No, she didn’t need time, not that she would tell him that. “You have taken me by surprise.”
Marriage. To Lord Andover.
Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord.
She fought for a serene smile while her insides rioted. He proposed to her, Felicity, not some vivacious other girl. Not to some terribly regal miss. He saw beyond her reticence, accepted her unfashionably educated mind, and chose her rather than a social bully like Lady Jane.
The flurry of excitement stalled. Lady Jane’s infamous temper was a very real obstacle. Felicity had been the brunt of it far too often to dismiss it easily.
“Have I surprised you in a bad way?”
“No, not at all. I’m just beyond words.”
“I see.”
Did he? This was no surprise to him, or to her father or to, well, how many others? Did everybody know, and if so, how could that be without her the least bit aware?
Yet here he stood, near enough she felt the starch of his shirt, smelled the intoxicating hint of cologne. As close as in her dreams.
Baldly, she burst out, “Are you quite certain?”
Relief billowed on his laugh, reigniting her excitement. “Yes, Lady Felicity. I am certain. What about you? Could you see to marrying this poor soul?”
Pour soul indeed. Lord Richard Henry Albert Carmichael, Marquis of Andover, Earl of Sutton, Viscount St. John. Good God—he was a Marquis, and a comfortably placed one at that.
Not that such things mattered. She would marry him if he were a poor parson’s son.
“Will you marry me?”
What mattered was the warmth in his eyes, the tilt of his chin when they chatted after dinner. The furrow of his brow during games of chess. The way he chuckled at her younger siblings, rather than rebuking them for their rudeness.
The way he guided her, however unknowingly, into normality. She was not a source for what ailed him, but a woman. A flesh and blood woman whose heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. Whose breath sighed at the touch of his hand.
She never dreamt this day possible. Collected the memories instead, little vignettes of his visit, their quiet talks, silent walks. Secret reminiscences to hold dear after he married Lady Jane.
“Lady Felicity?”
But it was possible, unless this moment was the dream.
Too dazed to utter a single word, she nodded and sighed, as he raised her hands to his lips.
“You will not be sorry, Lady Felicity, I promise you I will be a good husband.” His words whispered across her fingers, clear through to her toes, and then his lips pressed against the bare skin of her wrist.
You will not be sorry, but she would be, if his proposal lacked words of love. If that beat of his heart had not been for her. She did not want a marriage of convenience. She did not want to wed because they ‘suited one another.’ There were alternatives to marriage for her, alternatives that were not fashionable, but would please her, nonetheless.
She had her studies, after all. Could spend her life immersed in them. Make a living from them.
If she were to marry, she wanted a love to match the novels hidden under her bed. Novels her mother forbade. Wonderful, sensational stories of dramatic emotions, wrenching passion and love. Most important of all, love.
Andover could have promised all those things while she dumbly stared at their hands. She desperately needed to know if he had.
Oh Lord, she should have listened…
CHAPTER 2 ~ EN GARDE
A footman opened the door to a wide wedge of glorious sunlight. A brilliance far too absent this spring, far too absent in the past months of his life. With a nod, Andover dismissed the servant, stood on the doorstep and drew in a delicious breath, carrying the scent of recent rain that lent a sparkle to the view. An auspicious brightness for the day.
He was to be married. His mother would have a daughter-in-law, to rebalance her life, and he would have heirs. Felicity’s peaceful steadiness would be a calm grounding force within Montfort Abbey. She would ease his mother’s sorrow, as her friendship had eased his.
In return, she would have a title, wealth, and her own family. He would be good to her. He would pay attention and anticipate her needs. He would appreciate her. He would be careful not to disrupt her life. If he needed a bit of excitement, there was always London.
He would be a good husband.
He stepped off the threshold to join his friends, Lord Rupert Upton and Felicity’s older brother, Lord Thomas Redmond, on the south lawn. He had seen the servants carry fencing gear that way and remembered Thomas’s challenge to Upton the night before. They would be at it by now.
