Felicity’s gaze whipped up to Lord Ridgecrest. She felt and saw Lord Bolton stiffen beside her.
Lord Ridgecrest’s face drained of color, and then he licked his lips. “I’m not sure to what you are referring. If you are alluding to some claim I might have on the young woman, you are gravely mistaken. We move in different spheres. I could never lower myself to an alliance with such a family. We are friends, a long standing debt to be paid, nothing more.”
Felicity gasped, as did several other ladies at the table. But instead of cowering away from his overly rude rejection, she felt a fire burn inside, an indignation so strong she fisted her hands and was about to give him the reprimand of her life when Lord Bolton rested his hand over hers.
He tilted his head. “Did I hear you correctly? Do you feel yourself above Lady Felicity?”
“Oh, don’t get your sensibilities all in a flutter, Lord Bolton. If you understood the circumstances—”
“I understand perfectly well. What I see is a woman twice your equal in every way. I see an honorable soul. Felicity Honora Felicity comes from the oldest of family lines on her father’s side. Titled. But she is your superior in every other way imaginable as well. Where you are the appearance of goodness, she is good. Where you are the appearance of respectability, she knows what it means to represent her class. Where you are wealthy and titled, she is wealthy, titled, and sharing. Where you lack, she excels. If there is to be any lowering in an alliance with Lady Felicity and you”—his mouth turned in disgust—“the lowering would all be one sided. Yours.”
The table was silent. Everyone stared at Lord Bolton. Felicity could not take her eyes off him. She gushed out her held breath. “Thank you.”
He seemed unable to find his speech, but nodded to her. “I meant every word.”
The prince began to clap, and everyone else followed suit. “I have never heard such a brilliant declaration. I feel by those standards, we would all be marrying up in such an alliance with the perfect Lady Felicity.”
Lord Ridgecrest snorted, but the warning look from Lord Bolton quieted him immediately. Lady Felicity reached over under the table and laced her fingers with Lord Bolton’s.
“It seems to me, Mr. Garvey, you chose the wrong man when you called out her suitor.”
“Quite right, Your Highness.”
Thankfully, that ended interference from the prince or their host. Felicity daren’t look at Lord Ridgecrest, or anyone else, but her gaze clung to Lord Bolton as the lifeline he was. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“I couldn’t help myself.” His gaze flicked to Lord Ridgecrest and his eyes narrowed, but when he turned back to her, they softened, and Felicity couldn’t believe she’d ever desired another. “Might I request an audience with you later? Privately?”
“Wouldn’t such a thing be improper?”
“Decidedly.”
“Then most certainly.”
His grin started small but grew as to overtake his face. She laughed. And he joined her. But she did not let go of his hand, instead choosing to eat the entirety of her meal with her left hand.
CHAPTER 14
A braham paced in the library, by himself. Lady Felicity had agreed to meet him that evening, but it was past the time of their designation. He had begun to wear his path, so he turned to find a seat by the fire. As soon as he sat, the door moved open. He sprung to his feet.
Lady Felicity entered, her eyes wide, her feet moving slowly, and Abraham wasn’t sure what to make of her. But he grinned in welcome and held out his hand. “You came.”
“I almost scared myself out of it.”
“Oh, but why would you do such a thing? There is only happiness where we are concerned.”
She stepped closer. “And that is what convinced me to keep our appointment. With you, I am always happy.”
“Precisely my thoughts on the matter of you and I.” He reached for her hand. “Although, I’m so unaccountably sad and rightfully angry at Lord Ridgecrest for his insolence.”
She shook her head. “Do not be concerned. He has his reasons. My mother—”
“It matters not to me whatever you might say regarding your mother. I meant what I said to the room at large. And I feel equally inadequate in your presence as any other should.”
“You are too good to me.” She shook her head. “You must know. My mother’s family, my money even, comes from trade . . .”
He waited for her to say more. When she was silent, wide-eyed and fearsome, he laughed. “This is it? This is the great lack of respect of your family?”
“Well, doesn’t it matter?”
“Not to me.” He shook his head. “I’m just relieved you have some money, for that is all we will have to live upon, I’m afraid. My brother has spent it all, wasted at the tables and other riotous living. So you see, where your familial associations are now only honorable, they will be less so were you to align yourself with the Boltons.”
“But you have behaved honorably.”
“I have.”
“Then I, too, am marrying above myself in you.”
“What a pair we make for each other.”
She reached in a reticule and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“Where did you find such a thing as paper in this house?”
“As I’m sure you know, it wasn’t easy.” She opened it. “But it is a letter I wrote you.”
Abraham clapped his hands. “Oh, this is delicious. Let’s sit by the fire and enjoy this moment of Felicity’s greatest disrepute.”
“Do you know, I don’t even feel ashamed?”
“And why should you?”
She shrugged. They sat together, Abraham as close as he could sit to her. She patted his hand. “Now, listen.”
“Dear Abraham.” She gasped, her hand to her mouth. “Abraham.” After searching his face and he in great amusement nodding his acceptance of the use of his first name.
