,” he added. “I suppose you will have no choice but to live with me or with Mama, unless you procure a job.”
“If I procure a job you will still take every penny I earn.”
Gregory grinned and tipped his hat. “So I will. Good day, John. We shall speak again soon.”
Jonathon scowled as he watched Gregory depart, but before he could slam the door behind his brother he spotted a familiar figure walking past.
“Miss Catherine!” He hastened down the steps to join her and her friend.
“Mr. White!” Miss Catherine Burnel’s eyes widened at his sudden appearance. “You do look dreadful, Mr. White.”
“I should,” he muttered. “I need your help, Miss Catherine. I do not know who else to turn to for this.”
She took his arm and motioned for him to escort her friend as well. “Walk with us, then, and tell me what you need. You can trust Miss Emily to be discreet.”
“I will walk as far as the Ravenwoods’ townhouse. The marquis has been gracious enough to permit me to ride Beth in Hyde Park every afternoon.” He was grateful for Lord Ravenwood’s continued generosity when it came to his mare, especially considering it furthered his ability to discreetly converse with Lady Felicity.
“The Ravenwoods are always gracious,” Miss Catherine agreed. “Now, what do you require?”
Felicity nodded briskly at one of her acquaintances, her hands fiddling impatiently with t
he reins of her palfrey. Jonathon was late; if she made another circuit through the Route de Roi her actions would be considered suspicious.
“Lady Felicity,” a soft voice greeted.
She turned in her saddle to see Jonathon seated comfortably atop his high-spirited mare, and she offered him a wide smile.
“Mr. White.”
He rode up beside her and they continued together, careful not to show any further sign of a purposeful meeting.
“I was afraid you would not be able to ride today,” she murmured, holding the reins in one hand while she smoothed out her pale green skirts. “Perhaps we should have a more specific time.”
“I cannot meet you here again,” he apologized.
She glanced across at him in surprise. “But—”
“If my brother discovers us together he will make both our lives a living hell,” Jonathon explained, not meeting her eyes. He had been able to tell Miss Catherine most of the details, and she had urged him to keep his feelings for Lady Felicity a secret from everyone but Lady Felicity.
Felicity frowned, and he saw her gloved hands tighten around the reins. “I do not understand why your brother should have any say in our lives.”
“Do you believe your father will approve of me as a matrimonial candidate?” Jonathon queried, arching a brow. “I see the answer in your expression. My brother is very much like your father; he enjoys controlling others. If Gregory thinks I have even an iota of interest in a woman, he will do everything in his power to take her away from me. I want to court you, Lady Felicity. But for your own safety, I cannot. Yet.”
She was surprised by his words. Caught as she was in her state of smitten fantasy, she had not stopped to consider that Jonathon had to bow to the demands of his older brother, who stood as the head of his family. She had suspected that Earl White had control over Jonathon’s perilous finances, and she immediately chastised herself for not realizing the extent of the earl’s power.
To Marry the Duke's Daughter (After the Masquerade) Page 3