Charmed by His Lordship (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 3)

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  “At house party end? Do you suppose we’ll finish it?”

  “I for one hope so. I do not like to leave things unfinished.”

  “Yes, it is bothersome. And now I’m torn between beginning such a thing at all and then feeling that irksome sensation as I drive away knowing that it shall never be completed or aiding in the effort.”

  “I recommend aiding in the effort since I myself am already trapped into its completion.”

  Emmeline laughed.

  Mrs. Daw sat back in her chair, resting her hands folded across her front. “Where is Mrs. Dotting?”

  “She’s been enjoying herself with the other ladies, I do believe. But at the present, she is asleep.”

  “Feel free to bring back a biscuit for her if you’d like.”

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

  They ate in companionable silence, and Felicity sipped her tea. Then Mrs. Daw patted her hand. “We must get you sorted with the right man.”

  Felicity froze and replaced her teacup with a trembling hand. “I don’t find this conversation necessary.” She squeezed Mrs. Daw’s hand that still rested on her arm. “I do appreciate the sentiment, but I’m so highly uncomfortable discussing such things.”

  “Oh, never you mind. Lady Anslowe is superb at keeping secrets. Aren’t you dear?”

  Before Lady Anslowe could respond, Mrs. Daw continued, “I’ll give it some thought and keep my eyes open, and you come back to talk to me.” She seemed so sure of herself. Mrs. Dotting never quite knew what would be best, and her mother was no longer with them. Felicity suddenly yearned for the kind of chats she could have with this woman. And then without warning, tears sprung to her eyes and there was nothing she could do to hide the few that overflowed down her cheeks. “Oh, I do apologize.”

  Emmeline reached across and handed her a handkerchief.

  Mrs. Daw immediately rose to put her arm around Felicity’s shoulder, and then it all came out in a wave. “I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to manage. My mother isn’t here.” She dabbed her eyes, knowing that even if her mother were here, she just wouldn’t know how to manage in the ton. She never had. She complained often enough of their high-nosed practices. Often her mother’s advice was full of things Felicity wished she could do but knew if she ever did, she might be ostracized forever. Didn’t her mother know that reputation mattered for most people? Her mother had been lucky to marry a man of title.

  “I just need to secure him.” She wished she could bite her tongue off and take back her last words. It sounded so mercenary when spoken aloud to strangers.

  Mrs. Daw shook her head. “Come now. Don’t you wish to marry for love?”

  “I understand.” Emmeline’s eyes were full of sympathy.

  “You do?”

  “Certainly. Sometimes our only recourse is to marry well.”

  Mrs. Daw shook her head. “But you’re a titled lady. Surely you have some choice in the matter.”

  Felicity nodded. “I do. But because of my family situation, I need to marry someone respectable. A solid family name is the most important.”

  Mrs. Daw refilled her teacup. “You’re in the right place, dearie. All the men at this party are perfectly respectable. Remember, no one is beyond reproach, my dear. But the men here are all well regarded. The Garveys have their limits.”

  Emmeline and Felicity shared a look.

  “Uncle Garvey is a dear man,” Emmeline said. “And Aunt Garvey runs such a beautiful home here. It’s been so long since I’ve been to any activity outside my local neighbors, I appreciate the invitation.”

  “But surely some are truly above reproach while others might be not quite proper but not improper either . . .” She waited, holding her breath for some reason. Why did it matter if they agreed with Lord Bolton?

  Mrs. Daw smiled. “Exactly. You’ve figured it out.”

  Felicity leaned forward. “Perhaps I can beg a confidence of you both, ask for your advice on a matter?” Emmeline had such a solid presence of mind about her, and Mrs. Daw charmed her way into Felicity’s trust. “There is a man here who I have most desperately hoped would begin to notice, to perhaps form an alliance.”

  “A Lord Bolton, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Felicity sucked in her breath. Not Lord Bolton. There was a mischievous twinkle in Mrs. Daw’s eyes. Felicity began to shake her head.