“Dear Abraham—”
“Yes, I know the beginning, but what follows?” He chuckled. “Or is that it? You couldn’t get past my name?”
“Oh hush. There’s more. Perhaps I should just let you read it?”
“May I?”
She paused, watching his face. “No, I shall.”
He groaned.
“I can. I promise.” She cleared her throat again.
“Dear Abraham—”
“If I didn’t love the sound of my name on your lips so much, I would complain more.”
She held up a hand. “It is with great happiness that I write you this letter. For I have come to recognize in myself an affection so great I hardly know what to do with my feelings. For they overflow into everything I am attempting to accomplish. I can hardly sit for my maid’s ministrations. Even needlepoint lacks meaning.”
He gasped appropriately, which made her laugh.
“For the longest time I thought these growing feelings were to be discounted, ignored to be replaced by thoughts of the more responsible choice, that giving in to these aching desires would be akin to the sins of my mother. But now I realize how very wrong I’ve been. My mother made the highest and best choice. And like her, I want to be with the man I love.
“But I’d like to be clear: in doing so, I am not choosing less of a man. In choosing the man that I love, I am also choosing the very best of men. One who is kind, and giving, and fun and respectable in every way but more than all of that, an honorable man who is deserving of my love forever.
“With great love and affection,
“Your Felicity Honora Honeyfield.”
She wiped at her tears and Abraham reached for the paper. “May I?”
“What?”
“Keep it. Of course.”
“Yes.”
He folded it carefully and placed it in his jacket pocket, and then he lifted her to her feet. “And now my dear, precious, Felicity.”
“Could I make a request?”
“Anything.”
“The name I prefer above all
others is Honora.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
He pulled her closer and placed a hand at the side of her face. “Then Honora.”
She shivered.
“There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”
She nodded back, eyes shining.
He studied her face, her beautiful, innocent, caring face, and he was swept away. “I love you, Honora. I want you in my life all my days, as my dearest companion, the wife at my side.”
She smiled up at him, leaning into his palm. “I love you too, Abraham. That would make me the happiest I could ever imagine.”
He sat her back down and kneeled in front of her. His precious lady. “Honora, will you do me the incredible honor of allowing me to be your husband?”
She reached out her hand, tentatively, carefully, and touched his hair, swirling it in a curl around her finger. Then she ran a hand down the side of his face, her finger trailing along his bottom lip. She lowered her hand to his chest and rested it, as before, right over his heartbeat. Then she lifted his hand to place over her heart. Her face filled with wonder, she whispered, “Can this be so?”
“Yes, my darling. Now, please, will you answer the question?”
“Oh. My, of course. Yes. Yes, yes. Most certainly yes. I will marry you and be the happiest person on this whole of England, I’m certain.”
He picked her up and swung her in a circle, then brought her close, wrapping his arms around her back. He searched her face.
She lifted her chin. Her lips were full, soft looking, slightly parted. He could wait no longer. He lowered his mouth to hers, pulling her closer. He searched her eyes, and then the pull of her hands rose to the back of his neck, and their gentle insistent tugging made him smile. She stood on tip-toes, reaching for him.
He happily obliged and was lost to her soft mouth, exploring, pressing, loving this woman who had agreed to be his.
She pressed her teeth on his lip, which brought every feeling to a heightened expression. Her hand rested on his chest. He covered it with his own and rested his head against hers. Her soft sigh made him smile. Then he tugged her by the hand out the door. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“I suppose that would be wise.”
“And proper.”
CHAPTER 15
T he days passed in a whirl. Felicity supposed that the party continued around them. She tried to be happy for Miss Tanning and Lord Ridgecrest, who declared their engagement shortly after she and Lord Bolton had announced the same. A hot air balloon ride, dinners, parlor games, even a grand ball at the end where she was forced to dance with others in attendance besides her precious Abraham, all flew past her in memory, but none of it seemed to matter expect that her Abraham was there at her side.
When the last day had arrived and all their luggage was packed into Felicity’s carriage, Abraham rode up on his horse. “If you get too lonely in there, just wave your hand and Mrs. Dotting and I will trade places.”
She laughed at Mrs. Dotting’s horrified exclamations.
They were on their way to her childhood home, to Haversham, where he would speak to her father.
As she thought about leaving this house party, she felt a pang of sadness her mother would never know Abraham and a tinge of regret she’d not come to understand or appreciate her mother until long after she had passed.
But a part of her hoped, guessed that perhaps she was near. Just in case, she called out on the wind, “Thank you, Mother.”
Abraham rode up beside her. “Miss me already?”
“Of course.”
He reached his hand out and grasped at her outstretched fingers. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
THE END
FOLLOW JEN
Jen has five other published books
The Nobleman’s Daughter
Two lovers in disguise
Scarlet
The Pimpernel retold
Spun of Gold
Rumplestilskin Retold
Dating the Duke
Time Travel: Regency man in NYC
Tabitha’s Folly
Four over protective Brothers
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The Villain’s Romance
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Read on for Chapter ONE of our next book in the Havencrest series.
