“Lady Sylvia White here to see you, sir,” the butler announced while Sylvia waited outside Avondale’s brightly lit study.
She stepped inside after a low voice uttered a surprised enter.
“Forgive me for intruding, Lord Avondale, but you must allow me to tell you the truth about my sons,” she started, never at ease mincing words.
The duke stood as she entered, and was polite enough to offer her a bow and lead her to a seat opposite his desk. She did not know why that surprised her, but she was able to direct her surprise to the butler, who stated that he would call for tea.
“I am astonished that you would come all this way to lecture me, Lady White,” Lord Avondale started.
She missed the duke’s wry smile and so snapped, “Don’t flatter yourself, Lord Avondale. I came to tell Gregory that if he does not stop stealing from his brother, I will expose him as the liar and cheat that he is. Jonathon is twice the man his brother is, and you would do well to recognize that.”
Carlton chuckled as he resumed his seat. “I do recognize that, Lady White, even if you do not recognize my sarcasm. I came to London with the intention of allowing Mr. White to court my daughter. She loves him. After Lord White practically accosted us in Avondale, it has become clear to me that he is the hindrance to my daughter’s happiness.”
Sylvia blinked. “Oh?”
“I am not the proud idiot you seem to think I am, Lady White. Proud, yes, but I am no longer a fool, even if I am still paying the price of foolish actions.” He frowned and ran a hand through his black hair. “As soon as Felicity returns from the Ravenwoods’, I am going to invite your youngest here to discuss their courtship. Mr. White sent me these this morning.” Carlton motioned in the air with a small leather-bound journal, and Sylvia took note of two others lying on his desk.
“What are they?”
“Proof that he is serious in his intentions towards my daughter. He thought allowing me to read what he wrote for Felicity would encourage me to see the truth about his feelings. I do believe he loves her, and I am willing to let him court her. However, there are things beyond their knowledge at work here, and—”
“Sir.” Chattrecombe burst into the room, his expression a mixture of apology and eagerness. “Forgive the intrusion, sir, but this has just come in.” He offered a letter that Carlton accepted with a shaking hand.
“Thank you, Chattrecombe. Forgive me, Lady White, but I have been waiting for this letter for over a year,” he apologized.
Sylvia gestured in the air with one hand as she stood, motioning him to continue. “By all means, proceed. I am content.” She hesitated. “You said your daughter is with the Ravenwoods?”
He halted in the process of breaking the seal to look up at her in curiosity. “Yes. Why?”
Suspicion gnawed at her stomach. “Jonathon is there as well, if Gregory’s butler is to be believed. I have no reason to doubt Blythe—he was always a good hand.”
Carlton glanced at a small table clock and then back at her. “Felicity has been gone for nearly an hour. That seems overly long for tea.”
Sylvia nodded. “It concerns me that Jonathon would have gone to the Ravenwoods’ to ride his mare when he should have immediately come here to call on your daughter. I know he enjoys a morning ride, but he loves Felicity. She should be his priority.”
He stood quickly, tucking the letter into his waistcoat. “Perhaps we should call on the Ravenwoods to ensure that everything is in order.”
“What about your letter?”
He patted his chest absently. “The answer is not as important as finding my daughter. If she and your son have run off together, I will have plenty of time to mull over the truth while pursuing them.”
On the way to Gretna Green
Jonathon smiled down at Felicity’s sleeping figure, one of his hands tangled in her hair while the other was fisted against his cheek to keep his head straight. After dozing off several times and waking up to the searing pain of his head bashing against the side of the carriage, he had decided that sleeping inside the carriage could only be accomplished by lying on the opposite seat. However, Felicity was already asleep, her head on his lap, and he had no desire to wake her.
Through the curtain he could see the soft glow of morning, and his heart fluttered at the realization that every morning hence he would see Felicity wake. He had been uncertain about her idea to elope, knowing that time and distance could have changed their feelings once reunited, but after a day of travel he knew in his heart that his love for her would never diminish. She was stronger than before, and so excited by their daring escape from London that he could not help but be caught up in her enthusiastic plans for their future.
He had told her about the rumour that Wellington was retreating, and the corresponding rush on the banks. He did not believe the rumours and had bought as much stock as he could, praying that the risk would pay off once Napoleon was defeated. If his move played out as he hoped they would have enough to buy a comfortable property, if her father refused to support them. They both doubted the duke would be too angry about their elopement, but Jonathon wanted to be sure that he could provide for Felicity if her relationship with her father turned sour.
She had assured him that she did not care if they lived as paupers, as long as they were together. As long as she had him she would want nothing else. He had been tempted to ask her if she would want a blanket if the nights were cold and they had no roof over their heads, but he had not wanted to spoil her declarations with reality. She understood him as no one else did, and when they confessed the fears they had encountered while separated they had also assured each other that they were stronger together than apart. They had barely recognized the passage of the sun across the sky, and John wondered if the days would always be so short with Felicity.
