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  “Good God, man!” Her father, who never shouted, exploded. “Have you no decency? In our house, on the cusp of your betrothal to our daughter?”

  Before Andover could answer, Elizabeth continued. “It gets worse, Westhaven, as the repast was not delivered before Felicity managed to visit Andover as well. She was leaving as the footman arrived to hear Vivien, in one of her foolish wisps of a night rail, invite Felicity to have a drink with them. Quite a party you must have had, Andover. It is too much, do you hear, too much.”

  “He didn’t know I was coming,” Felicity admitted. Why she spoke, she didn’t quite know, but it earned her a smile from Andover. She sniffed at that and turned back to the window.

  “What do we do, Westhaven? Do they marry immediately or, can we hope…”

  “No, no, no!” Felicity’s startled them. So be it. Tantrums and outbursts were not her style, but she would not be pushed on this. “There will be no marriage.”

  Having gotten their attention, she managed to calm herself. “I do not want to marry Lord Andover. That’s why I went to his rooms.” She looked away, uncomfortable with the lie. “To tell him I didn’t think we would suit.”

  “Did you?” Her father asked, in his most thoughtful way. “Did you really risk going to his rooms to tell him you wouldn’t suit?”

  “I will not marry him. That’s all there is to it.” She made to leave but her father stopped her.

  “You will marry him, Cissy; you have no choice.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “That doesn’t matter, young lady,” her mother added. “You should have thought of that when you left your rooms.”

  “Felicity,” Andover appealed, “will you give me a moment?”

  She looked up at him, determined despite what her parents said. “I won’t marry. I would rather be a dried-up old spinster than marry you.”

  This time, when she made to leave, no one stopped her. She kept going, keeping her head up, refusing to look cowed, refusing to look as though this whole scandal had touched her in any way.

  Footman carrying luggage—her Aunt Vivien’s luggage, she hoped—passed her on the stairs and in the hallway. Normally friendly with the staff, she refused to look at them, kept her focus on reaching the door of her room, wanting, needing, the sanctuary.

  Sedately, she pushed open the door, closing it very carefully once inside. If she showed even a touch of what she felt, it would all come tumbling out. With the snap of the catch, the promise of solitude, she turned and halted.

  There, by her window, stood Aunt Vivien.

  “You are not welcome here,” Felicity said, sorry for the truth of it, because she had always liked her aunt, hungered to be just as bold and vibrant.

  Felicity suspected that her mother feared that very same temperament, which was why she lived so religiously by society’s rules. Mother was not one to break boundaries, or to create scenes outside of the family.

  Vivien was.

  “Do you really believe I wanted to hurt you? Can you believe that of me, Felicity?”

  “You didn’t hurt me.” Her second lie of the day. A terrible thing, when she was not accustomed to lying at all.

  “You needed to learn, darling.” Vivien tried to move close, her hands out, as though she expected to hug and comfort.

  Felicity backed away. “What was so important for me to learn?”

  Vivien put her hands to her breast, in prayer mode. “No one else would teach you, and words would not suffice.”

  “If this was to be some great lesson, how did you know I would go there?”

  “I didn’t.” Vi sighed. “You didn’t need to go there. The servants would have had their say, and you would have learned. That’s the way of the world. No man can be trusted, not a one of them. Better to be hurt now, before you allow yourself an attachment that will never be returned. Better now.”

  Only Felicity didn’t want to know. She didn’t want the pain. She didn’t want the doubts. All she had wanted was one kiss.

  Without warning, Felicity’s door opened. Her mother ready to have her say, when she spotted the intruder.

  “Vivien!” Lady Westhaven stood, fierce and furious. “You are not welcome in this house. Do you understand? Do you understand the repercussions?”

  Another sigh, as Vivien looked at her sister. “It means that dear Lord Westhaven will not help me anymore. Not to worry, I have found a benefactor, so I don’t need your support.”

  “Not a penny.” Lady Westhaven’s lips pinched tight.

