An Independent Miss

by Becca St. John

  “You’ll be tired.” Even sitting there, her eyelids fought to stay open, though they popped open with his words. “Come,” he rose, pulled her chair out, helped her to stand, facing him. He touched her cheek, just below the dark circles under her eyes. “You’ve not slept the whole night.”

  “No.” She looked about, managing to miss the doorway to her own rooms. “A bit.”

  “More than a bit.” Not surprised she wouldn’t meet his eye. “I believe there’s a night rail on the bed. A gift from my mother. Let me show you.”

  As he led her to her chamber, she frowned. “Perhaps your mother should stay here, rather than with my parents. The children are raucous and…”

  “She’s looking forward to it.”

  “Except…”

  “No exceptions, Felicity. We spoke of it while you were dressing this morning, she truly is looking forward to the children.”

  Still, her steps faltered.

  “You’ve had a rugged night.” He couldn’t imagine anyone sleeping well after facing what she faced. “Come.” He urged, for she stopped just shy of the threshold. “I believe Lucille, Mother’s finest French abigail, is waiting for you in your dressing room.”

  ****

  As promised, the very French Lucille waited, helped Felicity with her bath, lowered the night rail over her head and tied it at the throat. Sheer, with the most delicate of laces at throat, wrist and hem. Exquisite embroidery flowed from the lace.

  Rather than braid her hair, Lucille brushed it out and twisted it in a way that looked both loose yet contained, and then sent her off to a four-poster bed, with damask drapery and welcoming white linen sheets.

  Alone.

  She climbed into the bed. The bath, the clean sheets, the beautiful night rail. Tired as she was, she should be able to sleep. Instead, the fragility of being alone in this place, strange to her, in a huge bed, within a massive room with high ceilings and long silk-covered windows.

  Loneliness slipped deep, only to jar with contrary wariness, as the door to the sitting room opened. Andover stood just inside the door.

  “I surprised you,” he realized.

  “Yes,” Felicity admitted.

  “You did not expect me?” He stepped in, closed the door behind him.

  Foolishly, she opened her mouth before closing it; realizing, put like that, she should have expected him.

  Of course she should have expected him. She hadn’t thought it through, too tired to do so.

  He crossed to the bed. “Scoot over. We will sleep. Neither of us had any rest last night.”

  All the tension, fear, anticipation drained from her. “Please,” She held up the sheets, inviting him in now that she didn’t need to worry about what was right and what was wrong. “I’m glad you came. I was lonely.”

  He needed no other invitation, reached for the ties of his robe transforming an innocent nap into something not so innocent.

  She tried not to look, really tried, chastising herself for her weakness. Despite seeing limbs and bodies and all sorts of man parts at the convalescent home, this was not a weakened, ill man.

  She forced herself to turn away until the bed shifted, the covers rearranged. She looked back. He lay on his side, levered up on one arm looking down at her.

  Ever so gently, he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

  “Beautiful, you are so beautiful.” And she believed him, even though she knew she was no great beauty.

  He laughed, as though he read her mind. “Don’t be such a doubter. You are beautiful and it runs deep. From the gleam of your eyes, the ease of your smile to the way you care for others. I don’t know of any other woman who carries as much love in her heart as you.”

  Boldened by fatigue, or by his words, she didn’t know, but she no longer wanted to sleep. She wanted one of his kisses, she wanted to feel the press of his body to hers. She reached up, traced the curve of his eyebrow, even as it quirked up in question. With a smile, she cupped his head, pulled him down for a kiss.

  This kiss so different from the others, starting in a different place, a place where there was time, time to touch, time to taste, time to explore.

  “You need sleep,” he whispered, pulling away.

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll ask one more time…”

  She nibbled at his collarbone.

  “Unfair. I am trying to be a gentleman.”

  “My mother told me not to be a lady in the bedroom, so…”

  He cut her off with a groan, kissing her a thousand different ways as the sun crossed the sky. His lips brushed her mouth, eyes, neck, along her throat.

  He kissed her with his hands as they brushed along her body to touch and entice, to cup and squeeze and explore places she never dreamed she would welcome another’s touch.

  He taught her with patience, he inspired her with passion, he tamed her when she grew restless and all the while she sensed his own desire, pent-up and waiting for what, she didn’t know—but understood by the tremble of his fingers, the sweat on his brow.

  “Please…” She begged him, for his sake and hers. She knew, had been told, what to expect from this night. But that foretelling held nothing of the truth. “Please, please.”

