An Independent Miss Read online

  Surely, it would not matter.

  Far too disheveled to greet guests, he and Thomas angled toward the back of the house, avoiding the new arrivals. The carriage Lady Westhaven spoke of now stood in the portico. Felicity stopped at the sight of the garish conveyance with its high feather plumes on each corner and a riot of ornate gold curlicues over a pink base. From this angle, the baggage rack at the top looked like a jewel-encrusted crown. More grandiose than grand. Andover feared he knew the owner, hoping to God he was wrong.

  “Whoever owns that horrible thing, it is not the Redmonds,” she lamented.

  Upton looked up. “Lady Beatrice’s family?”

  “Yes, she’s my cousin. They’ve been expected for days.”

  “Beatrice is still expected?” Upton smiled. “I thought, perhaps, the plans had changed.”

  “No, not at all. They will be going to London with us for the season.”

  “Jolly good,” Predictable, as ever, Upton stood a bit taller. Andover bit back a smile. “She’s good fun.”

  Limping though he was, Thomas had not waited for them. Andover wished he had, to counter her next question. “What were you fighting about?”

  Upton had the grace to look away.

  “He’s a brother, Lady Felicity,” Andover explained. “Brothers don’t like the idea of younger sisters growing up.”

  This time Felicity stopped. “Thomas doesn’t approve of our betrothal?”

  “Oh, I say. I wouldn’t go that far.” Upton lied.

  It was Upton’s way to smooth things over, but Felicity would have the truth of it soon enough. “Your brother is not keen on the match,” Andover admitted, ignoring Upton’s frown. “He’s protective. I would hope our future sons will be the same toward their sisters.”

  She frowned, started forward, watching her step on the damp grass, avoided looking at him. He shouldn’t have been fighting, should have done more to prevent it. He’d offended her.

  “He will come around, Lady Felicity,” Upton offered.

  She nodded, but still did not look beyond the path they were taking.

  “I say, Lady Felicity,” Upton added. “You and Andover getting married is jolly news. Pleased to hear we’ll be neighbors.”

  “Oh,” Felicity stumbled on that closely watched path. Andover steadied her, but she looked at Upton, not him. “Of course, I had not thought of that.”

  “Yes,” Upton responded cheerily. “I believe you were school chums with my sister Jane.”

  He remembered their own school days and bonds formed. They’d had a good time at Eton, better than most, and Upton was always eager to reminisce, no doubt reluctant to change the subject, though he did. “Not that she’ll be around for long. She’s bound to leg-shackle some unsuspecting man soon enough.”

  Andover’s lip throbbed. His shoulder ached and the handkerchief Felicity gave him could not sop up any more blood from his nose. He lifted his chin, raised his nose, trying to staunch the flow.

  “Does Lady Jane have her eye on someone in particular?” Felicity snagged his interest away from pain. Not what she said, but how she said it. Something in her tone, but he was so full of his own discomfort he couldn’t focus.

  Upton shook his head. “Don’t know, really. Too many females in my family, gave up listening to their natter about us men. Upsets the senses, it does.”

  Felicity’s chuckle lacked its normal rich warmth, no doubt wondering if she made the right decision to marry a man so easily entangled in a boyish fight. He held her back, leaned down and asked, “May I have a word with you?”

  Still, she managed not to look at him, though she nodded and spoke up, “Would you mind, Lord Upton, helping Thomas? His limp worries me.”

  “Of course!” Upton charged ahead, calling over his shoulder, “should have thought so myself!”

  “I’m sorry,” Andover told her. “I have offended you precisely when I wish to encourage your interest.”

  Even with head down, he caught sight of a blush rushing up her cheeks. “I dare say it was Thomas who began the argument.”

  “He didn’t like my courting you behind his back.”

  Ah, that earned her frank gaze. “I rather think you did it behind my back as well.”

  “That was not my intention,” he promised. “Is there any way, at this point, to make amends?”