  Slowly, Vivien made to leave, turning as she passed Felicity, pity in her eyes. “Do you see what I sacrificed for you? So you will know how men are and guard your heart? I am disowned, refused any resource for my comfort.”

  “Go!” Elizabeth Redmond snapped.

  Sister faced sister. One, eyes bright as a zealot on retribution day, faced the fury of a terrier, quivering, barely leashed by invisible bonds.

  The zealot would not stop. “They betray you, every man, even your husband, will betray you…”

  The bonds broke. The ever-so-sophisticated Lady Westhaven charged and grappled, clumsy in her fury. She pushed Vi out of the room, slammed the door, clicked the lock and leaned against it, her body a determined barrier against any trespasser.

  Too late.

  Vi’s words hung in the room like a tapestry tale, never to be undone. Tremors swept Felicity, her breath. She jerked away from the site of her mother’s labored inhalations, neat coiffure askew, strands curling undone, wild in her protection.

  Felicity struggled, jerky staccato efforts for air. She found strength in a sudden rage that swept up and through her. Unsteady, she grabbed the bedpost, and suddenly saw her décor for the statement it made, as though, until this moment, it had been muted.

  Her retreat. A young girl’s rooms, all pink and pale green chintz. Her bed curtains, the bottom of her table skirts lined with gentle, feminine ruffles. Soft pillows accented the bed, the chaise, the chairs, and window seats. Pretty little pictures lined the walls, maids walking arm-in-arm along a lane, bending to pet a dog, leading a pony.

  Nothing of the harshness of life. Nothing of the world. A protected child’s room. Ludicrous to believe a shy, solemn girl could claim the heart of a man used to meatier fare than her.

  So clear, it was all so clear.

  She spun on her mother, brittle movement now fluid. “How dare you!” Felicity hissed, lifting the edge of the bed curtain as if that explained it all. “How dare you allow me, in my ignorant naïveté, into the hands of a man, a man, a…” Her breath shuddered back tears as she spun again, stalked away only to turn back, confronting her stunned, horrified mother. “You didn’t warn me, you didn’t help me understand, you did not prepare or protect me.”

  “Felicity, you do not understand.”

  “I do, finally I do.”

  “No, you don’t,” her mother regained her composure, advanced.

  Felicity refused the approach, held up her hands, warded her off. “Vi may be cruel in her honesty, but she speaks the truth. Even your marriage is false. Is that what you want for me? A forced marriage? No love?” She flapped her hands, as if that would shake off the rage pouring through her. “I have been so stupid, so horribly foolish.” She swiped at bothersome tears. “Worst of all, he doesn’t believe in medicine, Mama! He doesn’t believe…” Wasted words on her mother. Her father would have understood, but not her mother.

  “He is right for you, Felicity. Listen to me, I very much doubt…”

  Blunt, Felicity stopped any argument. “He does not love me, Mama. Of course he doesn’t, and you should know that. Did you expect I would want less than love? Anticipate anything else? Don’t you understand? I wanted what I thought,” eyes raised to the ceiling a caustic laugh escaped. “Thought—not knew, thought—you had.” She crumpled onto the window seat. “Is everything a lie? Is nothing the truth?”

  Felicity blinked, drained from the surge of emotion, too tired from a slee
pless night to fight, too heartsick to hold back. Depleted, she looked about, saw nothing, as words looped inside, foolish, ignorant, naïve, stupid, so, so stupid.

  She imagined he loved her. Had believed, in her fatuous gullibility that he would open his door in the middle of the night and pull her in, feverish with the passion of his emotions, unable to restrain himself.

  Of course he was beyond such recklessness. All his words, caresses, the whisper of his breath were well-practiced actions, lures to ignite a woman. Any woman. Never, not once, in his efforts to coerce her back into good favor, did he use the word love. Not even as a useful fabrication. She would credit him with that.

  Until last night, Felicity did not have to marry Lord Andover.

  Until last night, when she deliberately went to his room. She never considered it a dangerous thing to do, risqué perhaps, but not risky. Only he didn’t want her for love.

