Charmed by His Lordship

by Johnson, Jen Geigle

  He made his way back to the hallway outside her bedroom. As he approached, Mrs. Daw was closing the door.

  “Mrs. Daw?”

  “Oh, Lord Bolton. I’m sure she will be so very pleased to see you.”

  His mouth dropped open, amazed at his good fortune. “Might I . . . could I be permitted to see her?”

  “Naturally. I will join you so that it is all very proper and on the up and up.”

  “Oh, I would be most grateful. Is she? Is now a good time?”

  “Yes, I think you’ve come at the perfect time, as she’s about ready to revolt in her great boredom.”

  Mrs. Daw reopened the door and called in. “My lady, you have a visitor.”

  He peered in over her shoulder, and Lady Felicity’s smile warmed him to his toes.

  “Oh, please come in, Lord Bolton. I am in great need of diversion. And you are just the man to provide.”

  Mrs. Daw winked at him. “There now, you see?”

  He followed her into the room where she took up a corner seat and pretended not to notice them. Another maid bustled around, and Abraham took up the chair next to Lady Felicity’s bed.

  The chair sat much lower than the bed. He felt like a boy from the schoolroom in more ways than one. “I brought you something.”

  She reached for the book. “Pride and Prejudice? I’ve been wanting to read this. How did you know?”

  “I don’t know. I confess, Mr. Garvey showed me his books and suggested it.”

  She leafed through the book, stopping on his paper.

  “You’ll find a note from Lady Anneslowe as well as from myself.” He looked over his shoulder at Mrs. Daw who sat with her eyes closed in the corner.

  Lady Felicity’s eyes widened, and she snapped the book shut.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps not entirely improper?”

  The same daring spark he’d seen when he met her lit her face. She dipped her head and hugged the book to her chest. “I look forward to reading it.”

  He stood, wanting more than anything to be closer. Reaching out to clear the hair from her brow, he whispered. “I’ve missed you. Are you well?”

  “Thank you. I am well. They’re worried about the cold and the wet, but I should be back with everyone tomorrow.”

  “With me?”

  “If you wish.”

  “And others?”

  Her eyes clouded. “What are you asking?”

  “Something I have no right to . . . yet.”

  She nodded but looked troubled. Then she turned back to him. “I don’t know about the others. Some people’s company is more preferred than others, but then, preferable company hasn’t always been a reason to spend time with another.”

  He tilted his head. Truer words were never spoken. “While I at one time felt as you do, did you listen to yourself as you spoke just now? Why ever would we choose to spend a lifetime with one not as preferable. It seems foolhardy at best. Consider your words and read your lovely book, and perhaps an infinitely more enjoyable path will open up?”

  She nodded, her eyes full of hope. “Perhaps.”

  He dipped his head and then, before he or Mrs. Daw could stop him, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Be well, Felicity Honora.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Thank you.”

  With one last look, he turned and left the room, winking at Mrs. Daw on the way out.

  Chapter 12

  As soon as Mrs. Daw finished swooning over Lord Bolton and left the room back to her duties, Felicity flipped through the pages to the note, carefully folded inside.

  Dear accomplice from the beach,

  I hope your time to rest is not too tedious and that you return to the party soon. I have walked by your door too many times to count, wishing every time your prison wardens would give me entrance. But they cannot deny this book.

  I have struggled, knowing your plans for romance lie elsewhere, or rather, your plans for marriage lie elsewhere. I doubt very much if romance could ever find you in that other. But I wonder if perhaps your plans for romance might include me? And I ask, shouldn’t romance and marriage be made for each other, as I suspect you and I are? I find myself at a loss without you. When you are well and can accept visitors, I beg an opportunity to court you properly.

  Yours. Entirely yours,

  Your now highly improper suitor,

  Abraham

  P.S. Your handkerchief still smells of lemons and I thank you for it. I shall never return it.

