An Independent Miss

by Becca St. John

  “I want the peppermint! Peppermint!” All three chimed in, jumping up and down, trying to grab them.

  “Good thing I have three.” He winked at Felicity, as she arrived at a more stately pace, with the children’s governess. Both full of stern censure, though Felicity’s large brown eyes couldn’t hide her bemusement.

  Andover handed the candy to the governess, “I’ll let you divide the spoils. There’s one there for you, as well, for dealing with these little devils.”

  A chorus of thank-you’s, bows and curtsies, and they were off, charging back to their game on the lawn, their beleaguered caretaker running after them.

  Sotto voce, he leaned toward Felicity. “Actually, I brought the butterscotch for you. Didn’t you once tell me it was your favorite?”

  That had been in the halcyon days of the house party or, more precisely, in the evening over a game of chess. Unbeknownst to her, he’d spent that afternoon discussing marriage terms with her father, while she’d been in the kitchen making butterscotch drops with her siblings.

  That night, heady with the thought of marriage, he’d leaned over the chess table and teased. “You smell like sweets.”

  “Ah,” she’d leaned in closer, whispering. “Butterscotch, my favorite, and if you let me win, I might just find some for you.” She’d laughed. Not the deep-throated laugh of her mother, but a feminine version of her father’s. As though she knew deep secrets, never to be revealed.

  He checkmated her queen, keeping his own hidden agenda close to his chest. In a few days, he’d propose. Butterscotch provided a neat tie to that night.

  She snatched the candy from his hold, laughing and stepping back. “Are you trying to sweeten me up?” She waggled the candy in front of her, as though challenging him to steal it back.

  He bowed. “It is all for you.” And pulled another from his pocket. “I will not go without.”

  “Oh, la!” She popped the stick into her mouth, swirling it with such childish exuberance, he laughed. He’d been wise to arrive without fanfare, to catch her at ease with the children, the way he imagined she would be with her own.

  Their own.

  Which was one of the reasons he wanted to marry her, soon. Evil book aside, he wanted her.

  “You weren’t here earlier,” he murmured, as he offered his arm.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I went walking.” They headed back to the house.

  “Walking? I don’t suppose you would care to abuse your feet once more.”

  “I thought we were going riding later?”

  “I’ve a new idea. Come visit my mama, now. Later she will be resting.”

  And there went the innocent child. Wariness. “Today?”

  “If you are free and not too undone from your earlier walk.” Even as he said it, he noted the slight shadows under her eyes. She’d left the ball early, for a headache? Or the tension of facing a cruel society? Either way, had it robbed her of sleep?

  Or did she traipse about, traveling in the wee hours of the night, unescorted, to play Mrs. Comfrey to his mother.

  Surely not.

  Damn him, for thinking such a thing. It was that blasted woman from last night. He’d arrived home in the wee hours of the morning to see a strange woman slipping out the side door. He’d shaken his head, thinking he was foxed enough to be seeing things but no, another look and he knew he’d been seeing true.

  “Stop!” He’d banged on the roof of the carriage, stopping the coachman as he jumped out to give chase, to no avail.

  Nothing in the house had been disturbed, or so Barton informed him. He’d gone to check on his mother, peacefully asleep, her bedcap hiding well-tended hair, her room tidy and full of the scent of lavender.

  He’d put the disturbance down to a randy servant and some maid. A broken household rule he couldn’t, as a man, truly fault, but he would certainly see Barton enforced it in the future. They’d have to find their own trysting places, and not the upper stories of his house.

  That morning, his mother told him of Mrs. Comfrey’s visit.

  It couldn’t be Felicity.

  Impossible.

  Felicity, an imp who climbs trees in search of wild weeds?

  “I have a fitting this afternoon, my lord. I couldn’t possibly let my mama down.”

  Startled, he met her eyes. Lying eyes? “No, of course not,” he agreed. One did not disappoint mothers.

  He didn’t stay to speak of the wedding in a night’s time. The possibility extinguished itself.