  How convenient for him to step out of mourning and straight into a house with a daughter of marriageable age, one who would soothe his mother. What was it Aunt Vi had said? I can see the wisdom in his choice. You are so undemanding. You will let him get on with his life. So sensible. He had found an undemanding girl, willing to bear him an heir and a spare. A young lady he imagined had nothing to do, but care for him and his mother.

  No need for words of love with a calm, practical, malleable miss.

  Oh Lord, he proposed because he did not know her.

  She crumpled to the floor.

  “Oh, Cissy.” Her mother hovered, cautiously came down beside her. “Trust me, Felicity, it will turn out all right. I promise you.”

  “I am not what he thinks.”

  “Hush, hush, baby,” her mother crooned, brushing back her daughter’s hair, cupping her cheek.

  Felicity hiccupped. “He doesn’t know me and I cannot be who he thinks I am.”

  The soothing brush of her mother’s hand stilled for a breath. “He can’t help but love you, sweetheart.”

  “No, Mother.” Her eyes dried with acceptance, Felicity looked up. “Even you have told me not to be who I am.”

  “Never.”

  “Yes, in the greenhouse. You want me to give up the biggest part of me and he, he wants me to be a pliable soothing force. There is no room for who I really am, in any of that. No one seems to want that.”

  “Oh, Felicity,” her mother fretted, but she had no recourse, no words of encouragement. She could not deny the truth in the accusations.

  Felicity looked at her room again, the simple innocence of it, light and airy. Her collection of porcelain dolls on a shelf, with miniature tools for gathering herbs, and a tiny herb book, all gifts from her grandmother.

  In her grandmother’s day, not only was it permissible for the lady of the house to be prepared with tonics and salves, it was expected. The world had changed since then.

  Her gaze shifted to the skirt of her bed, which hid the books her mother forbade and the maids ignored. Novels of tragedy and heartbreak, of terrible wrongdoings and love, with love gallantly winning in the end. Gothic tales of romance for ingénues with impossible dreams.

  Her mother had been right all along. For an intelligent, pragmatic young lady, she had been a fool, and a stubborn one at that.

  CHAPTER 8 ~ SEEKING CALM

  Andover charged through the fields, pushing his mount to outpace, outdistance, the plague of problems. He failed.

  Dreams, needs were realized and then, in one ill-fated night, tumbled out of control. He needed Felicity. She listened to a man without chattering on endlessly. She was thoughtful in her words, displaying circumspection rare in a woman.

  In truth, it was more than that. There were other girls of a quieter nature he had vaguely considered, then turned away from. There were lively girls who made him laugh. None of them drew him like Felicity.

  The calmness, the quiet, the ability to listen and understand, her practical nature. She neither swooned nor shrieked when she caught sight of him after his fight with Thomas. Even when she recommended potions, she didn’t fuss or push. A paragon, that’s what she was, conveying in a few words what others babbled a mountain to express.

  All lush curves and sweet smiles.

  His Felicity. The idea wafted over him as he turned his horse back toward Ansley House and his problems. He had been away from Montfort too long already, had planned to propose, announce the betrothal and head back to his mother. Despite the nagging urgency to be gone, he now had to find a way to regain Felicity’s favor.

  He needed her.

  Thomas came out of the barn, as he rode into the stable yard.

  “Andover.” The lack of hostility failed to ease the tension.

  Andover nodded back. “Redmond.”

  He debated staying atop his horse. He didn’t need any more schoolboy scuffles to add to his problems.

  “My aunt went to your rooms.”

  “Interesting you should say that.” He kept a close eye on Thomas as he dismounted, handing the reins to a stable lad. “She did show up in my rooms.”

  “Uninvited, I dare say.” Thomas’s grimace gave hope.

  “As a gentleman…”

  “As I said, uninvited. I didn’t ask you, but I also know she would be the last person you would invite to your rooms, no matter how randy you were. And certainly not here, in our home, after…” Thomas looked toward the house, “…after proposing to my sister.”

  “I’m sorry I kept my hand so close to my chest.”