  “Oh, he is a dear. He’s quite the most respectable in his family, charming. And in desperate need of a wife.”

  Felicity cleared her throat. “Desperate need?”

  “Oh yes, his brother has gambled away the family wealth, and he’s now bound to find a handsome dowry to refill the coffers and save the estate.”

  Felicity covered her mouth with one hand.

  “Oh, come now, let’s not pretend we don’t understand how it works. You best wise up, and quickly, if you’re gonna play the game with no one but Mrs. Dotting to advise you.”

  “I was hoping for more along the lines of—”

  Mrs. Daw waved her hand. “Lord Bolton will be a wonderful match.”

  “You are mistaken, I’m sure. I have my eyes on someone completely different. He is quite the perfect gentleman. For me.” Even as she said the words, she wondered if they were true. Why had Mrs. Daw thought Felicity was so fully enamored with Lord Bolton? Of all people. Their close conversations, his marked attention, would be perceived in absolutely the wrong manner. She stood. “I must go.”

  “Oh, if you wish, dear.” Mrs. Daw’s secretive smile bothered Felicity more than it should. Perhaps having a woman confidante was overrated.

  Mrs. Daw stood. “I’m not really sure why your heart and head don’t simply choose the same man.”

  Felicity curtseyed to them both as she left. “Thank you again Mrs. Daw.”

  “Come back and visit any time.”

  “Good night, Lady Honora,” Emmeline said.

  Of all the terrible quandaries to be in. She left the kitchen before she could respond. She needed to go to Lord Bolton straight away. Drastic measures were needed.

  CHAPTER 9

  L ord Bolton couldn’t sleep. His mind plagued him with thoughts of Lady Felicity. The woman who was actively pursuing another man, the woman who might not have a penny to her name, a woman who beguiled him like no other. “She could be my ruin.”

  He paced in his room. “Focus, man. You must.” He cursed his brother again. It was nothing new, but the words came out with more venom than usual. Could he even win Lady Felicity if he were free to do so? If she were miraculously wealthy and available to him? Could he win her heart? He thought about her fixated purpose in attracting Ridgecrest, and he wasn’t sure he could dissuade her from her purpose—not because she was impervious to Abraham, but because she was singularly stubborn.

  But he knew nothing else about her. He’d heard nothing of her family. She hadn’t been present for most of the season by her own admission.

  The walls of his room closed tighter around him. He had much too energy. Craving the outdoors or a brisk walk through the halls, perhaps the conservatory even in the dark of night. He placed his hand to open the door. Voices in the hall outside his door stopped him.

  “Lord Ridgecrest. I. What are you doing up so late?”

  “The same as you, perhaps. Couldn’t sleep? Looking for some company?”

  Her small gasp made Abraham smile.

  “Come now, no need to be missish with me. We are too intimate for such modesty.”

  “I don’t understand.” The catch in Lady Felicity’s voice drove Abraham to action. He flung open his door.

  Both jumped in front of him.

  He leaned against his doorframe, arms crossed his chest. “What do we have here?”

  “Nothing!” Felicity’s face really was quite charming when she blushed.

  Ridgecrest dipped his head. “Excuse me.”

  Felicity watched him until he turned the corner. “Oh, thank heavens. We must converse.” She looked
up and down the hallway and then tugged at his arm to follow her.

  “I’m not sure what to think, my lady.”

  “You can stop thinking whatever gives you that tone.”

  “What tone?”

  “The one where you sound so inviting. You know that’s not what this is.”

  “I’m even more intrigued. What are you alluding to? I must know. That’s not what this is?” He rubbed his chin. “Do I sound inviting?” He couldn’t help but enjoy a few moments pestering her.

  She pulled him into an alcove. “You’re always teasing, always tempting.”

  “Tempting?”

  “But what do you offer, really?”

  “What do I—”

  “Precisely. You are all in fun. You’re good at . . .” She waved her arms around, whipping him in the nose.

  “Watch the eye.”