  Perhaps later, when they went for a ride.

  When he’d had time to sort out just what he thought, felt. How they could live together without animosity. Distaste.

  He thought of his mother’s parents. His grand papa’s unrequited love for a witch of a woman. His grand mama’s loathing of them both.

  He did not want a marriage of revulsion.

  CHAPTER 21 ~ ANOTHER MAN

  Felicity left the receiving line on Andover’s arm. Her plans ruined, when her parents decided to ride in the carriage with them to the Littletons’ ball.

  “You aren’t out of the woods yet, dearest,” her mother had whispered, reminding her the gossips still ruled her actions.

  She might never be out of the woods, especially if she didn’t get a chance to speak with Andover. If only her mother had excused her from fittings to go for the ride with Andover—but no, she said he would understand.

  She glanced at the furrow between his eyebrows, aching to reach up, trace the worrisome fold, massage it, even as she prepared to reveal hard truths. Realities, an awful breach of trust that would, no doubt, push him away when what she wanted was to draw him closer.

  Deep yearning for him, a quickening of her heart whenever he neared, put her at fault. Kept her from being firm in ending the match. She tried, she truly tried to call a halt, but bungled it every time. Being too soft, because her heart was too soft. But he must know her true nature, what gave her reason to be.

  And he must know of her duplicity.

  She couldn’t, in good conscience, go on without total honesty.

  Her parents met them in the salon, when he’d come for her. They all discussed marriage, as soon as tomorrow night. Andover, as though to take care of something he’d left too long. Her mother in tearful excitement, fretting about what people might say. Her father watching her so closely.

  She wanted it, she truly did. Like a sappy puppy, she could follow him around. Be kissed by him. Bask in his kind strength, the depth of his loyalty, for he was all those things. She’d learned that much of him.

  Though he might not be so kind, once he learned of her deceit.

  She only had tonight to speak with him.

  “Ah,” he smiled down at her. “Rupert and Lady Jane are just over there. Shall we join them?”

  Her hand flexed on his arm.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I thought we would go out to the garden,” she told him, “and have a quiet word.”

  “We will.” His deep voice settled inside her. She wanted to grab it close, hold on to it, a treasured keepsake. But she knew it would dissolve in the mist of time just as the thrill of his gaze, intent on her, only her, would dissipate once he was gone.

  He teased her. “Are you, perchance, remembering the last time we stood in a garden?” He leaned close, “the kiss?

  She shook her head, too sick with worry to join in his playfulness.

  They stopped, forcing people to move around them into the ball. “Could this not wait until we greeted people, perhaps danced?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She met his eyes, knowing what he thought without his saying a word. Understanding the darkening of his eyes, the narrowing of his lids.

  “For a lady on the eve of her wedding, you are very serious. All I can imagine is that you want the privacy of the gardens to tell me you wish not to wed me.”

  “No.” Horrified, she urged him to listen. “That is not…” what she intended, she wanted to say,
but Lord Upton and his sister joined them and Jane had that look in her eyes. Determination at all costs. No doubt, that determination set on humiliating Felicity.

  “Good evening, Lady Felicity, Andover,” Upton bowed. “Not too bad of a crush yet. No need to scowl like that, Andover.”

  “Of course he should scowl!” Jane trilled, rapping Andover’s free arm with her fan, as he bowed to her. “To keep his reputation of another mad, bad, and dangerous to know Byronesque.”

  “Please, Lady Jane,” Andover complained. “I have no care to emulate the man.”

  Gratefully ignored, Felicity stood quietly and watched the two, on such intimate terms.

  “You tell her, Andover.” Upton clamped a hand on his shoulder. “The gal is always trying to cast you as some romantic scoundrel.”

  “Women see things differently, Rupert.” Lady Jane argued. “Don’t you agree, Lady Felicity?” Caught off guard, Felicity failed to stop Lady Jane pulling her close, a grand gesture of friendship, and nearly fell, if not for a quick catch by Andover.

