“Oh, Felicity,” her mother mourned. “Don’t tell me you walked around London looking like that!”
“I had a wrap,” Felicity defended herself.
“I just don’t know what to say to you anymore. We allowed you too many liberties over the years.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Andover was here.”
“Yes, I am sorry. I will apologize.” She desperately needed to speak to him, wished she’d been able to before her mother. Too late for that now.
“And the mantua-maker. Lady Jane was not far off when she questioned your trousseau being ready. It would help if you were available for fittings.”
“Humphrey did tell me.” Which he had and then, as now, she refrained from arguing the necessity of a trousseau. She’d fight that battle after speaking with Andover.
Lady Westhaven sat down on the bed. “Did Humphrey tell you that Lady Andover accompanied her son?”
Felicity froze, halfway to her dressing table, and tried to sound calm as she asked. “How did she look?”
“Don’t! Don’t even go there.” Lady Westhaven lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, on the verge of tears.
“Mother…” Felicity abandoned the dressing table to sit beside her mother, cocooned in the sweet jasmine she always wore.
“You don’t tell us where you go and we have worried, even knowing you are too intelligent, too level-headed and you always return for tea. Until now. This…”
“I am safe,” she leaned back, her arms out, “See, nothing to worry about. But please, Andover’s been terribly worried about his mama. Is she well?”
“No doubt he has doctors enough to tend to her, you need not worry. She was fine. Not quite herself, but that’s to be expected.”
“Was she quiet? Talkative?” Felicity thought for a moment. “Did she have trouble speaking because her mouth was dry?”
“Stop.” Her mother pulled away, crossed to the window, before turning to confront her. “You promised me you would not do this in town. And now, here you are, practicing on his mother.”
“She is not well, Mother. Andover told me so himself.”
“He has a special license.”
A special license? Oh, dear.
Her mother sniffed, threat of tears abating. “This will all be over soon.”
“Will it?” Felicity grappled with what to do, what to say. Time was running out before she was ready.
“Yes, it will. I know you are reluctant, but the gossip is rampant. Marriage is the only solution.”
“We won’t suit, Mama, not at all.” Felicity fought for breath, to calm herself even as her heart raced. To be married to Andover a high, unattainable dream. The reality a nightmare she must control.
“You will suit, I’m convinced of it. Your work need not interfere. Just, please, remember time, to be there for tea, for meals, when a wife is expected to be present. Do not get lost in your interests, like today. And I know that’s what kept you. You were lost in something that fascinated you. Men do not like to be forgotten.” Lady Westhaven slapped that bit of information out, an edict. “Andover will be back to take you to the ball.”
Felicity pinched a fold in her skirt, eyes down, as she wildly fought for excuses. “Are you sure that is wise?”
“Absolutely!” Her mother sat back down. “No one would dare cut you, not with Andover by your side, and your father and myself, as well as Thomas.”
“And if I refuse him?”
“You could never go out in society again.” Her mother sighed, her head now bowed. “I would not want that for you,” she looked up, “but perhaps you wouldn’t mind at all?”
Felicity watched her mother closely. “How would my ruin affect the rest of the family?” she asked, but did not get the reaction she expected.
“We will survive, Felicity. Your sisters will have to be vigilant about their reputations, but that is no more than we expect.” She raised an eyebrow.
They sat like that, quietly watching each other.
“You really are set on refusing him?” A gentle stroke, her mother’s hand to her face. “Have you formed a tendre for someone else?”
“No, no, Mother. Nothing like that.”
Her mother dropped her hand. “I will not fight you on this anymore, though I truly believe you are destroying your life, your chances at happiness. You are too young to understand.”
“Mother?”
Lady Westhaven stood, shook her skirts, headed for the outer door. Hand on the handle, Lady Westhaven turned and said, “You are the marrying kind, Felicity. You will lose yourself in this healing business. A husband would ground you.”
“Am I?” Felicity rose up on her elbow. “The marrying kind? Like all other girls?” With all she had been about lately, she was coming to question that fact.
“Not like all other girls. They marry because they know of no other way. But you? You would be a splendid mother, and you are so much more sensible than I. Your husband will be able to rely on you. I’m afraid I have been an emotional challenge for your father.”
True, in a fashion, but Felicity suspected her father and mother balanced each other nicely. “He loves you, Mother.”
“Yes, foolish man.”
“Mama, you know it is not a common, easily found thing.”
“It is something that comes with time. Which is why I am so torn. In so many ways, Andover is perfect for you.”
“Perhaps,” Felicity touched her lips, remembering the brush of his, the kiss. “Perhaps not.” She pictured him riding away.
Lady Westhaven put her head against the door, then pushed away with determination. “Do you know, Felicity, I may have loved your father when we married, only I didn’t know it.” She paced. “I could be contrary that way. There was no choice, you see, and a part of me rebelled. Fortunately, your father is a patient man. He helped me to see what I refused to believe.”
“Did Father love you?”
