by Jen Turano
“What in the world is the matter with you?” Agatha snapped, drawing his attention as she stepped up beside him. “You’ve hurt Felicia’s feelings.”
“I told her I’d pick her up at eight.”
“In a remarkably unpleasant tone of voice.” Agatha grabbed his arm and prodded him forward. “Felicia’s in a precarious state of mind at the moment, and you’re hardly helping that situation. Go apologize, and then tell her you’ll be completely disheartened if she doesn’t agree to accompany you to the ball.”
“That might be stretching the truth just a touch, and she needs to apologize to me for scaring a good ten years off my life just now. Did it escape your notice that she had a heavy hand with that lever? Quite frankly, I’m not certain elevators are supposed to stop and start that abruptly. We’re lucky the silly thing didn’t break altogether and plummet to the ground, killing us in the process.”
Agatha ignored his little speech and pointed a finger toward Felicia’s back. “Go.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re annoyingly bossy?” he mumbled before he set after Felicia, having no idea what he was going to say to her when he caught up with her, but realizing he couldn’t simply let her leave without some words being spoken between them.
Perhaps he should just be candid and explain that he wouldn’t care to hurt her in the future, but . . . no, that would hardly do.
Knowing Felicia, she’d take that as a clear indication of his arrogance, and now that he thought about it, it was beyond arrogant to assume she’d develop feelings for him.
She’d never given him any reason to believe she held him in affection, so perhaps assuming she would develop feelings for him in the future was strictly wishful thinking on his part—and thinking he shouldn’t even be contemplating in the first place.
He saw the back of her skirt swish through the main doors of the store and increased his stride, nodding his thanks to the doorman before he raised his hand to block the sun that hit him squarely in the eyes. He looked around and felt a moment of panic when he couldn’t locate Felicia.
“Young lady, have you lost your mind? Let go of my packages.”
Grayson’s mouth dropped open when his attention settled on an elderly lady engaged in what could only be described as a fierce tug-of-war with none other than Felicia. He forced his mouth shut and moved forward, coming to a stop right beside the struggling ladies.
“Mrs. Shaffer, I’m not trying to steal your purchases. I’m simply trying to help you. You were about to lose one of the bags.”
The lady, apparently one Mrs. Shaffer, abruptly released her hold on all the packages, causing Felicia to stumble backward. He caught her and held her close to him for just a second, but when he began to enjoy the feel of her softness, he quickly set her back on her feet even as he took the bags away from her.
“Good heavens, Miss Murdock, you must forgive me,” Mrs. Shaffer exclaimed, stepping closer to them and squinting at Felicia. “I didn’t recognize you at first. I thought you were one of those thieves who dress up in pretty clothing and try to prey on elderly shoppers.”
She reached for her reticule, pulled out a pair of spectacles, shoved them over her nose, and proceeded to look Felicia up and down. “May I say you look positively delightful today? I always knew there was an incredibly lovely lady lurking under those voluminous fashions you so oddly embrace. Dare I hope you’ve given those up?”
Protective instincts he hadn’t realized he possessed caused him to step forward, intent on interceding on Felicia’s behalf, but to his amazement, instead of hurt lurking in her eyes, there was clear amusement.
“I must thank you for your kind words, Mrs. Shaffer, and yes, I have firmly abandoned my wardrobe of old, which is why I was at B. Altman’s today. But enough about me. Whatever possessed you to try and manage all of these packages on your own? I thought you were about to collapse under the weight of them—which is why I rushed over to help you. Although I must apologize if I startled you. That certainly wasn’t my intent. Did you not bring an attendant with you?”
It took everything Grayson had to not drop the packages he was holding for Mrs. Shaffer and charge immediately in the opposite direction. If there was any question remaining regarding Felicia’s kind heart, that question had just been answered and lent further proof to the idea she was too good to be sullied by his company.
