Foretold Heart

by Camille Oster

  As he stood, he heard Mr. Croft approaching. "A reply has arrived," he said and Felix walked over with quick strides. It had certainly been hastily written.

  Dear Lord Britheney,

  Much too late and we do not have the brevity of friendship that would suggest such a transference of roles. Perhaps you should make an effort to be more agreeable.

  There she was, he thought with a smile. This was the real her and not a polite answer.

  Fear not, most will accept your invitations out of sheer curiosity if nothing else. I am certain the event will be a success.

  Sincerest Regard,

  Sylvia Bellworth

  At times, he wondered if she was even aware how insulting she was. It probably wasn't her intention. It was a logical deduction, but with it came certain implications that were less than flattering. That had to get her in hot water at times. Or perhaps her forthrightness forced people to take her decrees at face value, because there was no underlying malice.

  Drawing a new sheet of paper, he sat down at his desk.

  My Dearest Friend,

  I am simply thinking of other people's comfort, being as I can barely muster charm enough to impress one person, let alone three hundred. Perhaps I fear that my humor will run out before the line of guests to be greeted. I am, after all, more used to issuing orders than making senseless and flattering conversation. And as for curiosity, I suspect most will be deeply disappointed, by either the abject lack of scandal or my refusal to entertain young, unmarried women.

  Your Servant,

  Felix

  "Croft," he called.

  "Another letter to the young lady?" Croft asked, the tiniest note of exasperation in his tone.

  "Simply have it sent."

  The chair creaked as he leant back. Maybe he should go to the bookstore, but he was too curious to leave in case a reply came.

  It didn't take long and he was gladdened that she was as willing to engage in this conversation with him.

  Dear Lord Britheney,

  You sell yourself short, sir. I am sure if you draw deep, you can chat with every person about the abysmal weather we are having. Other topics of conversation can include: how lovely they look (in the case of a female). All love to hear they look lovely, even women who have far since seen the blossom of youth. Men are, of course, tricker, as they like to be asked about their interests. This is where knowing them is a real advantage. In the absence of that, simply show them you are very pleased they could attend. See, there is nothing to being charming.

  Warmest Regard,

  Sylvia

  Her address grew more informal with each letter. Unfortunately, it would be absurd to continue this conversation, but it had been the bright point of his day. Now the monotony of a dismal day continued. Re-reading the letter, he smiled, imaging her sitting in her drawing room and quickly scribbling her thoughts. She was at home today, it seemed. Perhaps she was as listless as he was. But there was little he could do about it. Society guarded her to the point where he could barely speak to her.

  Chapter 25

  THE DAY OF THE BALL finally arrived. Sylvia had been counting the days, because she hadn't heard from Lord Britheney since that day they had exchanged letters. Perhaps he took it literally when she'd said anyone could have assisted him and he had gone elsewhere. It wasn't appropriate to query, but she'd wanted to know.

  Andrew hadn't seen him either, but he hadn't spent the evenings out as he usually did. Partially it was the weather, but he seemed to be moping in some way.

  "Should I put these flowers in my hair?" Ester asked, indicating to lacquer pins.

  Sylvia walked over and looked at them. "They are beautiful. I think you should. And you should wear your mother's string of pearls like you did that time for the Hershey's summer party. Do you remember?"

  "Yes," she said. It wasn't what she'd intended as she had bought ribbons especially. "I'm not sure the style I have chosen will suit them.”

  "Your mother's pearl earrings then."

  "She might be wearing them herself."

  "True.”

  “Is Andrew ready, do you think?"

  "I doubt he's even started," Sylvia said dismissively. Andrew took hardly any time to dress. Mary assisted with her hair as she sat down. She'd been nervous ahead of this evening and it wasn't that she was going to a ball as such. It was more to do with Lord Britheney. For some reason, it felt as if she'd failed him and she didn't know why. It was a very curious emotion. She'd done nothing wrong, but it felt as though she had.

  Ester was humming as she dressed in her gown.