“Perhaps we should stop for the night,” she murmured, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Mmm, I was,” she consented. “But I dreamed that you were uncomfortable, so I woke up.”
He chuckled softly. “It would not make sense to stop now, since it is already morning. But we might need to find an inn tonight,” he agreed, “if only to give the coachman a rest. We have changed horses several times, but poor Briggs has only rested when we stopped to stretch our legs.”
Felicity smiled and struggled to sit up, her ebony hair sticking out on one side and her cheek red from where it had been pressed against his leg. “For Briggs, then. I am still surprised the Ravenwoods lent us one of their carriages and coachmen.”
“I am surprised they agreed to assist us in our elopement.” Jonathon used his fingers to untangle her hair before brushing the thick black locks behind her ears. “You can still change your mind.”
“It was my idea,” she pointed out. “I will tell everyone that when we return to London.”
“You cannot take away all my pride, love,” he teased. “At least allow me to pretend that I stole the duke’s daughter.”
She shook her head with a wry smile, her eyes twinkling. “You men are so odd. Perfect gentlemen, but in public you want to look the cad.”
“Not at all, I just fancy the idea of stealing the duke’s daughter.”
Felicity studied him carefully, concerned by the offhand tone in his voice. “Do you not want to elope?”
Jonathon took her into his arms and pulled her so that she sat across his lap. “I love you, Felicity. I am eloping because that is what you told me you wanted. I would have waited to speak to your father, but you believe he will not give his blessing any time soon. Seeing as how you know the man better than I do, I believe you. I am patient, but I have been longing to tell the world that I love you. Eloping is certainly the quickest way to declare my love.”
“But you have asked me several times if it is really what I want.”
“I do not want you to feel pressured,” he assured her, reaching up to brush his fingers against her cheek. “Yo
u are, after all, a duke’s daughter. No one expects you to run off. I will run away with you a thousand times if that is what you want, although it is not in my nature to do so. I am used to calculated retreats, and that is what I consider this to be. It is the only way we can achieve victory, and I cannot accept losing you. The very thought of another man someday taking you as his wife makes me feel ill.”
“Especially if that man is your brother,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around his neck so she could rest her head against his shoulder.
“I am afraid Gregory’s visit to Avondale was my fault,” he admitted. He gently pressed his lips to her cheek. “I let him find out about you.”
She lifted her head, her expression perplexed. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I thought it would spur your father to bring you back to London. He would want to find out why my brother wanted to pursue you. I knew your father would allow me to court you if you returned.”
“But…you do not like my father,” she managed, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Not at first,” Jonathon hedged. “I still do not agree with how he has gone about this, but I will give him credit for wanting what is best for you, and wanting to keep you safe and happy. I agree with you when you say that he is hiding something from you, but I do think he has done so for your safety and happiness. If he said we would have to wait to marry, I think it is due more to what he is hiding than any ill feelings he has towards me.”
“But why should we be punished because of whatever he is hiding from me?”
“It isn’t fair, I agree. I think eloping is the right thing to do; we can always tell the truth. We were so overcome with love at seeing each other again that we could not tolerate any more time apart. Knowing a wedding would take permissions and time, we decided to elope. The ton receives a romantic story of two lovers who overcame the separation imposed by their families, and we are only required to throw a reception so everyone can see how happy we are. Your father will support us, and my brother will refuse to have anything to do with me,” he finished flatly.
“And that upsets you,” she concluded. “Despite everything your brother has done to you, you still want him to be happy.”
Jonathon offered her a nonchalant lift of one shoulder. “He is my brother.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I wish I had your patience.”
“It is because of you that I am this patient. Before I might have happily tossed him from Vauxhall Bridge,” he admitted. “Now I see that he is sick with addiction. I want to help him, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what can be done; it might be too late to help him. He has been this way his whole life.”
Felicity rested her forehead against his and tilted her face so that their noses brushed against each other. “I will do everything I can to help you help your brother,” she promised. “But right now I think you should take care of yourself.”
His thumbs caressed her cheeks and he gave her a teasing smile. “I thought you would take care of me.”
“I love you for your refreshing honesty,” she declared. “You said yesterday that you want to be kind and patient and everything I deserve, but you are already that man, Jonathon. You do not need to curb your tongue around me, because I enjoy your witty remarks.”
“But it was wrong of me to refer to my brother as an overgrown moulting crow,” he protested. “It was funny, yes, but still wrong.”
“Then it was wrong of me to laugh. So we are both at fault for an often rude bearing,” she stated, shifting so that she was more comfortable on his lap. “We can correct each other once we are through laughing.”
The corner of his mouth turned up as he watched her eyes flick down to his lips. “You know I love to laugh,” he murmured, spearing one hand through her hair while the other cupped her jaw. “Laughter with you is more enjoyable than laughter with anyone else, and it makes me wonder…”
“Hmm?”