Interested in our previous House Party books? Read on for sneak peeks into the other Regency House Party Series—
THE CAPTAIN’S LADY
Chapter One
Lucy Brook was breathless as she fairly flew towards the bank. Between the yeasty smell from Offley’s tavern and the oppressive summer heat, she needed a drink of water and a fan.
“How long ago did Captain Sharpe arrive?” she asked her accountant.
Mr. Nicolson kept pace beside her, his long-legged stride eating up the distance. “A quarter of an hour, perhaps. I left to find you the moment he stepped foot inside.”
“Did he state his business?”
“No. But he has a new secretary.”
Her stomach constricted around the kippers she had eaten for her morning meal. Lucy hoped she wasn’t too late, but she didn’t know what to expect. Captain Sharpe had always corresponded by letter, never in person. She feared the damage the latest newspaper articles could do. Carriage wheels clacked over the narrow cobblestone of Henrietta Street. The shops presented a solid front—no break in the ranks, no alley or crack, not even to let in a breeze. London in July was stifling.
Breathing heavily, they arrived at Number 27, Tilney’s Bank. Mr. Nicolson opened the heavy door for her. This bank was like home with its comforting scents of paper and ink.
“Everything will work out,” she told herself. She lifted her chin and stiffened her spine, scanning for the captain. Though they had never been introduced, she had seen him on a rainy day when she was riding in Hyde Park. He was on foot, and even if she had not almost run him over, it had been hard not to gawk at him. His wet uniform had pulled against broad shoulders, and when he lifted somber eyes and smiled tentatively, revealing white teeth against sun-bronzed skin, words had fled her. She would recognize him the moment she saw him.
She stood on her tiptoes to scan the bank’s entry for Captain Sharpe. Everyone seemed to turn their direction—from the tellers, loan officers, and customers, to the actress sitting on one of the cushioned chairs. A gentleman stared openly at her over the folded edge of his newspaper.
Lucy’s already-warm face blazed. She clasped her hands together and dropped her head, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.
“Did The Times print something new about my inheritance?” she whispered to Mr. Nicolson.
Mr. Nicolson shrugged.
Lucy squared her shoulders and walked through the lobby in a straight course to the bank manager’s office. Perhaps Captain Sharpe was still here. Surely the bank manager had delayed him until she arrived. Perhaps the captain’s business today was of no importance.
The office door was closed but raised voices carried. Her breath hitched and she glanced at Mr. Nicolson. The meeting was underway and it didn’t seem to be going well. Lucy smoothed the wisps of hair escaping her chignon. When she crossed the threshold, she would sink into her favorite chair, push the peculiar tension from her, and face whatever came with confidence. Her late Grandfather Tilney had bequeathed her Tilney’s Bank, and she would prove herself capable.
Mr. Nicolson pushed his spectacles on his nose. “Are you ready?”
No. “Yes.”
Mr. Nicolson cracked open the door. There was no waiting on ceremony today.
Her brother-in-law, Reuben Hardy, pushed his large frame to his feet and waved them in. “Miss Brook. Mr. Nicolson.” His booming bass voice welcomed them.
Besides Reuben, there was only one other man present, and he was not the captain. Lucy frowned. Was she too late? Had Captain Sharpe left already? She had half a mind to go find the captain, to chase him down and ask him outr
ight. But perhaps his presence at the bank wasn’t so unaccountable.
Reuben cleared his throat and gestured with a beefy hand. “Miss Brook, may I introduce Mr. Keats, the secretary for one of our most important clients, Captain Jack Sharpe.”
She curtseyed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Keats.”
Mr. Keats sniffed and gave the barest of bows. He kept his chin unusually high, despite having almost none. He looked her over, one pale thin eyebrow rising into his limp hair, a look of consternation on his face, as if puzzling the window and glass tax for Tilney’s.
Lucy wound the strap of her reticule around her hand. He is only a solicitor, she reminded herself. He may think he’s in charge, but he holds no more power than an animal at the Royal Menagerie.
Mr. Nicolson held out a velvet chair for Lucy, and she perched on the end of it, swallowing her discomfort. She removed her gloves to grasp the armrests of her grandfather’s chair, and the tangible connection to him brought a lump to her throat.
“Would you give me a brief summary of your meeting with Mr. Keats so far?” she asked, discreetly wiping at the beads of sweat on her forehead.
“Of course,” Reuben said. “First, can I offer you a drink?”
“Yes—” Lucy said in the same moment Mr. Keats answered, “No.”
She and Mr. Keats eyed one another a second time.
“My business here is concluding, and I do not wish to restate it,” Mr. Keats said.
“Since it concerns Miss Brook, we will take our time to restate our business thus far.” Reuben’s tone held censure.
Mr. Keats murmured, “I’ve never discussed business with a lady.”
His comment pushed on a bruise, but Lucy kept her face serene. She accepted the glass of water from Reuben and tried to sip slowly, even though she was parched. Reuben might have hair sticking up in the back and a permanently rumpled cravat around his thick neck, but he also had the warm brown eyes of a beloved dog. And a loyal streak Lucy admired. She was proud to call him her brother-in-law, though they kept their relationship formal at the bank.
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