Her mother stopped, in thought, tilted her head in thought. “I don’t really think so, not in the way he does now. But he fancied me something wicked, so perhaps he was on the way. ” Lady Westhaven admitted, “and perhaps it’s time you know of how your father and I came to be married.” She stood in the alcove, looking out into the darkening night.
“You loved your grandfather. Everyone did. He was a charmer, but charm can be a curse. He got his way too easily, never took anything seriously, especially at the card table. Debts mounted, he ignored them, and threats were made.” She looked back at Felicity. “To kidnap…hurt…Vi, me. Your father picked that day to discuss marriage to me.”
Stunned, Felicity asked, “Father promised to pay those debts in exchange for your hand?”
“A good part of them, yes. A risky thing for him to do. Looking back, I’m baffled he did so. He’s an intelligent man, knew the risks of marrying into a profligate’s family. It put him in line to honor my father’s debts again and again.” And then she smiled. “But as I told you, he fancied me rotten and was smart enough to get the word out that he had married the daughter, not the father.”
“Aunt Vi, did she have to marry that quickly?” For the first time in her life, reality matched the melodrama of her favorite novels.
Lady Westhaven sat back down, took Felicity’s hands in hers. “She was not so fortunate. The man she loved, a wonderful man, was out of town. No doubt Father’s creditor knew this, for he put forth an offer that could not be refused.
“It was awful, Felicity, awful. He was an old lecherous man and very cruel. He is one of the reasons I find it impossible to say no to my sister. All her goodness knotted up inside when she married that man. I was helpless and, God forgive me, grateful that he chose her and not me.”
Felicity sat, still unable, unwilling, to fully comprehend the horror her mother described. What might have happened if her own father had not arrived when he did?
“Do you love Andover?”
How did one think of such things now? Felicity looked at t
heir clasped hands, realized how feeble and shallow her own worries were. “I would rather not love him. It would be better if I did not.”
“Don’t stifle yourself, Felicity. You are so reserved. You mustn’t marry if it means burying who you really are.”
“No,” she agreed, trying hard to remember the convalescent home, to see caring for such people as her future.
Lady Westhaven patted Felicity’s hands and rose, “I have made up my mind. You do not need to marry him. We will see that a portion is put aside for you. Your dowry will go a long way toward that.”
Felicity fell back onto the bed, staring up into the canopy. It was over. No more fighting, she’d gotten her way.
She wanted to cry.
****
Andover tried to focus on the morrow’s meeting of the Lords, as Jones fussed about dressing him.
Solutions were needed to avert disaster, as the spring’s foul weather rotted seeds already planted. Issues of state, issues of the economy, issues of a larger world. He failed to grapple with them.
Instead, he pictured the shabby girl with the nice ankles climbing over the tree, her sudden surprise at being caught. And the book he’d seen, when he tried to visit Felicity that afternoon.
The same book he’d seen in the stillroom, or so he thought. Opened, this time, to a plant called valerian and notes on its affect on the brain.
Beautiful intricate pictures recreating various stages of growth. The plant dissected lengthwise, crosswise, every-which-way-wise, and notes in the same neat, precise hand as the letters from Felicity.
He shuddered.
“My lord!” Jones warned.
“What?”
“Please try to stay still, sir. I am trying to tie your cravat.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies.”
The hidden depths of her?
Oh, God, his betrothed, the woman locked to him by scandal, was a… Oh God, a woman had died by her hand.
And then there was Lady Jane and her calculated interest, encouraging him to break off the match, encouraging him to believe Lady Felicity brought the shame on herself by going to his room.
What man wants a wife who would go to his rooms without invitation?
She’d shocked him by asking. Were young ladies taught such things? Lessons to prepare them for marriage? And just how did he feel about that?
About a wife so enraptured with her husband she’d sneak into his rooms? Desired him beyond his lineage? What sort of woman would be like that?
One with hidden depths he yearned to explore.
No. He did not need depth in his marriage. A young woman of Lady Jane’s ilk had no hidden depths, or stars in her eyes.
Felicity had stars in her eyes, before that fateful night, before wariness, watchfulness crept between them.
Jones turned him to the mirror, to see the splendid artistry of his cravat.
“Very nice,” he allowed, though his mind remained on the contrast between Lady Felicity and Lady Jane. The latter understood the game of marriage and would play it. She wouldn’t expect a love he couldn’t give.
And he couldn’t, couldn’t risk the loss, the hurt. Life so fragile one illness, a simple meal, could wipe it out. Even childbirth, God forbid, threatened death. His heart could not bear another loss. He craved a calm, serene wife. What, who he thought Felicity was.
The depths of her.
Pah! He turned away from the mirror. Jones tsked.
He knew too many men miserable because of their choice of bride. He knew other men, settled so deeply into their married life you rarely saw them apart. Andover couldn’t quite see himself in either role.
Perhaps someone like Lady Jane would be more practical. Expensive, perhaps, but he could afford the expense. She would not expect a husband to dote on her.
All well and good, but honor forbade him to marry any other than Lady Felicity. There was no way out.