“It makes me wonder if kissing you will be even more enjoyable than laughing,” he whispered. “I must admit that I have thought of kissing you for a very long time. I have imagined it in almost every setting.”
“In a carriage?” she asked hopefully, sparks igniting in her chameleon grey eyes.
“Once or twice. My favourite was in a tree.”
She drew away slightly, amused. “In a tree?”
“Oh, yes. It was a delightfully wicked dream. We will have to make sure there are plenty of climbable trees where we live.”
“I am curious as to how it was a delightfully wicked kiss in a tree.”
He grinned wolfishly. “I might be able to assuage that curiosity in a carriage.”
“Will we frighten poor Briggs?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Perhaps we should save the wickedness for the tree, then, and keep it simply delightful in the carriage.”
He captured her lips after a tender consent, careful to contain the sudden rush of blood through his veins. While she sank into his embrace and learned how to mould her mouth to his, he slid a hand down her neck and across to her shoulder, pushing aside the fabric of her dress. His lips followed eagerly, and he grinned against her neck as she moaned and squirmed against him.
“Do I need to stop?” he asked teasingly, squeezing her waist. He savoured the sweet taste of her lips again, saving her from mumbling too many incoherent words. “It is still just a kiss.”
Her fingers curled in his hair as she sought to be closer, and she bit at his lower lip in experimentation. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded, following him as he drew back in shock.
“You are a quick learner,” he managed, finding it difficult to swallow.
She smiled wryly. “I think you are a good teacher.”
“Then…” He took a shaky breath. “Are you still opposed to frightening Briggs? Because I don’t know how much quick learning I can endure without turning wicked.”
She trailed her fingers down his chest and he glanced down in an effort to comprehend why he could feel the heat radiating from her hands. He had given her his coat to serve as a blanket, so he had already lost one protective layer. Somehow she had managed to unbutton his waistcoat while he was occupied with kissing her; her fingertips scalded his chest through the thin linen of his shirt.
“I thought this was delightful,” she offered, not meeting his eyes. “Kissing you does not feel wicked, but then we are soon to be married. Perhaps wickedness is in the eye of the beholder.” She pressed her mouth to his.
He groaned and promptly started to devour her. Just as he began to think that a carriage might not be so terrible a location to be wicked, the road worsened and the carriage titled violently to the right. His head smashed against the side of the carriage and he released her with a cry of pain.
“Jonathon, are you injured?”
“It is a shame it is not already tonight,” he muttered, rubbing his head. “Staying at an inn looks like a necessity. Now go sit on the other side.”
Chapter Eight
Gretna Green
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As Carlton stepped onto the street, he finally understood Lady Sylvia White’s disgust for carriages. After a harrowing flight to Gretna Green, his legs were stiff, his back was sore, and his head was throbbing from the constant rumbling of the road beneath the carriage wheels.
He should have known that Lady Ravenwood’s sudden interest in his daughter was cause for alarm, but though he was aware of the marchioness’s matchmaking record, he did not anticipate that she would support an elopement. The Ravenwoods had cited their support as not having the heart to stop two young lovers, but Carlton had the distinct impression that Mr. White had agreed to the elopement because he had been convinced it was indeed their only option. Felicity had been very angry at the opera, and Carlton only wished he had been sensible enough to say something to her that night instead of waiting until it was too late.
Carlton also wished he could be angry with someone other than himself, but he
accepted that his decision to keep his daughter in the dark about his troubles had caused her determination to elope. He should have told her the truth as soon as she turned an age she could understand.
“Do you think we have any hope of finding them before they can elope?” Lady White queried. “I am still shocked that Jonathon would go to this extent, but in a way it is romantic.”
Carlton scoffed. “Marrying her properly would be romantic. Do not get me wrong, I understand that he would marry her properly,” he added hastily, careful lest he insult his daughter’s future mother-in-law. “But if we do find them before they are married, there is a chance we can settle this matter quickly and properly.”
Sylvia shrugged. “I suppose I would feel differently if it were my daughter that had eloped instead of my son, but this is romantic, Avondale. He has whisked her away to Scotland to make her his bride—”
He cleared his throat before she could go on a wistful tangent. “If he were Scottish, whisking her away would be romantic. But he is an Englishman, and so should want to marry her in England.”
He had the distinct impression that she was laughing at him, but he refused to look down to check her expression. Instead his eyes darted from one side of the muddy road to the other, desperate for any glimpse of a black-haired woman and brown-haired man.
“Lord Avondale! Mama?”
Carlton and Sylvia both turned to see a surprised Jonathon and Felicity.
“Jonathon!” Sylvia rushed forward to embrace her son. “And this must be Lady Felicity.”
Felicity smiled warmly. “Yes, ma’am.” Her eyes darted towards her father and then dimmed. “Hello Papa.”
“Felicity.” Carlton’s throat felt exceptionally tight. “I need to speak with you, Felicity.”
To Marry the Duke's Daughter (After the Masquerade) Page 8