Few young ladies he knew would rush to the aid of an elderly woman burdened with too many packages. In fact, few ladies would have noticed that assistance was needed in the first place.
She truly was a compassionate soul, and that meant he was going to have to maintain his distance from her. It would be a true tragedy if his blackened soul damaged the goodness of hers.
“. . . and I have my driver with me, but he remained with my carriage,” Mrs. Shaffer was saying. “I had no intention of purchasing so many items, and didn’t realize how many bags I’d procured until I got out here.”
Grayson cleared his throat. “I’ll be happy to deliver these to your carriage if you’ll tell me where it’s parked.”
Mrs. Shaffer’s eyes widened right before they turned speculative. “You’re Mr. Sumner.”
He inclined his head. “Indeed.”
“This is Mrs. Shaffer,” Felicia supplied. “I know her from church.”
Grayson smiled. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Shaffer.”
“And yours as well, Mr. Sumner.” She slipped the spectacles down her nose and surprised him with a wink. “Dare I hope that you and Miss Murdock are enjoying this fine day together?”
“Ah, well . . .”
She continued before he had an opportunity to come up with a response. “I do hope you realize how fortunate you are to be in Miss Murdock’s company, my good man. Why, I don’t believe there’s another lady in the entire city who possesses such a compassionate spirit.” She winked again. “Any gentleman would be lucky to secure her affections.”
And that exactly explained the root of his problem. Felicia might have abandoned her repulsive fashions, but she couldn’t abandon her innate goodness, and that goodness would compel her to try and save him in the end, even though he didn’t deserve saving.
“Miss Murdock’s compassion does, indeed, put the rest of us to shame,” Agatha said, stepping up beside them and saving him from having to pull out some type of benign response. “It’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Shaffer.”
Pleasantries were exchanged, and then Grayson followed Mrs. Shaffer to her carriage, handing an embarrassed-looking driver all the packages, and helped Mrs. Shaffer up and into the carriage. But he wasn’t fast enough to escape her before she opened her mouth.
“Treat her well, Mr. Sumner, or you’ll have to answer to me.”
He summoned up a smile, kissed the elderly lady’s hand, placed it back on her lap, and decided silence was the only answer he was comfortable giving her. He had the sneaky suspicion there were many in society who felt protective of Felicia—no matter that she thought everyone found her ridiculous—and because of that protectiveness, he was definitely going to have to maintain a good deal of space between them.
He shut the carriage door and turned, suppressing the urge to sigh when he noticed Felicia and Agatha waiting for him—both with their arms crossed over their chests, and both watching him rather disgruntledly.
“Ladies, while it’s been lovely seeing the two of you today, I do think it’s time I bid you goodbye.”
“You agreed to have lunch with us,” Agatha said, barely batting a lash when Felicia let out a grunt.
“I did not.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes. “Well, you did tell Eliza you would do whatever I wanted today, and I want lunch and for you to join us. I’m thinking French cuisine might be in order.”
“I’m just going to go home,” Felicia mumbled.
Agatha’s expression turned stubborn. “No you’re not. I promised your mother I would spend the day with you, and I’m not one to take my promis
es lightly. We’re having lunch, all three of us, together, and you two will be happy about it and entertain me with amusing stories as we dine.”
Grayson narrowed his eyes. “I never promised to be amusing.”
“You promised to charm me out of my bad mood,” Agatha countered. “Since you’re responsible for ruining the perfectly fine mood I was in with your less than pleasant response to my stellar idea regarding the ball, it’s now up to you to rectify that situation.” She smiled a rather grim smile. “Or I could just run back to Eliza and tell her how carelessly you discarded her request.”
He’d always known Agatha was annoying, but he hadn’t realized how manipulative she was, almost as manipulative as Felicia’s mother. He blew out a breath. “I adore French cuisine.” He caught Felicia’s eye and lifted a brow.