  “You knew how I would react.”

  “She’s your sister.”

  “She is that.” Thomas looked down, chuckled. Andover didn’t know if that was prelude to a charge or a thought until Thomas looked up, wearing a smirking half smile. “And you need her, though I don’t think you know how very much you need her, and the changes she will wreak on your household.”

  There it was again: The depths of her.

  Thomas hit his target, unnerving him. Andover didn’t need or want any more turmoil. That was precisely why he had chosen Lady Felicity.

  Worry quickly turned to anger. “What are you trying to say, Redmond? Not to marry her for my sake? Not to marry her for hers? Or that I will deserve everything that is coming to me?”

  “Stop!” Thomas raised a hand, “Calm yourself. After last night, there is no option but marriage. Why the bloody hell Felicity went to your rooms is beyond me. I tried to ask her, but she’s closed herself in her rooms and won’t speak to me. There’s no question that she brought this on herself, unless you invited her.”

  “I did not.”

  “I had already ruled that out. You are not such a cad as to invite my aunt to your rooms. Neither would you expect Felicity to go traipsing around the house in the middle of the night. You would go to her.” He paced in front of Andover. “So I’ve been thinking, and I realize Felicity is perfect for you.”

  Andover shook his head, as the ramifications settled. “You are no longer angry with me?”

  Thomas’s head shot up. “I wouldn’t go that far. That was callous of you to discuss marriage with my father and not let anyone know.”

  “And have her the victim of your relentless teasing?”

  “Precisely. You robbed me of an opportunity!” He slapped Andover on the back.

  “Do you mind telling me what you mean by ‘the depth of her’?”

  “Are you daft? I am going to sit back and let this unravel right in front of you.”

  “Don’t.” Andover fought the panic Thomas inspired. “The last thing I need is any more chaos. Forewarn me if there is going to be drama.”

  “Nothing you can’t cope with, my friend. And remember, the medicine that doesn’t kill you will save you.”

  “Good God, Redmond, that’s a poor choice of phrase.”

  “Not so poor as you might think.”

  ****

  After a warm bath and a cup of chamomile tea, Felicity tossed about in a fitful sleep. The edge of waking filled with images of Andover surrounded by be
autiful women and her aunt chiding, “What did you expect? It is the way of the world, Cissy, you best get used to it.”

  Worse, pages flew from her journals, only to be caught in the maws of a great device that chewed them up and spit them out in millions of pieces.

  “Enough!” She jolted awake, blinked, then blinked again. On the pillow, next to her head, was a single rose, its heady perfume a calming scent after the fright of her dreams.

  She didn’t move to pick it up or to look more closely, just blinked and studied it, as though that single bloom was just another aspect of her dream.

  It was from him, of course. He would know just how to disarm a lady. To get his own way. She had enough brothers to understand that.

  There was a small card. She rolled onto her back and pulled the note from the envelope. His handwriting, strong and secure, wielded the same seductive power as his voice.

  Felicity, my dearest, tell me what you want.

  Tell me your dreams.

  I will reach the stars to give them to you. Yours, Andover.

  Make yesterday today. That was her dream.

  She moved to the window seat and remained standing there, the note still in her hands. Considerate it was of the weather to be cranky and dismal this afternoon. Too miserable for anyone to walk in the garden. She could sit by the window, all alone, and lick her wounds without the risk of someone watching her from below.

  She should be working on her journals, adding in the mix she made for Adele Smith, but the burden of disappointment weighed her down. She needed to map out a future for herself, a future as foreign as the other side of the world.

  Perhaps not just yet.

  Later, tomorrow, or the next day. Just not now.

  The door creaked, announcing a sneaky intruder. Too bad for them, it was privacy Felicity craved. She turned away, more fully facing the window, hiding in plain sight.

  “Cissy,” a quiet voice prodded.

  “Beatrice?” Felicity whipped around, stumbled in her rush to her cousin. Their embrace brought the tears right back to Felicity’s eyes. Drat it, she did not want to cry.