  He flinched, as she raised her hand to this face, toward stinging wounds. Surprisingly, her touch did not warrant the reaction. It was butterfly soft, tenderly prodding, her eyes intent on what she discovered.

  “Your poor face,” she finally said. “I do believe you’ve just slain your first dragon for me. Thank you.”

  Her pardon surprised him. “I rather think it is your brother who attempted to do the dragon slaying.”

  This time, an honest chuckle floated on the air. “Thomas has a dreadful temper. I’m sorry you received the brunt of it.”

  “I’m aware of your brother’s moods.”

  “Yet this is the first time you’ve had a bout of fisticuffs with him?”

  There it was again, her soothing voice, the light touch of her fingers. She drew him in—or did she nestle inside of him? Whatever it was, he didn’t think he would ever tire of it. “I’m no fool, Lady Felicity,” he told her. “I stay on Thomas’s right side as much as possible.”

  “But today you fought because of me. A disquieting thought.” Her crooked smile lacked its normal sparkle and he wondered where her thoughts had gone.

  Andover opened the door and bowed low. “It is my pleasure to champion you.”

  She entered the house before she had a chance to respond, and found a maid waiting for her.

  “Maddy? Oh dear, I am late, aren’t I?”

  Maddy curtsied. “I don’t mind, mum.”

  “Just let me gather what I need from here. There is a basket in the greenhouse. Please get it for me.”

  The serving girl followed Felicity’s bidding.

  “Is that where you saw us?” Andover asked, realizing she had other places to go, things to do. He didn’t want to separate from her. These past two weeks he had gotten used to the comfort of her company of an evening. To feel the same, during the day, would not come amiss.

  “Yes, Mother and I were in the greenhouse. Our tenants—you remember the Smiths? We visited them the other day, when we were riding. The young mother, who just had the baby, is Maddy’s sister. I want to check on the family, see if there’s anything they need.”

  “I see.” He tried to speak, but his lip had swollen further, making it difficult.

  Felicity stalled him. “Let me take you down to the kitchens. Lucy will see to that lip and your nose.” She touched it gently. “Remember, have her use the comfrey salve that’s in the stillroom.”

  “There is no need of a salve.”

  “Yes, there is, and there is another one…” She frowned, pulled free, and looked away, “…that I’ve heard is good, but I will have to send that up to you later.”

  “No, truly, do not bother. I am not comfortable with such things,” he admitted, though he wasn’t at all sure what to think. He hoped to God foraging and medicines were not her hobby. Surely not, it was an unusual interest for a lady.

  The depths of her.

  There were too many challenges in his life at present. He chose Lady Felicity precisely because she offered ease.

  “I will escort you to the farm.” He surprised himself by offering, especially as he felt like the absolute dickens.

  “But your face, you need to have that seen to.”

  He brushed off her concern. “It will mend on its own, no need for anything.”

  “It’s a generous offer.” She looked away from his face, at his chest. He looked down.

  “Ah, the blood.”

  Her chuckle slid into him, warm and intoxicating as brandy. He’d not expected that. To feel, or for her words to tickle his own humor. “Rather dramatic, I’d say. Unfortunately, rather than frighten the children, they’ll swarm you
wanting all the details and then I’ll have to be the villain for shooing them away.”

  “I’ll change then, shall I?” It was an effort not to raise his hand, touch her cheek, pull her in, hold her against him to absorb all that steady calm.

  The directness, the way she looked into his eyes, had him turn, lest she see his desire.

  “You should stay, if for no other reason than to get something cold on that lip and across the bridge of your nose.”

  “Just give me a moment. I can change shirts in a trice. I promise not to be too long.”

  She sighed, bit her lip. So telling. He disrupted plans. Was not welcomed for it and yet he did not rescind his request to be with her, to ease over this bad business with her brother. He waited for her response, willing her to agree.

  Her sigh, answer enough, though he welcomed the words. “We will wait.”

  “Thank you.” Now he must prove himself a useful escort, an engaging companion. He would see to it she wanted him by her side as much as he wanted her by his.