For a second, he thought she was going to refuse, but then her eyes began to gleam, causing him to blink. “I know a perfectly adorable French restaurant, but it’s quite a few blocks up the way. Did you bring your phaeton?”
These ladies were going to be the death of him.
He forced a smile. “My phaeton is at home, having a nice long rest after the horror it suffered yesterday. I brought my carriage today, and it possesses a driver, so your services are not required.”
The gleam in her eye was quickly replaced with disappointment. “But it’s such a lovely day, and carriages are enclosed.” She turned to Agatha. “Did you bring an open vehicle today?”
“No, I brought a carriage as well.”
Felicia bit her lip but then brightened. “I’ll drive us, then. It might be a tight squeeze, but we’ll manage.”
Before Grayson could get a single protest past his lips, Felicia sailed forward, turning her head a second later. “Well, are you coming?”
“I’m not feeling famished at all anymore,” Agatha called after Felicia’s retreating back, but either Felicia didn’t hear her or was simply ignoring that telling remark, because she didn’t pause but continued marching along.
“Just think,” Grayson said as he took Agatha’s arm and drew her forward, “we won’t have to concern ourselves much longer with your gloomy mood, considering we’re both going to be dead soon.”
“Yes, that certainly improves my mood,” Agatha muttered before she lifted her head and suddenly grinned. “Would you look at that?”
Grayson turned his attention to where Agatha was staring and couldn’t help but return her grin. Felicia was standing beside what looked to be a pony cart painted bright red with an ancient-looking pony attached to the hitching post, its head lowered and emitting noises that sounded remarkably like snores.
He pulled Agatha to a stop right beside the beast and noticed the troubling fact that Felicia was cooing to the animal and placing kisses on its intricately braided mane.
He had a feeling the braids were Felicia’s handiwork.
“As I said before, it’ll be a tight squeeze, but you can sit on the seat with me, Agatha, and you, Grayson, can hop in the back.”
Grayson eyed the space Felicia was indicating but was spared the need to respond when Agatha let out a laugh.
“Forgive me, Felicia, but I don’t believe your pony is up for the arduous task of pulling all three of us.”
“He’s stronger than he appears.”
Grayson frowned. “I think he might be sleeping.”
“Of course he’s sleeping. He sleeps all the time, but it’ll just take me a second to rouse him, and then we can get on our way.” She patted the pony’s head. “Time to wake up now, Thor.”
“His name is Thor?” Grayson couldn’t resist asking.
Felicia sent him a scowl. “It is, but don’t talk in such a disbelieving tone. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“He’s still sleeping.”
“He’ll wake up soon.” Felicia patted Thor a little harder than before. But if anything, the pony began to snore louder. “The poor dear appears to be exhausted.” She bent over and whispered something in Thor’s ear, but he didn’t open his eyes. Felicia straightened and shrugged. “I might need a little more time, and maybe . . . some oats.” She moved to the cart, pulled out a feed sack, moved to stand in front of Thor, and swung the bag of oats several times in front of his nose. Unfortunately, the pony continued sleeping.
“We could always walk,” Agatha suggested.
Felicia looked as if she wanted to argue, but then threw the oats back into the cart and took Agatha’s arm. “Cherie’s is just down the street if you really have French cuisine on your mind.”
“Why didn’t you suggest that when Agatha first remarked she wanted French?” Grayson asked.
Felicia looked at him for a second and then turned her attention back to Agatha without bothering to give him the courtesy of a response.
How was it that she could be so irritating and yet so fascinating?
He watched as Felicia drew Agatha’s arm into her own, steered her back onto the sidewalk, and took off without even checking if he was trailing along after them.
He caught up with them and took Agatha’s other arm, feeling the need to put at least a body between him and Felicia as they continued to stroll down the street.
“See, isn’t this pleasant?” Agatha asked, fluttering her lashes at him even as Felicia muttered something he probably didn’t care to hear under her breath.