  "We really shouldn't take that long. I promised Lord Britheney I would help him identify his guests. Or rather, I should be there at the earliest opportunity, but the carriage can come back for you."

  "Will Andrew come?" It was all about Andrew now. Ester had simply shifted her affection from Marcus to Andrew, and Sylvia hoped this wouldn't all end in tears.

  "I don't know," she said. "If not, you will meet him there."

  Ester continued dressing and Sylvia wondered what actually occurred in her mind. She seemed to lose interest in everything when there was a man occupying her thoughts.

  Sylvia waited patiently as Mary twisted and curled her hair and artfully applied the ribbons. She couldn't really pin down any expectations for the evening. And then Mary was done. "

  "Alright, I have to leave, are you coming?"

  "Uhh, I haven't quite finished my hair" Ester said.

  "No, of course, how about you assist mother as I can't. It would be a great solace to her." It wasn't strictly true, but Sylvia didn't want to press Ester into coming. Clearly, spending time with Andrew was more important to her. It meant that Mary had to come, at least until there were sufficient people there.

  "Alright," Ester said with a smile.

  Sylvia went downstairs. Andrew wasn't even back from wherever he was, so there was little chance the rest of the household would be attending the ball early. "Come on, Mary," Sylvia called as Mr. Wilson assisted her with her coat.

  The carriage waited and Sylvia quickly got in so snow wouldn’t ruin her neatly coiffured hair. It did give an air of prettiness to London, white covering every square they passed. Her nervousness only grew as they drove closer to his fine house.

  Lanterns had been placed outside, leading the way up the stone steps to his entrance way. Footmen helped her out and already, she heard voices inside. She had reason to be here early, but why did they? But it didn't take long to see why. Mrs. Fitzsimmons was monopolizing Lord Britheney's time to promote her daughter Cynthia. Clever, Sylvia had to admit. They more or less had him all to themselves. Sylvia approached.

  "Ah, Miss Bellworth, I see you have arrived," Mrs. Fitzsimmons said, sounding less pleased than her words suggested. "Are you here alone?"

  "We had to take two trips to all fit. I have my Mary with me until the others arrive."

  "How… peculiar."

  Finally Sylvia looked at Lord Britheney and smiled. He bowed his head and then accepted her hand, placing a kiss on it.

  "I hope your parents are looking forward to the evening."

  Mrs. Fitzsimmons and her daughter were still there, hoping she would greet and move on. "Mother is looking forward to the evening ever so much."

  "It is because of Miss Bellworth that you are here this evening," Lord Britheney said to Mrs. Fitzsimmons. "I had to beg her assistance with the guestlist as my associations cannot match hers."

  "Oh," the woman said with a raised eyebrow. "Then we are in your debt."

  "If you will excuse us, I have a small matter I wish to discuss with Miss Bellworth."

  Mrs. Fitzsimmons was not pleased, but with a sharp curtsy, she unwillingly retreated, followed by her daughter.

  "They do hang on for dear life," she said, then regretted the words.

  "I am assuming she is hopeful on her daughter's behalf."

  "Cynthia is a dear girl. Doesn't say much." Although Sylvia had known her for years
, she had never really gotten to know the girl. Shy to a fault and hence impossible to get to know. Perhaps it was understandable that Mrs. Fitzsimmons was so forward and intent. It was the only way the girl would find a husband. "I'm sorry, what was it you wished to discuss?"

  "Only that I am very grateful you've arrived. Poor Mrs. Fitzsimmons had to introduce herself."

  "Oh," Sylvia said with a grimace. "That is not ideal. Fear not, I will endeavor to help."

  "I am eternally grateful. Your brother has not come with you, I see."

  "He hasn't even arrived home yet. I don't know where he is, but he is known for cutting things finely. I did, however, feel you might need me." Coming alone with her maid was far from ideal, but neither was Lord Britheney greeting every guest to his house as perfect strangers.

  "Indeed I do. I find you invaluable."