  Her breathing quickened. She’d just received a letter from a man. Instead of being horrified, she felt nothing but an enticing excitement rush through her. She could still feel the pressure, the delicious tingle on her forehead from his lips on her skin. She sunk lower into her bed, hugging the book and letter to her. Then she opened her eyes and read it again.

  He wanted to court her, mentioned marriage. She squealed. And then she allowed herself to consider something so delicious as a marriage to the handsome Lord Bolton. She imagined his face, his broad shoulders. She remembered all the funny things he’d said. She laughed out loud. Had she really taught the man needlepoint? She had never taken him seriously, knowing he was a shameless flirt. And yet, he had been serious. And what of Miss Tanning? She didn’t know. But here he was declaring his intentions to Felicity.

  What would life be like with Lord Bolton? She smiled. Ever so diverting, every day. But then she frowned. And the state of his estate? His brother? Why did he need money so badly? When people discussed Lord Bolton, it was not with the utmost respect, it was more with a smile, an apologetic shrug, and pity. Why?

  She sat back in her bed with a frown. Could she give up the chance she had with Lord Ridgecrest to bring her family name back into respectability? If she were to entertain a flirtation with Lord Bolton, if she were to allow his courtship, to test how serious he was, she would lose her chances with Lord Ridgecrest, surely.

  A knock at the door surprised her. A maid poked in her head. “Flowers, my lady.”

  “Come in.” She smiled.

  The maid brought in a lovely bouquet of an assortment of flowers she’d seen on her walks in the tall grass along the beach mixed with roses from their garden. “They’re lovely.”

  “It was Lord Ridgecrest that sent them. He said to send his regards.”

  She pressed her lips together. No secret love notes from him. The staid proper response from Lord Ridgecrest brought her comfort. He was like a rock, unmoving in a great tempest of emotion. She felt sure of her place in society at his side, sure of her family’s acceptance, her future children’s. He was someone to trust, to rely on. Perhaps. She thought of that moment in the dark hallway where her trust had wavered. But brushed it aside as the normal desires of any man.

  Lord Bolton might be exciting and cause her heart to flip, but Lord Ridgecrest was the sensible choice. Her mother had made the exciting choice, but that left things to Felicity to be sensible. As her governess had taught.

  She leaned back in her bed again, opening up her book. The letter burned in her memory, but she began reading page one, ignoring its presence a few pages back.

  * * *

  The whole of an afternoon, evening, and morning on the next day passed in a total agony of waiting. Lord Bolton had never felt so anxious for time to pass. And Lord Ridgecrest walked as though he owned the earth. Abraham had never noticed before, but the man competed in everything and felt himself above most others in his presence. And he talked incessantly of the prince. They had announced that Prince George would be joining their party for dinner tomorrow, and Abraham thought the man would start frothing with apoplexy. Ridgecrest couldn’t stop discussing the prince, his preferences, his parties, or his connections. The more he talked, the more Abraham wished to shut him up. And that is why he had agreed to participate in the fencing tournament.

  He swung his sword in practice, leaping, swishing, lunging. He usually won such tournaments outright, but all he cared about today was beating one man. Once
he did that, he’d bow out and go for a ride. Someone needed to show Ridgecrest he wasn’t as vastly superior as he thought. As he portended. And that most people did not sit in wonder at all of the words he spoke. Most particularly, he wanted Ridgecrest to realize his own inadequacy at fencing.

  He chuckled. He knew he was being childish, but with him and everyone else thinking he had a chance with Lady Felicity, Abraham owed it to himself, if no one else, to show the man a thing or two.

  Abraham stepped into the squared-off space. Ridgecrest joined him on the opposite side. They had an audience, a meager one, but Abraham cared only for one. Ridgecrest.

  They bowed, touching tips, then stepped away, points out.

  Ridgecrest struck out fast and hard.

  Abraham matched each blow with a calm ease. There would be time for fast, hard hits.

  Ridgecrest worked and lunged and stretched and spun, but Abraham blocked each move as though it were child’s play. When he saw an opening, he reached in and tore at the fabric on Ridgecrest’s sleeve.