  He reached his rooms, to find his valet, Jones, hovering over a basin of fresh water, a bowl of ice. A change of clothes laid out, ready.

  “Saw the altercation from the window. Thought you would want to freshen up,” he explained.

  “Lady Felicity is waiting,” he told Jones.

  “Then we best make this quick.”

  “Is it that bad?” He didn’t dare look in the mirror.

  “Bad enough. Your eyes may bruise.”

  “Lady Felicity was speaking of comfrey,” he admitted.

  “One plant that, not some concoction.”

  “No.” Jones knew better than to needle him on this.

  “Right.”

  Andover seated himself by the basin, Jones washed away any sign of the fight, talking as he worked. “There’s talk of Lady Felicity below stairs.”

  “You aren’t listening to gossip these days, are you?”

  The valet snorted. “Praise is more like it. She is held in high regard here. The best of a good family.”

  The best of the lot of us, Thomas had said. “So I have heard.”

  “Intelligent, too.”

  “Did you think I would settle for any less?”

  “Might want to trust her, from what I’m hearing, about the comfrey and such.”

  “A valet who counsels. How did I find such a gem?”

  “Just saying.”

  “No need to. I know she is intelligent. That doesn’t change my mind on the herbs.” He stood so Jones could undo the buttons on his shirt, half of them missing. “When was the last time you saw a wounded animal put leaves on a sore? Or ice, for that matter,” he argued.

  Jones didn’t bother to answer.

  ****

  Narrow, winding stairs led down into the bowels of the house. Felicity waved at Jasper and Darcy, to stop them from rising as she passed through the servants’ hall. Darcy looked up from her mending, Jasper from shining shoes. Jimmy pushed away from the wall and hurried over to Felicity.

  “Cook has a basket for you to take to the Smiths,” he told her. “I’m to carry it for you.”

  “Good,” Felicity answered, pleased by his eagerness. He was no more than nine years old, just starting to train for service. Still, she did not stop, intent on finding medicines for her brother and Lord Andover before she left for the Smith household.

  “Is Lucy in the stillroom?”

  Felicity’s domain, where everything from fruit cordials and scented waters, to the most complicated tonics, were made. It was the last chamber at the end of the servants’ hall. There was a door to the outside that came out just below the conservatory. She was encouraged to use that door rather than disturb those busy with household chores, but Felicity had worked out an easy peace with those in the lower rooms of the house and often cut through their area.

  “I don’t know ma’am,” He followed her to the kitchen doorway, roughly pushed past to get inside.

  “Jimmy! You do not shove your betters around!” Jane, the kitchen maid, reprimanded.

  “But I have to get the basket,” he argued.

  Felicity put a hand on his shoulder. “A gentleman always requests the right to pass, Jimmy, and a lady graciously moves.” She edged him back behind her. “Let’s try it again.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Kindly ask my permission to pass.”

  “May I pass?”

  Jane huffed. “M’lady!”

  “What?”

  “May I pass by, m’lady?”

  “Oh.” He scuffed his toe on the brick floor, tugged at his forelock. “May I pass by, Lady Felicity?”

  “Yes, sir, you may.” Holding back a smile, she moved aside.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, Cook gestured to the basket on the table, as Felicity let the organized chaos of the kitchens spill around her. The clatter of pots and pans and the scents, heavenly scents, held temptation to nip in and snitch a fresh baked lavender biscuit. She could see them cooling, knew they were for the afternoon tea which she would not be back in time to enjoy.

  “Wondered when you would be down here.” Cook settled the basket on the boy’s arm.

  “Lost track of time, I’m afraid,” Felicity admitted.

  “No shame in that. Jimmy here will carry this for you.”

  Felicity lifted the towel covering. “Don’t suppose…”

  “Lavender biscuits and a nice cup of tea, won’t be a minute.”

  “You are the dearest, Cook! But there isn’t time, I’ll just…”

  An old family retainer, Cook had known Felicity since she was no more than a twinkle in her daddy’s eye. Without hesitation, she took Felicity by the shoulders and directed her to a seat and sat her. “Doesn’t take any time to sip some tea, have a biscuit. Lucy is just down the hall. Jane here will go fetch her. You can give her instructions before you go.”