  “Felicity…Cis…I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Please…” She needed him. “It hurts to wait.” She relished his weight, as he settled over her, craved the pressure of him pressed, the stretch as he inched further, further still until he moved no more. Braced on both forearms, he watched her.

  “I love you, Cis, my brave girl.” He pulled back and thrust forward, quickly, stilling, his body trembling with the effort.

  His forehead to hers. “Oh Cis, my Cis.”

  She took a breath, adjusted, and nodded. “Yes,” stroked his cheek, “I love you, too.”

  Her words releasing him, to carry them both on a powerful tide of building tension until, together, they tumbled to completion as one, in body as well as soul.

  ****

  Felicity awoke, buried deep in a feather mattress, the weight of a down-filled comforter cocooning her. Eyes still closed, she searched her waking mind until movement from across the room brought her wide-awake, eyes open. Andover leaned over a fire, lighting it, a robe carelessly draped over his body.

  He stood, turned. She shut her eyes, shy again, as the sides of the unbelted dressing gown billowed.

  “Ah, she is with us again.” He laughed, shifting covers and mattress as he climbed in beside her. “I told the servants to set the fire, but not light it, as I didn’t want anything to wake us.

  Sure enough, a fire blazed. Fire in the spring. Extravagant, but this was an unusually frigid spring.

  “How talented of you, to know how to execute such a thing.”

  “Very talented,” he nuzzled her neck, reminding her of the night they shared, the closeness. Hunger ignited, waking her for a mere touch, his shoulder, his face. No objection from him, that she roused him with her newfound curiosity, rousing to more than wakefulness.

  “How are you this morning?” he asked.

  “Hmmm,” she considered his question, the slight aches where she never ached before, but she did not want to tell him, did not want to stop the fascinating, compelling explorations her reticence would encourage.

  Silent too long, he drew his own conclusions. “Ah, I see.” He rolled over, but not without taking her with him, to hold her close to his side. “Let’s have leisurely baths and take the day slowly, perhaps speak of your dreams.” He lifted her chin, studying her as he asked. “We need to discuss your work. How you want to balance our life with your studies.”

  She stretched. “Those are deep discussions for a day such as this,” and curled into him. “But I have an idea. It’s been growing these past weeks.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” He kissed her nose, but she saw the wariness in his eyes.

  “You might approve of this, actually.” She braced her arms on his chest. “Being married to you help
s.”

  He sat up, intrigued. “How is that?”

  “Obviously, I can’t work alone, nor is that my goal, to work in hospitals. And there are good doctors out there…”

  “Say it, Felicity. Just say the words.”

  She held her breath, watching his eyes. And let it all out, words and breath in a rush. “I would like to train young women to work in convalescent homes for soldiers, and to open more of the homes. I want to do more to help them. Perhaps match returning soldiers, especially injured soldiers, with work. It’s been such a dreadful mess with the men returning to no back pay, no jobs, lack of food! Awful, just awful.”

  “You would rather teach than work in the homes yourself?”

  Startled, she looked at him. “I thought you would forbid me going to those places.”

  “No. I would not forbid you though, admittedly, I’m not comfortable with such things. I do not care to have you in such a place, but I can’t question your value. I wouldn’t forbid, but I prefer you have an escort.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded, hugging her when she dived into his hold. “If you would be just as happy teaching as carrying out the work, that would please me better.”

  “I would like to teach. Quite honestly, the practical knowledge is important, but it’s such a distraction from my studies.”

  “There you have it.”

  She laughed. “Oh, what a glorious, glorious day!” She stretched and sighed, wondering how long it had been since she felt so decadent. “How early do you think it is?”

  The rumble of his chuckle tickled her ear. “It’s not early at all, I just haven’t pulled the drapes.”

  She shot up. “Mother expected us for luncheon!”

  He scratched his head, his hair a tousled mess. “We are already too late for that, or will be by the time we are ready to leave.”

  She looked at him, his charmingly boyish smile replaced with a mischievous glint. She blushed.

  “Here,” he handed her the night rail from the bottom of the bed. He must have picked it up when he lit the fire. “I will send a note around to your mother, and tell her we will be late, even though we are famished.”

  “Oh!” She was famished, heard the rumble of her tummy. She slipped the silk and lace concoction over her head. “You are right, I am famished, don’t even know if I can wait until we get there.”

  He pulled her over again, whispered in her ear, causing a riot of sensation. “You’ve been feeding other appetites, and quite forgot the one for sustenance.”