“There you are, my lord.” Jones stood back, having brushed his jacket clean of even the smallest speck of dust.
“Thank you, Jones.”
“Lady Andover said she would meet you in the blue room, my lord.”
“Mother is up and about?” Twice in one day. This was good news.
“She appears better, sir, with you in attendance.”
“Yes.” He studied his reflection, not so different from his father’s. “She does seem different, doesn’t she?”
“Yes. Much recovered.”
“Do you know anything of her medicine, Jones? Any talk below stairs of this Lady Comfrey?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.” A smidgen of stillness. Andover noted the reaction.
“Well, then. I won’t bother to ask the others.”
He found her in the blue room, waiting.
“Andover.” From her place on the settee, she held out her hands to him.
“Mama.” He kissed her knuckles. “May I pour you a sherry?” And immediately wondered if that was appropriate. Rituals were so very hard to break.
“Thank you, dear boy.” She nodded to her empty glass.
“Two tonight?” he asked lightly. She never had two sherries. He didn’t know how they reacted with her medicine.
“Yes, two.” She eyed him. “It shan’t harm me.”
“Of course not.” He took her glass over to the drinks trolley. “Just out of character.”
“The times justify a change.”
“Ah, yes.” He rolled the glass between his palms, wondering just what she meant by times justify a change. That she was becoming more normal? He prayed it was true.
“Do you remember when we spoke in the carriage? You claimed Felicity might be better off not marrying me?”
Lady Andover studied the mesh of her shawl, where the ends lay draped in her lap. “Yes, I do, Andover. It all depends on you. How do you feel about Lady Felicity? Why, of all the girls, did you choose her?”
He passed her drink over, lifted his own to gain time, thought better of it. No avoiding her question. He had been asking himself the same question.
“She is calm, practical, like you.” Like you used to be.
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“And, as you suggested, had stars in her eyes. But she did not pursue me, nor did she push herself forward or, truly, take any notice of me, other than in friendship, until I pursued her. I put those stars there, Mother. I drew her to me.”
“You are taking responsibility for her expectations?”
“I suppose I am. It’s a heady business when a woman slowly warms to you. Far more enticing than those ladies who try to draw me to them.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
She smiled and shook her head. “What I see, Andover, is that you are quite taken with Lady Felicity. You must be, if you worked so hard to win her.”
“I wouldn’t say it was work, Mama.” More like being under a tree when a perfect fruit, sweet and ripe, falls from the branch and into your hand.
The depths of her. Was there a worm in its core?
“Good.” His mother’s hand trembled, as she put her glass on the table. “I am not the only one who misses your father’s advice. He would have words for you, man-to-man chats.”
“I can imagine.”
She smiled, eyes bright. “Yes, I suppose you can.”
“What do you think he would say, Mama?”
“He would speak to both of us of responsibility.”
And he had a responsibility to marry Felicity.
He caught his sigh, as tears welled in his mother’s eyes. He sat beside her, taking her cold hands into his, surprised the cold, so common of late, had eased to cool. She was getting better. She smelled better as well, of lavender, of a better past.
“I miss Father as well,” he murmured, afraid of a spiral of remorse she could ill afford. “You tell me,” he asked, hoping to distract her. “What would he say, if he were here?”
She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath. “Of course.” S
he sat up straighter. “That is why I came down, to tell you what he would say.” A wistful, distant smile pulled her away. “He came to me in a dream, told me…” She drifted off, into that other world of hers.
“Mother, you were speaking of Father.”
“Oh, yes.” Her head snapped up. “Your father. Yes. He says it is of the utmost importance you appreciate and hold to your responsibility.”
He would say, Andover corrected. He did not say, for he was not with them.
“As you well know, he does not condone scoundrels. Claims the difference between a decent man, such as yourself, and a scoundrel, is that a scoundrel does not understand, or care to understand, that once a woman is won, there is the added measure of keeping her.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve changed my mind from what I said in the carriage. You won the lady’s affections. Don’t take that for granted and do not let her fall from that place you have put her.”
“It is a little late for that sentiment, Mother. She has fallen. Those stars are no longer there.”
Changing from wistful to rueful, his mother’s smile weighed on his heart. “Don’t you see? This is better. When she marries you now, it will not be with dreamy expectations, but with that practical nature of hers that you so admire.”
Without thought, he admitted, “I do not want to be married for practical reasons.” At least from her part.
“Then strive to put the sparkle back in her eyes.”
“How am I to do that?” For do it, he would. He could not love, but he would welcome being loved.
“I am certain, once you have her truly wed, you will find a way.”
CHAPTER 18 ~ MISGUIDED WORDS
Felicity stopped, adjusted a flower display, reluctant to meet Andover in the salon, but knowing she must. Humphrey told her a gentleman waited. She did not relish the confrontation.
Andover had looked right at her in the park. That did not mean he saw her. He might have looked beyond her, not recognized her. Possible, except she saw the shock of recognition on his face.
She would have to lie.
She hated the lies.
An Independent Miss Page 18