“Very pleasant,” he agreed, smiling ever so slightly when Felicia raised her head and scowled back at him.
“Now, none of that,” Agatha admonished. “We’re going to enjoy a lovely lunch. In order to do that, the two of you are going to agree to play nicely with each other.”
“He started it.”
Grayson was about to argue but then thought better of it. “You’re right. I did start this, and for that, I do apologize.”
“Wonderful,” Agatha exclaimed. “I’m so glad that’s settled.”
“Nothing’s settled,” Felicia said slowly.
“Of course it is. Grayson will pick you up at eight the night of the ball, everyone will discontinue pitying you, and all will be right with the world. But . . . enough about that dreary subject. I’d rather discuss poor old Thor. Why in the world are you using such an ancient creature? I’ve seen your brothers out and about, and they ride prime horseflesh.”
Felicia gave a rather sad shake of her head. “If you must know, I’ve been pestering my father for quite some time for my own means of transportation, but he seems remarkably reluctant to provide me with a real horse—hence the arrival of Thor and his cart a month or so ago.”
Grayson smiled. “A concern for the safety of all the good citizens of New York is probably responsible for his decision.”
Her eyes turned stormy, and she increased her pace, causing Grayson and Agatha to do the same since they were all linked together.
“I have yet to actually run anyone over, although I did take out a hitching post a few weeks back, but in my defense, it was not really my fault. Thor has the propensity to stop when one least expects it, and on that particular occasion, I was not paying close enough attention. When he came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street, I might have given the very smallest of shrieks, which unfortunately prodded him into motion. He barreled directly into a hitching post, which turned out to be quite the disaster. I was forced to endure a scathing lecture from the owner of said hitching post, and it cost me five dollars before I was able to get away from the man.”
Grayson quirked a brow. “That seems a bit steep for a hitching post.”
“Well, there was the slight matter of the hitching post crashing through the man’s front window, but luckily, Thor wasn’t injured in the mishap. Since then I’ve been careful to keep my shrieking to a minimum whenever I take Thor out and about.”
“I know I’ll probably regret asking this, but why did you name him Thor?” Grayson asked.
“He’s such a decrepit-looking creature that I felt he deserved a noble name.”
Grayson stopped walking, effect
ively causing the ladies to do the same. “Surely you could have talked your father into providing a less decrepit beast.”
“I couldn’t just send him away. If I didn’t accept him, I feared he was headed for a bad end.”
Something that felt very much like panic caused Grayson’s throat to constrict, and he found it difficult to breathe.
She was an incredible lady—one he, if truth be told, wanted to get to know . . . desperately.
But . . . that would never do. He’d made vows in regard to ladies and relationships, and he needed to remember those vows, no matter the disappointment that was going to cause him.
He prodded the ladies back into motion without speaking a word, diligently ignoring the confused looks both of them were sending his way.
5
Felicia was having a difficult time keeping up with Grayson’s many moods as well as with the rather rapid pace he was currently setting.
Honestly, it wasn’t as if the restaurant was going to disappear if they didn’t reach it in the next few minutes, but since they were practically racing down the sidewalk, it seemed as if he feared he would not get lunch.
What had caused him to react so oddly?
One minute she was talking about Thor, and the next, Grayson’s eyes had gone rather tender—that tenderness directed toward her—but then, in a mere blink of an eye, he’d gotten grumpy again. And it seemed his grumpiness had resulted from their discussion about her pony.
Thor was pathetic, to be sure, but there was no reason he would cause anyone to sink into a state of depression or, in Grayson’s case, a fit of the sulks.
It was rapidly becoming clear the gentleman possessed a complicated, and confusing, nature.
“Grayson, slow down,” Agatha suddenly complained. “You rushed right past Cherie’s.”
Grayson came to an abrupt stop, forcing Felicia and Agatha to do the same. “Why didn’t you say so? It’s not as if I know where we’re going. I’m the foreigner, remember?”