  Laughing, she pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re accomplished at making a woman feel a certain way…But you. Don’t mean a single word of it.” She stepped nearer, her face close enough to kiss. “Do you?”

  He swallowed, his heart pounding under her palm.

  She pressed more firmly into the area above his heart, her face changing. Questions filled her expression. “Do you?”

  He stared back at her and for a moment, nothing mattered at all but this moment, he stepped nearer, covered her hand with his own over his chest. He reached a hand up and ran his thumb along her jawline. She closed her eyes, her face leaning into his palm.

  “You see?” She murmured, her lips curled in pure enjoyment.

  Abraham couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to, so entranced was he by Lady Felicity’s upturned face. He ran his thumb back toward her ear and down her neckline. Her mouth turned up into a small smile, curling in a delicious dip on her upper lip. And at once all he wanted was to place his mouth right over that dip, tasting her softness.

  But he swallowed twice and tried to clear his mind. His lips had never touched another’s. He guessed hers hadn’t either. Could he be the first to kiss her, when neither of them knew a clear path ahead? “You asked me a question I find impossible to answer. Do I mean what I say? Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to make decisions based on matters of the heart.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked twice, and then clarity returned. And she nodded. “I am under the same restrictions.” Her forehead wrinkled in an adorable frown. “Perhaps.” She looked away. “I don’t know. I wish I had someone to advise me.” Then she sucked in her breath and stepped farther away, straightened her skirts, and then lifted her chin. She reminded him so much of the stiff and proper lady he’d met on the beach, he almost laughed.

  “I have requested an audience with you because people are talking.” She looked away. “About us. The housekeeper.”

  “Mrs. Daw?”

  “Yes, she’s of the impression we’ve formed an understanding. Others have asked me, that horrible Miss Hastings being one.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be less than generous.”

  “You’re correct. She might not be horrible to some.”

  “What do they say? About us?”

  “That we’re to be a match. That we are compatible.” She blushed furiously. “That we are a love.” Her face flamed, and she looked away.

  His smile grew, then faltered. He was equally enchanted and disturbed. On the one hand, he found Lady Felicity more and more enticing, and on the other, he knew he should be spending time trying to win Miss Tanning. She was his surest manner in which to save his estate and marry to improve his situation.

  His hand still covered hers. Though she’d stepped away, she hadn’t removed it. He cradled her hand in his, caressing her bare fingers before he brought them to his lips.

  Touching her skin with his mouth tingled his lips with a wonderous sensation. He found great difficulty in limiting the kiss to just one. “This talk is hurting your plans for Lord Perfect.”

  She snorted. “And yours for Miss Wealthy.”

  “That’s not the only reason I am seeking her hand.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, she has an ancient noble line, excellent heritage. She might help erase the damage my brother’s done to our family name.”

  Her face twisted in discomfort.

  “And Lord Perfect. Is he everything you want?”

  “Of. . .course.”

  “So what do you propose we do? Stage a parting of ways?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping you could help me with two urgent matters. Firstly, no one must know that you and I are . . . they can’t misunderstand that you and I . . .” She looked away.

  “What are we?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “Hmmm. And your other matter . . . ?”

  “What can I do? I need further assistance in convincing him. Lord Ridgecrest at times . . . he seems like he might be interested.”

  Abraham felt an odd desire to growl. “He would have escorted you somewhere quiet tonight if I hadn’t stepped outside my door.” His voice came out more irritated than he’d meant but much less irritated than he felt. She deserved someone much better than Ridgecrest. “What do you need from this man?”

  “His respectability. Same as you said. His is an ancient family line, his impeccable reputation would help my family’s faltering one.”

  Abraham’s heart sank, knowing his own family reputation could do nothing to elevate anyone’s. “He didn’t sound respectable to me. You’d have been caught in a scandal.” He stood taller. “What would you have done? Followed him? Drug him to some dark corner?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not.”

  He held his hands out. “Yet here we are.” His irritation rose. He tried to tamp it, but it wouldn’t be bridled.