  “Oh, so clumsy, Felicity,” Jane cooed. “Nothing changes.”

  “Getting pulled off her feet doesn’t help, Lady Jane,” Andover snapped.

  “Thank you.” Felicity brushed her skirts and stepped away from Andover. “If you will excuse me, I believe I tore my hem.”

  Unwilling to add a false friendship with Lady Jane to her faults, she headed for the ladies’ retiring rooms.

  “What was that about?” Andover caught up with her.

  Felicity kept going, wended her way through the crowd. “I’m sorry,” she finally admitted over her shoulder. “That was rude of me.”

  He caught her arm, slowed her to a stop. “Not that.” He leaned over, so their eyes were of a level. “You were distressed. Why? I’ll admit, the Upton women can be intolerable, but they’re not dangerous.” He looked back. “Well, not usually, but then I’ve never seen one pull someone over before.” He chuckled.

  “It wasn’t funny.” She sniffed.

  “No,” he agreed, but didn’t stop smiling. “Neither was it when she spilled a glass of red wine down your white dress. Or the time she made your horse bolt.”

  “You know about that…those?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been an idiot. Upton dismissed those incidents as accidents and suggested his sister might tell me how to gain your interest.”

  Felicity snorted, immediately clamping her hand to her mouth. “No, she would not know.”

  “So I guessed when you nearly cut off my circulation.” He shook his wrist, teased with a smile, though he did not mock.

  “I’m sorry.” She chafed his wrist.

  “Ah, being a good wife already, caring for her husband-to-be?”

  Her eyes shot up to catch him watching her, his smile not matching the knowing gleam in his eyes.

  She sighed. “We need to talk.” She tried again. “I meant to speak with you earlier. I had hoped you would arrive before my parents came down.”

  He watched her, not as warily as before, but obviously watching her closely. “Mother has made it a habit to speak with me before I leave of an evening. There were serious matters to discuss. I’m sorry it delayed me.

  “As you suggested earlier, let’s go somewhere quiet.” He led the way to the side of the ballroom, where chairs lined the wall for those who weren’t chosen, or couldn’t, dance. The night was still young enough, no one used them.

  Head bent, he spoke quietly into her ear sparking more than conversation. She bit her lip against the shiver of interest coursing through her.

  “So tell me about Lady Jane and you,” he asked, nodding to a group of friends, as he continued to lead Felicity through the edges of the crowd.

  “Please. I don’t wish to speak of her.”

  He squeezed her arm affectionately. “That’s funny. She would delight in speaking of you.”

  Again, Felicity snorted, this time without trying to hide it. “No doubt.”

  She wasn’t certain how he did it, whether it was in that crooked smile, or the light in his eyes when their gazes met, or his dark frown of concentration, but he made her feel like the only person in the room, the only special, worth-listening-to person.

  She was about to destroy that.

  “So Lady Jane is your Sir Reginald.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He tugged her closer to their destination. “You mean Thomas never told tales about Sir Reginald?

  Stories of Eton. Of course. “The school bully.”

  “At least for our form,” Andover acknowledged.

  “Whatever happened to him?”

  Andover coughed around a chuckle as he seriously said. “I believe he is in the church.”

  “Good God! That’s horrible.”

  “Perhaps he mended his ways.”

  “Never. Oh, how I would love to attend one of his sermons!”

  “I believe he is as far north in Scotland as it is possible to go.”

  “Good.” She nodded with feeling, “They will out-bully him there, if he gets up to any of his tricks. The Scots don’t suffer fools lightly.”

  “I daresay you are right.”

  They reached the end wall. Andover eased her behind a pillar and asked, “So tell me, why does our wedding frighten you?”

  Finally in a place she’d sought for days, alone with Andover, cowardice surfaced. She looked at the doors to the gardens, not so very far way, yearned for escape.

  “Come now.” He lifted her chin, urged her to look at him.