  “Body and soul, my love, body and soul.”

  ****

  They arrived at the Redmonds’ in time for a late luncheon, still exceedingly famished.

  “We received your note and waited for you, dear,” her mother explained, as they sat down to eat. “We didn’t want anything to disturb you.”

  “Welcome to the family, Lady Andover.” Her mother-in-law, the newly formed dowager marchioness, said and they all laughed.

  “I haven’t quite gotten used to the change,” Felicity admitted. “I never really considered that side of things.” She blushed. “I mean, that my name would change.”

  The dowager marchioness smiled and patted her hand. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that it has. I only wish my husband was alive to be here. He would have been so pleased. So pleased.” She put her hand on Thomas’s arm, to be led into the meal.

  Andover helped Felicity into her seat. “Finally, may I assume you approve of an announcement in the Times?” Andover asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lord Westhaven groused, from the end of the table. “Can’t trust the Times to publish the damn thing.”

  Bea and Upton arrived together, in time to sit and have a bite while everyone was still at the table. Felicity and Andover rose to meet them.

  “Oh, Felicity!” Bea exclaimed, rushing to Felicity, hugging her so they both danced in a circle.

  “She’s been biting at the bit, trying to get here earlier,” Lord Upton explained. “We gave up waiting for her mother.”

  Bea brushed that aside. “You have been too elusive of late! And we didn’t get a chance to speak at your wedding.”

  “We will speak later,” Felicity promised.

  “Later when?” Bea wailed. “You’ll be leaving on your wedding trip and I will be stuck without any idea of what you have been up to.”

  “No doubt she’s been up to things she shouldn’t have been,” Lady Westhaven warned. “And nothing to discuss at the table.”

  “Speaking of wedding trips…” the dowager Marchioness spoke up.“In these havey-cavey wedding plans, did you consider taking your bride anywhere, Andover? Or are you going to limit yourselves to the social scene of London?”

  “Of course I’ve thought of such things.” Andover turned to Felicity. “But I’ve yet to speak with my wife.” He explained. “If she had the time, I thought we would travel.”

  Felicity sat up. “Travel? Where?”

  “Perhaps a tour of the hospitals of Greece, see if there is any shrine to Hippocrates?”

  Chuckling, she shook her head. “Exploring hospitals can wait until we return. The ones in England will keep me busy enough. As for the history of medicine, I have my very own personal record of that.”

  “Yes, well, I have been wondering if you would like to share your very own, personal record of medicine.”

  Felicity stilled. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Andover reached into a pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper. “The way you tote those journals around, there is always the fear they could be damaged or destroyed.”

  With a hint of sarcasm, Lady Westhaven assured him. “She is very careful with them, Lord Andover.”

  He smiled. “I am certain that she is, but then what if something happened to her. The sharing of these journals has been a precarious business, counting on one descendant at a time.”

  “I don’t understand?” Felicity admitted.

  He handed her the letter. “If you do not want this done, it will not be, but as you seem the only person alive I would trust with my life, perhaps it is time others came to have the same knowledge. Spread the knowledge, so to speak.”

  “What is it?” Lord Westhaven asked.

  Felicity started to laugh, then cried, then shouted as she brandished the letter. “My journals are to be published.”

  Andover beamed. “You don’t mind?”

  “Mind?” she cried. “Mind? Do you know the burden of responsibility my ancestors have carried with these journals? Do you have any idea the weight of that? Of course I don’t mind!” She leapt at him and he caught her to twirl her about.

  “But when did you ever see the journals, how did you know they were Felicity’s? This had to have been done some time ago,” Bea wondered.

  Reluctantly, Andover let Felicity down, looking to her, as he answered her cousin. “A trail was left, but it was an outraged apothecary who led me to the writings of a Mrs. Comfrey. Her name was the first clue, as I knew of Felicity’s fondness for the herb. She tried to press it on me after a bit of fisticuffs with her brother.”

  “Lady Comfrey,” the Dowager Marchioness repeated. “Yes, a wonderful woman who has given me back the will to live. But may I make a suggestion?”

  “Of course,” Felicity told her.

  “I suggest you let the volumes be published under that lady’s name, and give yourselves the freedom to be who you are without interruption.”

  “Or any more scandals!” Lady Westhaven applauded.

  “Or any more scandals.” Felicity looked up into her husband’s eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he teased. “If not for scandals who knows where we would be?”

  “In each other’s hearts,” Felicity promised. “We were always meant to be in each other’s heart.”

  THE END

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