  “Stop playing,” Ridgecrest said.

  “Oh, this is not play.”

  Ridgecrest scowled and ran at him, pounding with the flat of his sword.

  But Abraham blocked every blow. When the man grew too close, Abraham shoved him away with his left hand.

  “Stop. Fight.”

  Abraham bowed.

  Ridgecrest ran at him again, and their swords flew at each other, Abraham defending. As Ridgecrest worked harder to conquer, Abraham began his own affront until for every forward thrust of Ridgecrest’s, Abraham responded with one of his own. The world whirred in a blur around them, and Abraham concentrated on the conquest right in front of him.

  Ridgecrest began to tire, and Abraham thanked his reckless brother for one thing, the countless hours and challenges to fence together.

  They circled one way and then back another. Ridgecrest lunged and reached his foot out behind Abraham. He would have tripped backwards, but Abraham caught on to his cheap move and leaped over his leg.

  Abraham ripped Ridgecrest’s other sleeve and then tore at the fabric at his chest. He danced with ease, the light footwork required to move swiftly, watching Ridgecrest tire further. His hair fell in his flushed face, his costume was a mess, and his eyes were determined and furious.

  “You seem as though you have something to prove, Bolton.” Ridgecrest’s voice was an almost sneer.

  “It’s just a match in play, Ridgecrest.”

  He pounded at Bolton in broad, swift strokes. “So you say.”

  They circled again.

  “Is it our mutual lady friend?”

  Feminine gasps nearby distracted Abraham, but he kept his eyes firmly on Ridgecrest’s hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Some people want to marry without worrying about all the baggage, Bolton. Don’t take it too hard. The women will always prefer flirting with you. But one day they will want something more, and that’s when they’ll come to me.”

  “I’ve never seen a woman leave my company for yours.”

  “Pay attention, Bolton.”

  Whatever he meant by that, Abraham had had enough. With two swift motions, Ridgecrest was stripped of his sword and had the point of Abraham’s at his throat.

  “Match.”

  “Well played, gentlemen.”

  Abraham barely heard the congratulations or any of the comments around him. He bowed to Ridgecrest and to the room and then turned on his heel and left. Fury pounding through him, he didn’t even bother changing, going straight for the stables.

  But he stopped at the door. The rain was still pouring down. It would be unwise and cruel to the animals to go for a ride just now.

  Still in desperate need to let off some of his pent-up energy and anger, he considered going for a walk in the deluge.

  But a soft voice came up behind him. “She loved your visit, hasn’t stopped reading the book.” Mrs. Daw stood behind him.

  He turned, grateful for news of Lady Felicity. “I’m glad. I hoped to brighten what must be a tiresome stay in her room.”

  “That you did. Much better than the flowers Lord Ridgecrest sent up.”

  He nodded slowly. “I see.”

  “She would be appreciating something from the kitchen, perhaps? Or maybe another book? She’ll be finishing that one soon enough. I do believe the Garvey’s have others by that same author.”

  He turned and eyed her with new appreciation. “I am in need of an ally.”

  “I think you will find there are more than one of us who greatly prefers you.”

  “Excellent. Then I shall go and fetch the titles as you say.”

  “Wise move. And don’t worry. A woman’s heart will always control the day, eventually.”

  He bowed, not totally understanding the problem at hand. Would it be good for him if Lady Felicity’s heart won the day? He assumed that’s what Mrs. Daw meant. But would she know?

  He’d take every suggestion he could get, and right now, he was collecting another book for Lady Felicity. Another book and whatever else she wanted. He was at her command. He knew it, and he hoped she would be gentle with his heart, hoped he could convince her to make them both happy and choose him over anyone else.

  Chapter 13

  Days, weeks, months passed without end all in one afternoon. Actually, she was unsure about the passage of time, but knew that at last she would be leaving her room for dinner this evening and that the celebrated Prince George was purported to have accepted their hosts’ invitation to dine with them.

  She cared less about Prinny and more about two other gentlemen who would be at the dinner.