He was to be married.
A smile carried him down the steps and across the upper terrace garden. He could see Thomas and Rupert one level below, and heard delighted cries of the rest of the Redmond brood off on some other part of the grounds. Soon he would be related by marriage to a pack of children. He would encourage them to visit, to enliven his household, bring merriment to his mother.
How many were there in total? He stopped to think. Seven, with Felicity and Thomas. Next in age would be Caro, her come-out in another year. Felicity thought to find her when they left the library, but Caro had already left for school, having been home for Easter.
Edward would be off to Eton in a day or so. He had spent most of the holiday with his tutor, preparing for exams. And then there was Annabel and Charles, the twins, still young enough to be squealing and playing in the gardens with their little sister Beth.
Delightful. Their gaiety added to a perfect day. A charming day.
“Wish me happy!” he called, as he strode down the slope.
Upton’s sword lay upon the ground, his shirtsleeve stained green. Thomas, a regular at Jackson’s and a keen student of Angelo, still held his foil.
“Grass slip you up?” Andover asked Upton, as he reached the two men. He noted young Edward standing to the side with his tutor. Unlike Thomas and his full tilt charge into life, Edward resembled Felicity, standing straight and focused, hands behind his back. He absorbed life, as though it seeped through his pores, a budding scholar, as well as a gentleman. Andover offered a bow. “Learn anything?”
“Yes, sir.” Edward returned his bow. “I’ve learned it’s best to practice on a dry surface.”
Andover chuckled and held out his arms, while an attending servant helped him out of his jacket. “Dry surface would be easiest, but then you would miss the challenge and the glorious scenery. I, for one, am grateful for the move outdoors.”
His spirits higher than in months, Andover crossed to a table covered with sabers, foils and protective gear. He found a padded vest and slipped it on, standing still as a servant fastened the buttons along the right side. “Treat to get some fresh air without a load of drizzle.” He looked over his shoulder. Thomas and Upton stared at him.
“Happy?” Upton asked. “You’ve proposed to some poor lass?”
“You’re getting married, sir?” Edward asked.
He turned back. “Yes, Edward, I have offered a proposal and have been accepted, I am getting married.”
“By the post? You proposed by letter?” Upton marveled.
“No.” Andover smiled, surprised by his own happiness, especially under the circumstances. He needed to be married, urgently he owed his family that. He had not expected to feel so joyous about it.
“There’s been no one here for you to propose to, except my fam…” Thomas stopped, scowled, looked to Edward’s tutor and jerked his head toward the house. Edward scowled, as his tutor led him in the direction of the other children. Stone-faced, he did not argue, no doubt to prove he could and would behave. Like Felicity, this Redmond was not prone to the dramatics that characterized so many of their siblings.
The men fell silent as they watched Edward leave, until Thomas could wait no longer and confronted Andover. “You have been speaking to my father about farming, correct? Taking his counsel during all that time in his study? Riding out on the fa
rm?”
It was not going to go well. He should have anticipated that. In respect, Andover offered another bow, this one for Thomas. “I have taken your father’s wise counsel.”
“On farming?” Thomas’s nostrils flared.
Smile gone, Andover nodded. “On farming. As well as other things.”
“Oh Lord!” Upton swallowed. “You’ve been spending considerable time with Lady Felicity.”
Both men had figured it out and Thomas, for one, was not about to wish him happy.
“You’ve proposed to my sister?” Thomas exploded.
“No!” Upton whispered. “Right under our noses.”
“Damn you!” Thomas took a swing. Andover blocked it.
“Hold on, Redmond!” Andover wanted to defend his proposal, but he knew and understood Thomas’s position. They had drunk and gambled and chased petticoats together from Eton through Cambridge and beyond. A life Andover would still be living if his father and brother had not died last winter, and if his brother’s wife and unborn child had not perished with them. If they had not all been lost in one gruesome, interminable night that upended his life, victims of an ignorant woman’s misguided use of anything that grew in the woods.
