An Evening at Almack's

by Sally Britton

  With one final glance at the empty house, she turned and stepped away from the gated arch. Not two steps away, however, she stopped. Were her ears playing tricks on her or did she detect the sound of carriage wheels? This stretch of road led only to Carlisle Manor. Any carriage traversing the path had to be bound for that location.

  She turned back. Her mouth dropped open in shock. A carriage was, indeed, coming directly toward the gate she had only just abandoned. She pressed her hand to her suddenly pounding heart. Dare she hope?

  The carriage rocked and swayed as the driver reined in the horses. They stopped a close distance from the gate. It would, after all, have to be opened.

  Felicity stood rooted to the spot, hardly breathing, hardly blinking.

  The carriage door opened. A figure emerged. For a moment, she could not see who it was, her view obstructed by the large conveyance, but then he stepped around it, the sun shining on him at last. He looked at her, the light illuminating his look of soul-deep uncertainty.

  Joy and excitement surged through her with such force she could not contain it. “William!” She ran to him, all thoughts of decorum gone in an instant.

  Just as she had time and again when they were little, she threw her arms around his neck. He was much taller than she was. He set his arm around her waist as he stood straight once more, pulling her feet off the ground.

  “And here I thought I would sneak home with no one the wiser for a time.” He smiled as he spoke, alleviating any concern that she’d offended him with her overly familiar greeting.

  “Oh, William. You’re home at last.”

  “Almost.” He lowered her back to her feet. His smile faded as he turned his gaze on the house. “I am beginning to suspect these last one hundred feet will be the most difficult.”

  She slipped her arm around his middle, just as she’d done when they were little. “We can walk those one hundred feet together.”

  “Would you?” His tone was both hopeful and pleased.

  “Of course.”

  He turned back to face the carriage. Felicity glanced in that direction as well. For the first time, she realized that she and William had a most attentive audience. Through the windows of the carriage, Mr. Whitehall grinned quite unabashedly at their continued close quarters.

  “How likely is your friend to whisper it about the neighborhood that I acted like a regular gudgeon when I saw you? My parents are particularly sensitive about propriety and the things people say about us behind their hands.”

  “Leonard is as dependable as the sunrise.”

  “But is he as good at shedding light on things?” she asked with a raise of her brow.

  To her delight, he smiled again. Knowing how difficult returning home was for him, seeing any degree of pleasure on his features was reassuring.

  “Let us go inside, William. I think it is time.”

  He pushed out a breath and took her hand in his. To Mr. Whitehall, he said, “Miss Felicity means to walk with me to the house. You are welcome to join us now or after the carriage sets you down.”

  “Go on,” Mr. Whitehall said through the open carriage door. “Miss Felicity has a history with this house as well. I can think of no one better to take those first steps with you.” He pulled the door shut.

  The driver had opened the large iron gate and returned to his perch atop the carriage. William led Felicity through it, his hand still in hers. She hoped the connection was proving a comfort to him. The feel of his warm hand around hers set her heart fluttering. She did her best to keep her expression light and free of the uncertainty she felt.

  They moved slowly up the walk. The carriage passed through the gates but made for the stables, leaving William and Felicity alone on the path.

  “How is your sister?” William asked.

  “She is better now that we’ve returned home. London, I fear, was too taxing for her.”

  “And you worked so hard to make certain she experienced all the things she wished to.”

  Felicity set her free hand on his arm, her other hand still in his. “Perhaps I should not have. Her strength would not have been so quickly depleted.”

  He met her eyes. “It is my understanding that her strength would have grown depleted regardless. Without her exploits in Town, she might have remained in London longer, but she certainly would not have been happier.”

  “I think she did enjoy what she was able to do.”

  They continued onward, the house drawing nearer.

  “I never was able to arrange for her to go to Almack’s,” Felicity said. “I do regret that. She mentioned her hope for that more than any other activity of the Season.”

  “I am sorry. I know I could have obtained vouchers from any of the patronesses if you’d remained in Town a bit longer.”

  She squeezed his hand. “You were very good to us, William. I cannot thank you enough.”

  “It was my absolute pleasure.”

  They’d reached the front steps of Carlisle Manor. William stopped, eyes fixed on the tall doors as they pulled open.

  “You did warn the staff, did you not?” Felicity asked.

  “I did. They are expecting me.”

  She slipped her hand from his. “Then perhaps it is best you go in without me. Mr. Whitehall’s silence may be depended upon, but nothing remains a secret between the servants in neighboring homes.”

  A hint of panic touched his eyes. “Could you walk in with me if we do not do so hand in hand? They know we are friends and neighbors. If ours is a friendly interaction and nothing more, perhaps . . .” The sentence dangled in a peninsula of desperate hope.

  How could she turn her back on him now? “I suppose it would not push the boundaries of propriety should I step inside briefly. I can offer my greetings to your housekeeper. Mr. Whitehall will join you shortly, so you needn’t continue your return alone.”

  “Thank you.”

