by Linda Banche
And she smiled. Felicity always smiled. Even from this distance, her smile lit the room as if the summer sun bathed the interior.
His feet, clearly anticipating his desire, propelled him in her direction.
She stopped to address an older lady, her zest for life spilling forth with each of her exuberant gestures. The lady left, and Felicity looked around. ”Mr. Wynne!” Her smile blazed. “I am most glad you came tonight!” They always addressed each other formally in company. Strangers need not be privy to their long connection and perhaps see their association as more than it was.
At present.
She held out both hands to him.
A ray of sunshine, indeed. His blood dashed a hot path through his veins. He bowed with a flourish. Only the best for Felicity. “With such a greeting, I am most glad I came, too.” He had all he could do not to press both her hands to his heart. Instead, he kissed one. A real kiss, not the kiss on air so many social kisses were.
Her mother frowned. She glanced from him to the stranger, and then darted her gaze away as if she didn’t want to see Frank.
Strange, a similar reaction to yesterday’s. Had he offended the lady in some way? But how? He hadn’t seen her in ten years.
He released Felicity’s hands although he wanted nothing more than to hold onto them. Then he bowed to her mother. “Good evening, Mrs. White.” He nodded to the unknown man.
The gentleman, about the same age as Felicity’s mother, was tall, dark, passably attractive, and dressed in the latest black eveningwear. Under Beau Brummell’s influence, men’s apparel increasingly tended toward somber colors, but this man’s raiment looked more appropriate to a funeral than merrymaking. And he stood too close to Felicity.
A sterner fellow Frank had never seen. Why did he accompany Felicity and her mother? Did he have an interest in Mrs. White?
Felicity waved at the gentleman. “Oh, my manners. Mr. Wynne, let me make you known to Mr. Norris. Mr. Thaddeus Norris, Mr. Francis Wynne.”
Norris, his funereal attire lending him the aspect of a large, menacing crow, inclined his head toward Frank. “My pleasure.” His slitted eyes belied the politeness of his words. Then, with a deliberate motion, he placed Felicity’s fingers on his sleeve.
A possessive display if ever Frank saw one. A cold shiver raced down his spine. God forbid, was his interest in Felicity?
He balled his fists. Before this night was over, he would find out. “Miss White, I read your book. I liked it very much.”
“Oh, thank you.” She stepped away from Norris and clasped her palms before her. Her brightness flared higher. Then she glanced at the scowling Norris and her smile faltered.
She nodded at Norris as she took Frank’s arm. “Old friends, you know.” Stepping forward, she pulled him along with her. “Shall we away to the refreshments? Lady Gavin always offers the most inventive desserts. I must see them.”
Frank forced out a laugh. “Just arrived and already hungry?” Although he couldn’t fault her for leading him away. The air surrounding her mother and Norris held a distinct chill.
“You know how much I love sweets.” She looked back over her shoulder, a pinch between her eyebrows. “But I also want to talk to you. Without an audience.”
“I am most gratified.”
But something was amiss.
***
The tightness that had gripped Felicity all evening eased. Finally, she was away from her mother and Mr. Norris.
Even better, Frank was with her. Now, she could enjoy herself. Why, with the festivities and them both dressed up, they might be Miss Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley at the Netherfield ball. Frank’s charming personality certainly fit with the genial Mr. Bingley, although she had always pictured Mr. Bingley as a blond. But that was a minor detail.
Plunging into the crowd, she pressed forward to halt on the threshold of the refreshment room. “I must tell you my good news.” If she had to wait much longer, she would burst. She hadn’t even told her mother yet. She wanted Frank to be the first to know.
He grinned. “I await with bated breath.”
His presence sent a lightness through her, as if she were a glass of champagne full of fizzing bubbles. “You always were one for dramatics.” She patted his arm. “And I always loved them.”
Everyone must have heard of the chef’s prowess with confections, as the abundance of guests here, especially around the dessert table, more than explained the sparse company in the drawing room.
They picked their way through the chattering throng, but she passed by the dessert table and led Frank to the drinks.
He arched an eyebrow. “What, no sweets?”
“I am too excited to eat.”
Asking no questions, Frank secured two cups of lemonade and then forged a path to an unoccupied table in the corner.
She bobbed on her toes. What luck had led her to Frank! He would appreciate her news as no one else would. After he left yesterday, the day had plunged into depression, and the hours until the party, as if snickering at her eagerness to see him again, had conspired with a multitude of snails. But now, her waiting was over.
How splendid he looked. Although all gentlemen dressed more or less alike for the evening, no one here compared with Frank. His tailored black velvet coat hugged his broad shoulders. The ruffles on his shirtfront spilled over the top of his plain gray waistcoat, with the ruffles on his shirt cuffs extending to his knuckles.
She did like ruffles on a man.
A simple knot in his cravat balanced the elegance of the ruffles, as did his unadorned white satin breeches, white silk stockings and plain black, soft leather shoes. All in all, a perfect masculine figure.
Not that she should look at him that way. Her cheeks heated. Especially not at his breeches. But this was Frank!
They took their seats, the others guests’ chattering a hum in the distance. Perfect for her news.
“Here we are, with your lemonade and away from prying ears.” Frank pushed a cup closer to her. “Do you not want this, either?”