He was the eldest now, an only child who had not grown up as such.
Eldest sons themselves, Thomas and Upton should understand, commiserate. They both knew just how badly he needed to marry, to produce issue, bring new life into his diminished family, distract his mother from the pain of loss. He vowed to provide at least one heir, though he hoped to produce a number of spares, anything rather than put this weight of the title on a child of his.
“You’re marrying for your mother.”
“I didn’t come here with that intention. I did not anticipate caring for Lady Felicity.”
“That’s my sister we’re speaking about, and no damned hums about love. I know you better than that.”
He did, Andover thought. Love was not the idea. He had a title to carry on, sooner than he had expected with his father’s death. He didn’t have the comfort of a spare with his brother William gone.
All these months he had been desperate to secure the title for the future, but there had been no real chance between mourning and taking over the business of his title and lands. This was his first step into society. An informal step.
The Redmonds offered a chance to break his solitary existence, a respite from his mother’s deepening melancholy. A small family party, that was all that was offered, but it proved the answer to his worries. Lady Felicity was exactly what he needed, sweet and gentle and intelligent. She thrived in country life, knew how to run a manor, and did not browbeat a man with trivialities. She would suit, they would rub on quite well.
She would not be sorry. He had promised.
“I didn’t invite you to seduce my sister.”
Upton put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and was shrugged off. That didn’t stop his counsel. “Come on, Redmond, leave it. Andover will be a good husband.” He defended his childhood friend. “And your sister’s a sweet girl.”
“Too good for him,” Thomas snapped. “She doesn’t need the mess he is in.”
Andover looked up at that. “I will be good to her. I promise you that.” He wished he could think of something else to say, but nothing else came to mind. He frowned.
Thomas studied him from beneath his brow, his head down as though about to charge. “You had better be. She’s the best of the lot of us.”
“Do you think I don’t know how special she is? How fortunate I was to meet her before either of us found someone else?”
“No. I don’t think you know that. You haven’t had time to learn the depth of her, or to give her time to know about you.”
The depth of her. Something in that worried Andover. He pushed it away. “What is it you really don’t like?” he asked, doubting Redmond knew just how bad things were at Montfort Abbey. A situation that would reverse as soon as he married. A positive focus was all his mother needed to pull her from the spiral of malaise.
Thomas snorted, looked away at the distant horizon. “You said you were going to marry quickly for your mother.” He swiped away a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.
“Thomas…” Upton broke in, but again, Thomas pulled away.
“As intelligent as she is, as practical…” he bent, picked up the foil that Upton had dropped, tossed it to Andover.“Felicity is a romantic. It is part of her beauty.” He lifted his own foil, tested its flex, then looked at Andover. “You admitted there was no room for emotion in your goal.”
“Look here, Thomas,” Upton interrupted. “Men never think of such things.”
They both looked at him and scowled. “Shut up, Upton.” Thomas flared. “I don’t like this, not one bit.” He faced Andover, signaled for the servant to hand him a mask, then pulled his own down. “You have not been forthright in your suit.” He waited as Andover put on the meager protection. “You better not have touched her. There had best be room for her to change her mind.”
Andover flicked his mask down. “You know me better than that.”
“Do I?” Thomas snapped. “You managed to tie yourself to her right under my nose.” He lifted his foil before his face. “Prepare yourself.”
Even as Andover raised his foil, Thomas shouted, “En garde!” and lunged.
Andover countered and attacked. Furious himself that Thomas would question his morals, his respect for gently bred women. “I’ve never so much as kissed her!” he promised, dismissing his lips to her wrist.
The response was lost in the chill of blade hitting blade, soles sliding across grass still damp with the earlier rains, the heat of exertion overriding the sweet scent from that rain.