  The staff filed out of the door, fanning out in both directions. William dipped his head to them as he passed toward the door. Felicity walked slightly behind him, careful not to give the impression of anything more between them than friends who happened to have crossed paths.

  The butler bowed, and the housekeeper curtsied.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson,” William said, emotion in his tone. “Thank you for caring for the estate while I’ve been away.”

  “Our pleasure, sir,” Mr. Johnson said.

  “And a very real pleasure to have you home again,” Mrs. Johnson added.

  William stepped to the open door but didn’t step inside. He looked back at Felicity.

  “Go on,” she said. “You’ve strength enough for this.”

  He squared his shoulders and crossed the threshold.

  Mrs. Johnson turned briefly to Felicity. Her expression rang with gratitude. They understood the strength of the emotion that had kept William away. Felicity felt better about his situation in that moment. These two dear people would look after him and cherish him. He had Mr. Whitehall as well. William would soon feel at home again here.

  As the staff followed their master inside, Felicity turned her steps back toward the iron gate and brick arch. She moved away from his home and toward her own. For so many years, she’d longed for her dear friend to return home. Now that he had, her emotions were decidedly mixed.

  He needed to be home again for his own sake, and she was happy for him.

  The demands on the time of the master of so grand an estate, however, meant she would likely have less of his company than she’d had in London, and she was a little sorry for herself on that score.

  The moment of self-pity would only be permitted to last as long as it took for her to reach home. Angelina needed her, and she would not leave her sister without support.

  Life asked a lot at times. She had to find the strength to answer.

  Chapter Nine

  “You have an impressive pile of stones here, William.” Leonard sat on his horse, looking out over the expanse of the estate from the
ir vantage point atop a low hill in the east meadow. They’d ridden out that morning—William’s first after arriving in Sussex the afternoon before.

  “I’d only ever thought of it as home,” he admitted. “I hadn’t expected to inherit it for decades yet. I suppose that kept me from seeing it as anything other than the place where my childhood memories reside.”

  “And where your childhood friends reside,” Leonard added. “The neighborhood, at least.”

  “It was fortuitous that Felicity was at the gate when we arrived yesterday.”

  Leonard eyed him sidelong. “There is a difference between ‘fortuitous’ and ‘a sign from heaven itself.’ Don’t confuse the two.”

  “You think Felicity’s arrival yesterday was an act of divine intervention?” The laughter with which he asked the question slipped a little at the seriousness of Leonard’s expression. “You’re in earnest.”

  “The moment you spotted her, you changed. The worry that had been crushing you eased. No one has ever done that for you except Miss Felicity.” Leonard set his mount to a walk.

  William caught up to him. “She’s my friend.”

  “So it would seem.”

  William knew that dry tone well. Leonard reverted to it when he thought William was being particularly dense. “I will confess, seeing her at Carlisle Manor was as near to a miracle as I’ve ever experienced. She is one of the happiest memories I have of this place. Having her with me gave me something less heavy to think about.”

  “Her mind was most certainly heavy, though,” Leonard said. “Her sister’s health is not likely much improved.”

  “She spoke of Angelina, actually.” He thought back on that conversation as they rode slowly toward the stables. “Their time in London was meant to have been a substitute Season for the elder Miss Banbury, but they weren’t able to fulfill all six of her wishes for the Season. Though Angelina likely feels some regret over that, I think it weighs more pointedly on Felicity. Finishing that list matters a great deal to her.”

  “What remains on it?”

  He took a minute to think back on what she’d told him in Town. “‘Attend a musical evening’ and ‘attend Almack’s.’ We managed all the rest.”

  “A shame.” Leonard had a good heart. His disappointment on the Banbury sisters’ behalf was genuine.

  “Her family could likely arrange for a musical evening in their home.” William had given that some thought the night before. He hadn’t been able to sleep. “It could be a small affair—only a handful of people and a very short list of performances.”

  Leonard nodded. “And Almack’s?”

  William pushed out a deep breath. “That one cannot be fulfilled. Angelina isn’t strong enough to return to Town.”

  “And Almack’s isn’t mobile enough to come to Sussex.”

  They dismounted, handing the reins to a waiting stable hand. William didn’t generally neglect to offer some greeting to the staff, but his mind was suddenly spinning so quickly that he couldn’t manage much beyond a nod and a vague word of thanks.

  Almack’s can’t come to Sussex. But what if . . .

  He looked at his friend as they made their way back to the house. “How much do you remember about Almack’s?”

  “Judgmental patronesses. Barely edible food. Not nearly as much of a crush as it used to be.”

  William waved that off. “I mean, how much do you remember about the place itself? Colors and such?”

  “I can’t say I took a great deal of note of the decor,” Leonard said. “Are you thinking of redecorating the old place?” He motioned to the manor house with a quick twitch of his head.

  “Temporarily.” He stopped their forward progress, a plan forming quickly and haphazardly in his mind. “If we can recall enough details of Almack’s, we could recreate it here in the ballroom. We could invite a few local people, not so many that it would be overwhelming, but a few. And Angelina could come and have her night at Almack’s.” Would it work? It had to. What else could be done for her? “The evening would not be quite the same as actually spending an evening at Almack’s, but surely it would be enough to offer her a bit of joy.”