  A blush crept up her cheeks and she hated that it did. It wasn't something she normally suffered from, but of late, she blushed at the drop of a hat. It was hugely aggravating.

  "I suppose you have been terribly busy planning this evening."

  "Well, I have nearly lost the services of my man of business."

  "Ah, this is Mr. Humfrey Bridgesmyth and his wife Rosalind," Sylvia whispered as a pair walked into the hall.

  Lord Britheney greeted them perfectly. They smiled with pleasure.

  "Sir, I think you lie to me. You can be perfectly charming when you want to be."

  "Hush. Don't tell anyone or they will expect me to be so all the time. Besides, I am simply copying you, while putting a manly bluster to it."

  "Manly bluster," she repeated with a smile.

  A string of people arrived and Lord Britheney greeted all of them graciously, even Lady Thornton, whose mouth was drawn tight with disapproval. Clearly not disapproving enough to say no to the invitation.

  "Well, that was pleasant," Britheney said when she had passed. "There is a price to pay for being gracious, I think."

  "You are placing yourself above their petty judgments. It is commendable," she said. "They are judging you based on someone else's actions. None of them would expect others to treat them that way, so it is hardly right that they condone their own behavior. But people do have a habit of judging themselves easier than others. It is a shame."

  "You do not judge me, then?"

  "No, you have been nothing but courteous and gracious. At times flirtatious, but that is hardly unusual in an unmarried man."

  "Is that a fault then, being flirtatious?" he asked, an amused sparkle in his eyes.

  "Events such as these would be tedious if there was no flirtation at all."

  "Then I have your approval to flirt with you."

  Somewhere along the way, she had made a misstep. What could she say? Yes? No? No, had been her answer, but she was defeated by her own logic. The seconds were ticking by and she yet had no response. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

  "I don't know. Well, I have shown you my ballroom, and my wine storage. Perhaps I could show you the portrait gallery, or the greenhouse."

  "You have a greenhouse," she said, partially in a way to distract him from the discussion.

  "An oasis from the harsh winter outside. It is quite something. You will have to let me impress you."

  "And to what end would you want to do that?" Why was she feeling so breathless? Obviously, he was clearly flirting with her, teasing her.

  "To what end?" he repeated. "What end would you like?"

  "Perhaps the end where we are firm friends and nothing untoward ever happens."

  "Ah, the flirtation for friendship. Yes, well, you will have to forgive me if I misstep every once in a while. This end is new to me."

  Which ends weren't new to him? "You do not have female friends?"

  "No, I have, but they have never worn ball gowns."

  Sylvia frowned. "Then what kinds of friends were they?"

  "Strong women. Extraordinary women." His thoughts drifted off for a moment as if realizing. Sylvia didn't quite know how to take this.

  "What made them extraordinary?"

  "They were brave," he said without a moment's hesitation. Sylvia didn't understand what he meant, what kinds of women these were. Obviously not women of society. Instead women he had met during his travels and it seemed he admired them greatly. Brave women. As a soldier, courage would have been stock and trade, but there was never any call for courage in the ballrooms of London.

  "And you were never anything more with these exceptional women?" Really should she be asking this? Curiosity drove her.

  "Once," was all he said. Then he looked away and surveyed the gathered crowd, who were mingling and chatting, dressed as finely as Sylvia had ever seen them.

  Chapter 26

  "AND WHAT DO these brave women do?" Miss Bellworth asked.

  This hadn't been a topic of conversation he'd anticipated discussing, but it seemed to have taken hold with Miss Bellworth. "Defended their country, and their families. Did what was necessary." Why was he explaining this? There was no way she could know of the things that were necessary in the world of war. "They refused to be victims. That is the source of their strength, I think."

  Miss Bellworth's family arrived and Felix was genuine in his warm greeting of them. He wasn't sure any of them had the strength to face some of the things he had seen. Such gentleness was perhaps what they had been protecting all along. It was worth protecting.

  "There you are, darling," Mrs. Bellworth said and took her daughter’s hand. Her brother arrived with his sister's close friend.