Thomas came at him with wild aggression.
So what if he married for an heir, so what if he didn’t believe in hearts and flowers. He provided a title, unencumbered land, and comfortable living. Her dowry would be saved for their children. Theirs. He would be a good husband, a fond and caring father. He would be good to her.
Damn Thomas for expecting more of him, for inspiring doubt.
The depth of her. The thought lodged. Andover shook it away.
Thomas lunged deep. With a swift, hard sideswipe, Andover parried, disarming the man. And just as he had anticipated earlier, Thomas charged like a bull, head down, his shoulder hitting Andover in the gut, stopping his breath.
A solid shove pushed Redmond away long enough for Andover to tear off his mask. As he sucked in breath, he watched, warily. Thomas pulled off his own mask, revealing eyes dark with anger.
The respite was short. Thomas came at him again. Wild as two schoolboys, they rolled down the slope to the next terrace. A mass of limbs, each fought to pin the other, as punches flew both wide and to the mark. Hindered by the padding they wore, they struck at faces and arms, kicked shins, aimed for the weakest points. It was not a gentlemen’s fight.
****
Felicity pushed the trowel into the dirt, twisted and exposed a spiral root. “This,” she explained to her mother, “helps a woman feel more…well…more balanced, in herself, after childbirth.”
They were in the conservatory, gathering ingredients to prepare a tonic for a tenant who had just had a baby.
“What is it?”
The hot, heavy scent, the shades of green, so much a part of her life wrapped about Felicity. Its comfort helped to settle the whirlwind of emotions beating in her heart.
“I call it dongkwi, but I doubt that’s its actual name. The family has been propagating it for centuries. A traveling monk gave it to Lady Veri Montgomery.”
Lady Veri was the first in a long line of ancestors interested in healing. Felicity’s paternal grandmother introduced her to the science.
“Whatever are we going to do,” Lady Westhaven worried, “when you are gone, miles away? There is no one in the neighborhood who knows as much as you do.”
Felicity pinched back a leggy plant, taking a moment to savo
r the rare compliment. A small measure against years of discouragement.
She understood her mother’s woes. She, after all, cared not one wit for society’s rules, while her mother adhered to them with such fierce determination she couldn’t help but be caught between pride in her daughter’s achievements and fear for the societal lines that must be crossed in order to accomplish them. To her mother, there was nothing worse than social condemnation.
“When I am gone,” Felicity finally acknowledged, “call for Samuel Henry. He’s a very good physician.” She picked up a handful of soil, and sniffed it.
“Don’t do that.” Her mother swatted her hand, the soil arcing out. “It’s so…so…animalistic.”
Felicity brushed her hands. “Actually, Mother, Jack Marshall taught me to smell and taste the soil. It’s a common farmer’s test.”
“ Be that as it may, he has grown beyond putting his nose in the dirt and so should you.”
“He’s a soldier, Mother, that doesn’t change his nature, his love for the land.” She raised her hand to stop the argument. “I know, he’s the younger son and the farm will go to his brother, but it is Robbie who always played at battles, not Jack.”
“Yes, well, we can’t all do what we want.” Her mother sighed. “And loath as I am to admit it, you are talented at what you do. Even Samuel Henry asks for your advice.”
“Yes,” Felicity said with a smile, “which is why you should trust him when I am gone. He has an open mind and he dares to look where others wouldn’t. Though, Mother, he did ask me not to tell anyone he came to discuss that rash. After all, I have the advantage of the journals. He does not.”
“Those blasted journals.” Lady Westhaven snapped, back to her normal opposition of Felicity’s passion. “Your grandmama did you no favors when she passed those down to you. Thank goodness your sisters aren’t interested in such things.”
“They are young yet.”
Her mother flapped her hands. “Don’t even say it. I know better now than to let them near those tomes. I just hope Lord Andover hasn’t heard of your…your…interests.”
An Independent Miss Page 2