  “And her sister a bit of relief.”

  Were he entirely honest, William would have to admit Felicity’s feelings held the greatest sway for him. The worry and disappointment in her eyes the afternoon before had nearly erased his own concerns upon returning home. She bore too great a burden for one person. If he could relieve any part of that, he would. Gladly.

  “Who do we know that is still in London and is in possession of vouchers?” he asked.

  Leonard’s gaze narrowed on him. “You mean to send spies into Almack’s?”

  William kept his chin at a self-assured angle. “Without hesitation.”

  Leonard held his hand out, clearly meaning to exchange a handshake. William obliged but made no effort to hide his confusion.

  “It is a fine thing seeing you again, William Carlisle. It’s been a long five years.”

  * * *

  William sat at the small writing desk in his bedchamber, the room he had called his own from the time he’d outgrown the nursery. He was now master of the house and likely should have taken possession of his father’s room. Doing so felt far too final, an inarguable acknowledgment that the man he’d idolized and loved and assumed would be present for so much more of his life was truly gone. It was hardly rational, but he couldn’t step through that threshold and extinguish that reality-defying flame of hope.

  His childhood bedchamber wasn’t a significantly easier place to be. He’d enjoyed many a tender conversation with his mother within these walls. He could so easily picture her sitting on the window seat, motioning for him to join her there.

  “You remember Felicity Banbury,” he said to his absent mother. There was some comfort in speaking to her, though he knew she could not hear nor respond. “She is likely to lose her sister before year’s end. I’m worried about her. I care about her.”

  He swore he could see her scolding and disbelieving expression.

  “I am falling in love with her,” he admitted. “I don’t know that she thinks of me in terms other than friendship, but it is a close friendship. She has trusted me to help Angelina and has told me of her worries. She is the reason I have returned home.”

  He paced to the window seat where he had sat so many times before. Its emptiness prevented him from doing so now, though he did continue his one-sided conversation.

  “Ought I to tell her that? Would I be ill-advised to admit what is in my heart when I know with such clarity how much is weighing on hers? I do not want to add to her burdens.”

  What he wouldn’t have given to have heard his mother’s voice in that moment, to have received her encouragement and advice.

  “I intend to host a recreation of an evening at Almack’s. Felicity wanted to take Angelina to the actual Almack’s, but her sister’s health failed before she was able.” He pushed out a breath. “I have never hosted anything beyond an informal gathering of former schoolmates. To take on something this significant so soon after arriving home for the first time in a half decade . . .” He rubbed his hand over his forehead. “I don’t want to make a mull of the whole thing, not when it means so much to her—to both of them.”

  He paced away, lowering himself into his desk chair once more, though he sat facing the window.

  “You would have made it perfect; you always did.” William blinked a few times, bringing himself under control once more. “Perhaps I might ask Felicity to help with the planning. That would likely ease some of her regrets over the sudden end to her London efforts. She would also do a fine job of it.” A fleeting smile tugged at his mouth. “And I would have an excuse to spend time with her. I would like that bit.”

  He sat for long minutes, debating. Were he to involve Felicity, she would have an unobscured view of him being utterly inept, something he’d rather avoid. However, the evening would be far less likely to prove a failure if she
helped in the execution of it.

  In the end, what convinced him was the inarguable fact that having her in his house would make it feel like a home again. He needed that, and he felt certain she would not begrudge him that longing.

  He would make his Almack’s proposal to her the next day when he called at Banbury Hall and then pray with all his might that he didn’t come to regret that decision.

  Chapter Ten

  Felicity sat over her embroidery, though she’d not accomplished anything in the thirty minutes she’d been in the sitting room ostensibly toiling over her needlework. Too many questions hovered in her overburdened mind. Ought more to be done to make Angelina comfortable? How much longer would this improvement in her sister’s health last? How was William holding up under the grief that had met him when he’d returned home? Was there more she might do to help these people she cared for so deeply?

  Beneath those questions lay the undeniable loneliness she felt, the longing in her heart for a moment of William’s time. How quickly he’d gone from childhood friend to the gentleman who had captured her affections. How could he not have? All she’d known of him as a boy—his good heart and fun personality—hadn’t disappeared, but he’d added to those admirable qualities—compassion and kindness and, she suspected, a willingness to undertake a lark now and then. He was, in a word, lovely.

  Who would have guessed I would go to London and lose my heart to the boy next door?

  The housekeeper stepped through the threshold of the sitting room, drawing Felicity’s attention there. “Mr. Carlisle to see you, miss.”

  William was here? Her heart leaped even as she shakily rose to her feet. “Show him in, please.”

  A mere moment passed—a moment in which she didn’t even breathe—and there he stood, that familiar smile greeting her. Was she managing to hide how surprisingly overwhelmed she felt? Perhaps fear of discovery was a common affliction in those who had only just realized their feelings for someone.