  "Miss Bellworth has graciously assisted me in not making a fool of myself," Felix said.

  "Oh, that's wonderful," Mrs. Bellworth said.

  "Sadly, with my knee I cannot take a turn on the dance floor, or I would mark my name on your card," he said as he bowed and kissed Mrs. Bellworth's hand. The woman giggled and flustered. "Mr. Bellworth. A cards room is set up if you care to try your hand."

  "Excellent," Mr. Bellworth said. "I hear the Duke of Wellington might be in attendance tonight."

  "Not a man to ever arrive early—unless there is an enemy to vanquish." No, Wellington was not a man to linger at parties, but Felix knew he enjoyed his fame and status. "Please, enjoy the evening. You should too, Miss Bellworth. I think I can manage now as the majority has now arrived, but I am in your debt for your gracious assistance."

  She smiled and curtseyed before joining her mother as they walked toward the ballroom. The house was not quiet and dark for once, but he was on some level struggling not to feel overwhelmed by it all. It wasn't so much the pressure of facing London society, because he didn't honestly care if he was a success. It wasn't crucial that he was. Being a pillar of society was not the life he was seeking. It would likely require much more effort than he was willing to expend. A tolerable life was what he was in search of. No, that wasn't right. His ambition was stronger than that. He wanted a home, a family he belonged to. He wanted the Bellworths.

  Granted, he could simply approach Mr. Bellworth and make his proposal. They were hardly in a position to refuse, but he also knew that it would be strongarming Sylvia and she would not take to it well. He certainly would not appreciate being strongarmed into marriage. No, the best course of action would be to draw her in, to make her want to be with him. That was the kind of marriage he wanted.

  Miss Bellworth might not have the steely resolve of one of the female spies he'd met, but she was strong enough to know her own mind.

  Tension rose in the room. Felix noticed, his sense for danger still present, and this sudden tension felt as if a lion was wandering in. But it was no lion. It was the Duke of Wellington, wearing a black coatee, with red collar and cuffs. Brass buttons and medals adorned his chest. His hair was more gray than the last time Felix had seen him.

  "Your Grace," Felix said as the man approached. "It is an honor to welcome you to my house tonight."

  "I understand there is a woman you need me to charm," the duke said wryly.

 
"Yes, she has arrived."

  "Then lead the way."

  The drone of conversation increased as they walked into the ballroom, everyone clearly excited. Felix wanted to head toward Sylvia and to introduce her to the duke, but that was not the purpose of this visit. Neither did they get anywhere fast as all wanted to greet the celebrity that was joining them for the evening. The duke received the fervid interest with calm ease and he seemed to know quite a few people personally.

  Eventually they reached Lady Wenstropp. "Arthur, such a pleasure to see you."

  "You as well, Margret," the duke said. Felix hadn't known they were so familiar. Perhaps this strategy had been underexamined. "Young Britheney here says you are kindly donating some land to support the cause of caring for our injured. A noble venture beyond all else. I commend you."

  That was not what Felix had discussed, but he was hardly going to argue.

  "Of course," Lady Wenstopp said. "And it is a sheer pleasure. Who would not support the brave and unfortunate men injured in the defense of the country?"

  "Exactly. You are worth your weight in gold, Lady Wenstropp," the duke said and he readied to move on. "A gem. I will make sure to tell his majesty of your generosity when I see him next."

  Done. Within mere seconds, the land was pried out of her hands. Lady Wenstopp was blushing, which was a sight Felix had never thought he'd see. Now that was leverage. A simple word from Wellington and the lady fell over herself to concede. Only went to show that hitting the right strategy was a much more effective thing that slogging away endlessly at a goal.

  Wellington continued his journey around the ballroom and once he had completed it, he left.

  Well, one objective down, one to go, Felix thought as he turned back to the house. Dancing had started by the time he returned, but he didn't want to linger in the ballroom.

  Besides, Miss Bellworth seemed to not be there and she was the one he was in search of. He found her in the hall outside the cards room, speaking to a couple.