  She closed her eyes, rather than see the change in his. “I have lied to you.”

  “Ah.”

  Her gaze shot up to meet warm curiosity, but not doubt or censure or anything of surprise. Ah? A knowing sound. He knew. But how?

  “Yes.” Off-kilter, she raced on before cowardice overtook her again. “But that is not the worst of it. I have done things behind your back. Actions sure to anger you.”

  Stoic stillness, so remote she could not see his anger.

  She looked toward the garden doors once more, surprised when he took her arm, led her toward them. Privacy, so she could explain it to him, which was more than she expected. If they spoke, she might have a chance.

  Robbie blocked their path, stood boldly before them. “I believe this is my dance, Lady Felicity.”

  Andover tightened his hold, as Robbie stretched out an arm.

  She left the telling of truths too late, closed her eyes, knowing what she needed to do, unable to take that step.

  “Did you promise a dance, Lady Felicity?” The chill, soft question shivered across her skin, his frosty eyes searched for an explanation she couldn’t offer, not here in a crowded ballroom, where anyone could hear.

  She nodded, though they both knew she hadn’t had time to promise a dance to anyone.

  “Will you promise me the next set?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yes, please, I would like that,” she lied, even as she willed her disappointed down.

  With his usual decorum, he bowed and moved aside. “I will wait then, Mrs. Comfrey.”

  Oh, Lord, he knew. How long had he waited for her to own up?

  She had lied, when she wanted to tell the truth. Lied now because it was too late for truths. Robbie said he would come for her when it was close to the end.

  She would not save the next set for Lord Andover. He would never trust her again.

  She had run out of time.

  ****

  Andover watched Felicity cross the ballroom with Robbie, stopping near the dance floor as they waited for the current set to end. At least she had the decency to look back at him. Good, let her stew in his last words. A name she did not deny.

  They waited for the current set to finish. Obviously, this Robbie held something over Felicity. She promised anything. For his brother or for himself?

  There was something not right with Robbie. Desperation, an edge. Not safe.

  Was it an affair? Is that what she l
ied about? Was this Robbie fellow set on keeping it going?

  “Lord Andover.” Lady Jane and Rupert flanked him.

  “Do you know the fellow Felicity is standing beside?” Andover asked Upton.

  “No, not particularly. Bea will be able to tell us more when she gets here.” He looked toward the doorway.

  “Bea? I thought you were to escort her.”

  “She needs to companion her mother. She warned me they may be late.”

  Lady Jane took Andover’s arm and tugged. “I saw that man earlier today.” She smiled, as she always did with tittle-tattle to share. “Felicity was with him then as well, standing in a doorway. Odd neighborhood.”

  “Jane,” Rupert admonished.

  “No,” Andover stopped Rupert. “Let her finish. What neighborhood?’

  “Well, I can’t tell you exactly, but our coachman could. He has his short cuts. Not in a terribly shabby part of town, but…” She thought for a moment. “One would say fading.”

  “And you say Felicity was in the doorway.”

  “Yes.” Jane pursed her lips. “Not at all the thing.”

  “Do you know what sort of establishment it was?”

  “Oh.” She looked up at Andover with wide blue eyes. “It looked like a private home to me. Not any sort of establishment.”

  “I see.”

  The set broke-up, Robbie took Felicity’s hand, led her to the dance floor and kept going, their heads bent close, the exchange urgent.

  Andover excused himself, cut through the assembling dancers and out onto the balcony.

  “What was that about?” Rupert followed him. Unfortunately, so had Lady Jane.

  “He’s an old friend from home.”

  Overcast, no moon or stars to create a glow, torches were hard-pressed to create any sort of light.

  “I don’t think she wanted to dance with him,” he told Rupert.

  “Do you think she is in danger?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked again at Lady Jane. “You should take your sister inside.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she argued. “I can help you look for her.”

  “She isn’t lost.” He shot Rupert a look. “You should both be watching for Bea. I dare say her coach will have arrived.”