  She’d all but decided to move forward with her plans for Lord Ridgecrest. But she couldn’t resist looking forward to at least seeing Lord Bolton again. When she was with him, she knew everything would turn out all right; she knew she was strong and wise and that she could do whatever she set her mind to. Her interactions with Lord Ridgecrest had even been better when Lord Bolton was involved. And so she couldn’t resist more time spent with him, even though it would shortly be coming to a close.

  Lord Ridgecrest seemed as dedicated as ever. She had her hopes high that he would be asking for a private audience before the end of the party, perhaps even this very evening. She tried to tell herself that the great pit of darkness that opened at the thought was just nerves. It had to be nerves. Who didn’t feel scared about an upcoming proposal? Everyone, she imagined felt nerves.

  Her hair was curled to exactness, and her dress fit perfectly. She knew she looked well. And most importantly, she looked proper, as expected.

  When she entered the room where guests were gathering before dinner, most smiled in warm welcome. She hadn’t come to know all of them very well, but there was a certain camaraderie among guests with such an odd hosting situation. She’d always appreciate Mrs. Garvey. Her care when Felicity was ill could not have been more kind.

  Guests lined up to be escorted into dinner, and for a moment, Felicity panicked. When should she enter? It was always by rank, usually dictated by the man’s rank, but she would have a place as a lady of title. But no man had come to escort her. Had such a thing been assigned? She always felt so out of place in these situations. Her mother obviously never cared for such details, stubbornly insisting that a person’s worth was not dictated by their rank or title.

  She almost slipped back out the door in a panic until a deep baritone voice filled her ears and her whole body to her toes with a tingle of expectation. “Lady Felicity.”

  She curtseyed and placed a hand on his arm. “Lord Bolton. You’ve come to my rescue, as I was quite unsure when to enter.”

  “Why, you will come with me. We are to enter shortly, by our mutual friends, the Anslowes.”

  Relief coursed through her. And with her hand on Lord Bolton’s arm, she felt strong. “Is it true? Prince George is coming?”

  He dipped his head. “And may I apologize on his behalf for all of
the crude and inappropriate things that might leave his mouth in your presence?”

  “What . . .”

  “Oh, he’s terrible. Once he’s started imbibing, he only gets worse, carries on, and women are best to decide early on what they would like to be introduced to, so to speak.”

  Felicity thought about that for a moment, further confusion clouding her judgment. For now that Lord Bolton was at her side, she didn’t think she could ever leave him.

  They entered, their seats close together, with Lord Bolton at her side and Lord Ridgecrest across from her. He sat at the side of Miss Tanning, and she was thrilled to note that Lady Tinsdale sat on her left. Perhaps dinner would be lovely.

  And it was. The food was some of the best she’d ever eaten. Mr. Garvey was present and laughing and entertaining them all. And most fascinating of all, the prince himself sat at the other end of the table. She’d never been in such elevated company, and at first, she felt quite awed by it, but when she noticed that everyone around her acted completely normal and that the prince was nothing but a typical lord, albeit a very jovial one, she relaxed and was able to enjoy the conversation around her.

  Lord Ridgecrest smiled across the table at her. “I’m pleased you are well.”

  Miss Tanning leaned toward her. “Yes, I heard it was quite dreadful, caught in the middle of a rainstorm. Was it?”

  “I’ve never felt so cold. The clouds rolled in without me even realizing.”

  Mr. Garvey called down to their end of the table. “I, too, am pleased you are well.”

  Mortified to be the very center of attention, the prince himself looking her way, she cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you. Mrs. Garvey was the most attentive of hostesses. I imagine I owe my recovery to her.”

  “And to some lovely gifts from one particular suitor, if I may say so.” Mr. Garvey laughed, overly loud.

  “Oh ho!” The prince raised his glass to her, which meant everyone else followed suit. “Do I detect a blush? Who is this woman’s suitor?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, Your Highness.” She dipped her head, mortified. Lord Bolton grunted beside her.