  She turned away.

  “Perhaps you need to take a look at what is respectable and what is not. Or perhaps lower your respectability standards a little bit, or see what is right in front of you.” Where was his anger coming from? He was suddenly so irrationally angry that she could not see what a disreputable rake Ridgecrest really was and . . . his thoughts shuddered to a stop. And she couldn’t see what a good man he was. When the thought rested on him, he saw in such an obvious manner his own feelings. “Or perhaps you’re more concerned about perceived respectability than looking for a truly respectable person?” His breathing came faster, and his face stiffened. He stared her down, willing her to respond, to explain, to see what he was trying to explain.

  But instead, her lip quivered, her face fell, and she ran from him, down the hall, around the corner and out of sight. And she took with her the only candle, small though it was. The hallway filled with darkness, as bleak as his hope.

  CHAPTER 10

  T he wind hammered against her window. The fire embers burned coldly in the grate. Morning would begin in moments, but Felicity could find little motivation to leave her room. Perhaps if she could wear a blanket over her head? How utterly ridiculous her thoughts, but her urge to hide burned stronger than her need for a disappointing breakfast. And so she was sorely tempted to skip the meal altogether, to skip the activities, to never leave this room.

  Why must she hide? Lord Bolton. Lord Ridgecrest—no, she sought Lord Ridgecrest, and she hid from Lord Bolton. His warm eyes came to mind. Why was she hiding from Lord Bolton? Because people thought they were together.

  She paced her room. No, that wasn’t precisely correct. She hid from Lord Bolton because she fancied him. No, she corrected again, she was unaccountably and unreasonably in love with the man. She gasped out a sob. No. Perhaps not love. But she did prefer his company to all others. Her heart hammered inside as she realized the truth of her words. She wrapped her arms around her middle, squeezing her eyes against anything so irrational as another tear. Could she have developed feelings for Lord Bolton in so short a time?

  But she hid from Lord Ridgecrest as well, didn’t she? What had he been doing in the hallway in t
he dark hours of night? She snorted to herself. He might wonder the same of her. For a moment, she’d been hopeful. His eyes had filled with interest, a different kind, something in the brown depths sharpened, and their glint surprised her. And then the tiniest feather of fear had nudged her. Lord Bolton, stepping out into the hallway when he did, had felt like the rays of sun after a brisk and chilly walk.

  She walked to the window, watching the sun’s rays begin to swell on the horizon. Was Lord Ridgecrest a good and honorable man? Were respectability and honor two different things entirely?

  Never had she considered such a thing, that the eyes of the ton would revere someone without honor, that someone might have an impeccable reputation and not be entirely trustworthy.

  But Lord Ridgecrest, surely he would never have misused a moment in a dark hallway. Lord Bolton seemed to think he might have.

  And hadn’t she? Dragged Lord Bolton to a small alcove herself? Stood close enough to embrace, even kiss the man? She leaned her flushed skin against the cool glass of her window. What a heathen she was. Perhaps she was the lower-class hoyden they suspected her mother of being. When his heart pounded beneath her hand, she felt her own match its pace, and suddenly nothing else seemed to matter, not in the whole world, expect for Lord Bolton, face turned down to hers in the low light of a flickering candle. Hoyden or not, she might never forget that moment, ever.

  Her parents had been truly happy. She thought of them, their stolen moments together when they thought she was unaware. Her mother’s eyes, adoring her father in every way, and he in his tender regard, loving her right back. They had laughed together. So often Felicity had thought them too brazen, too demonstrative. Her own governess had taught her not to behave so. But . . . she considered their faces, the joy in their lives. She yearned for the same.

  The ordered expectation and pieces of her life were not falling together quite as they ought.

  She dressed without her maid, putting on her warmest clothing—a pelisse, an extra wrap, a scarf, and a muff—and made her way downstairs. The wind whistled through the eaves, and she looked forward to the brisk awakening she might receive out of doors.