  Felicity got right up again, with a handful of her favorite treats. “I really can’t dally. Lord Andover is going with us, and he will be waiting.”

  Cook snorted. “He should be seeing to his injuries. We heard all about it, we did. The lad’s already been to the ice house.”

  “I need to get medicines for both men.”

  “Lord Andover won’t take it. His man said as much. Said he don’t hold with healing of any sort.”

  “Doesn’t hold with healing?” Biscuit halfway to her mouth, Felicity stopped, considered, dismissing the idea with the flick of a wrist, the biscuit flying out of her hand in the process. “That’s ridiculous. Surely you misunderstood.” She looked for the fallen treat, already grabbed up by a scullery maid.

  “That’s what Jones, his valet, says.”

  “Is that right?” I am not comfortable with such things. “Even a simple thing like comfrey?”

  Cook shook her head. “Doesn’t use anything.”

  “People have been using comfrey for centuries. Surely he will use such a salve,” she argued, although she knew he wouldn’t. He had already put her off the idea. “Really, some people have the strangest notions.”

  “He has a surprise coming in you, if that’s how he feels,” Cook chortled.

  CHAPTER 4 ~ OBSTACLES

  The issue did not arise as Felicity and Andover made their way to the Smiths’ home. She was garbed in a fresh muslin frock with vertical green and cream stripes, while he wore buckskin breeches, unlike the coarse trousers of their tenants, and a dark blue frock coat, over a simple lawn shirt of the lightest weight, and a waistcoat.

  The waistcoat, with horizontal stripes of burgundy and cream, prompted him to chuckle when they met. “Do you think your Abigail and my valet conspired with the stripes?”

  He was too handsome. Handsomeness drew too many fond advances to many lures to betrayal.

  Still, Felicity was not immune to the flattery of his attention.

  She should be wary, she knew she should, but she couldn’t help being flattered. A titled, wealthy, handsome man, was spoiled for choice. To be
singled out by such a man, especially her, a bluestocking far outside the interest of top flyers—quite took her breath away.

  Yes, she’d been courted, but solely by men as focused on serious studies as she. They did not leave her breathless.

  Andover did.

  “Of course.” She found her tongue, took his arm. “Do you think, in the conspiring, they imagined a plaid?”

  “Ha!” He shot her a quick look and laughed. “Vertical and horizontal laid upon each other.” Fist to mouth, head turned, he coughed, hiding a bark of laughter, much as her brother or father were wont to do.

  “What?” she asked.

  He looked toward the path. The part of his lip not swollen beyond recognition caught firmly between his teeth. Suppressed humor again, much like the men in her family whenever she said something they considered earthy.

  She sighed, adjusted her bonnet, nodded to Maddy and Jimmy, both with baskets for the Smiths, not to wait, but go on ahead. No need for close chaperones now they were betrothed.

  His hand, gloved this time, covered hers on his arm. No warm flesh to warm flesh, to tickle her senses. He matched his step to her smaller ones, as they followed the two retainers.

  She dared a look at his booted leg. He didn’t limp, but she knew it hurt by the way he’d rub it when he thought no one noticed, just as he’d done in the study earlier that afternoon. The Redmond’s had not been kind to their guest. First Charles and Annabel’s wicked game of blind-man’s-bluff and then Thomas turning to fisticuffs. Honestly, she could throttle her own siblings.

  She offered arnica salve, a wondrous mixture for bruises.

  He refused it.

  No, she corrected herself, he hadn’t so much refused her salve as refused any mention of salves or ointments.

  I am not comfortable with such things.

  She dipped her head, bit her lip, trying to reconcile her skills with his reaction to medicines.

  There were people like that, who refrained from doctors and medicines and the like. She respected them, often wondered what came first, their healthy continence or the disregard for disease. But why would they choose pain if it could be relieved?