She fluttered her hands. Why was she nervous? “Not right now.” She leaned over the table. “A publisher asked to see my book!”
“Really?” He caught one of her waving hands in his.
Little sparks raced from her fingers to her shoulder, even though they both wore gloves. Gracious, that had never happened before. But the feeling was pleasant. More than pleasant.
He patted her hand. “Good show. Now we can hope he likes it enough to publish it. Do you have any idea how long he needs to decide?”
She brought her thoughts back to the present. “About a fortnight.”
“Then not too long for the happy news. To repeat myself, I thoroughly enjoyed your novel, especially the part where Bingley falls into the thorn bush.” He released her hand.
Some of her bubbles went flat. But how could that be, when they talked about her favorite subject, her book? “I rather liked that part myself, although I debated putting it in.”
His eyebrows bunched together. “Why? The situation is realistic, although the humor is broader than Miss Austen’s.”
More of her bubbles flattened. Would they inflate again? “Yes. As much I love Miss Austen, I am not she. I write in her spirit, but do not mimic her.”
“Very good. Pay homage to the lady whilst letting your own talent shine through.” He took a sip of his lemonade. “I admit though, I was surprised at how differently both Bingley and Miss Jane behave from the way they do in Pride and Prejudice. Miss Jane especially is quite warm toward Bingley.”
New bubbles replaced her flat ones. He had read the book, not just skimmed it! “As she should be. But showing partiality for a gentleman is difficult for a lady. If she displays too marked a preference, everyone considers her fast, and not a worthy parti. Not enough, and the gentleman in question thinks she has no interest. The balance is delicate, and Jane’s natural diffidence compounds the problem. Mr. Darcy knows this, but, toplofty that he is, he believes, or imag
ines, she does not care for his friend.” She twisted her lips. “Or perhaps he did not want Bingley to waste himself on a poor woman.”
“You sound angry.”
“I am.” She huffed. “There is more to a lady than her money. So, in my version, I made Mr. Bingley stronger. He listens to Mr. Darcy at first, but then comes to his senses and woos Jane behind his friend’s back, long before the almighty Mr. Darcy admits his error.” She looked down her nose. “Not that he needed anyone’s permission in the first place, but I make him stop his slavish deferring to Mr. Darcy.”
“And the result is charming. I think a publisher is sure to take it. If not this one, then another.”
More bubbles sprouted to dance with the ones already there. “Oh, I hope so.”
***
Frank set his empty lemonade glass aside. “But enough about your book. We have yet to catch up on some ten years’ worth of news.” Although he had missed her, life had a way of making people, especially young ones, forget. He thought of her occasionally, but all the new experiences of his emerging manhood had occupied him. Time to make up for the loss. “Tell me what you have been up to.” And tell me about Norris.
“Northamptonshire is different from Sussex, but I enjoyed living there. A little colder, but not too much, and the countryside is charming. So many new places to explore and new people to meet. But Woodford Park is entailed, and a cousin took up residence after my father died. Now we live in Woodford village, in a cottage Papa left Mama. We are not too far from the Park, so we did not have to start over.
“All has been very quiet. I take a lot of long walks in the countryside, and there are the usual country parties and assemblies, but I spend most of my time reading. That is how I made my acquaintance with Miss Austen’s books. And then I took up writing.” She stopped for a sip of lemonade. “And what have you done in all this time?”
He heaved a forlorn sigh. “When I no longer had you tormenting me, I went off to Eton and then attended Oxford. When I finished there, I came to London with my friends.
“Met them at Oxford?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
One side of her mouth quirked up. “From what I can tell, all you gentlemen meet at Oxford.”
“Not quite. Of my three greatest friends, Trant and Fellowes went to Oxford, but we met Coffey, the fourth of our group, here in London. He went to Cambridge. But we do not hold that against him.”
Her sparkling laugh filled the small space. “Big of you.”
“We think so. How do you like London?”
“London is like nothing in the country. I am so glad Aunt Philadelphia repeats her invitation every year. I find the city so exciting.”
“As do I.” They had always thought alike.
“Of course you like London.” She rolled her eyes. “You gentlemen do so many things we ladies cannot.”
“Not as much as you might think. Mostly, we fence and box, we dine at White’s, and we tease each other, especially Trant, who is a little too full of himself for his own good.”
“What, no drinking, gambling or other pursuits?” A shapely eyebrow winged upward at the last two words.
“Some drinking, but not much of late. I think we have run that horse into the ground. Only a little gambling, as three of us do not have excessive amounts of money. And none of us are much inclined to those other pursuits, as you so gracefully name them, especially since Fellowes and Coffey have found their ladies.” Ladies always wanted to know if a gentleman had other women. Frank could honestly say he didn’t.
“Your friends sound delightful. I would like to meet them sometime.”
“And so you shall, whenever I can arrange it.” But not too soon. I want to keep you to myself for a while.
“And what will you do next? Take holy orders? I recollect your father wanted you to take up the living he owns.”
“Yes.” The decision about his future, a precariously balanced boulder that teetered more each day, overshadowed his every thought. But Felicity didn’t know that. “And while he told me to enjoy myself, he sent me here in part to train with a friend of his, Mr. Tyler, vicar of St. James Church, Piccadilly.”
“Is the work difficult?”
“Not at all. I attend his service on Sunday, he gives me a few books to read and we discuss them somewhat, and occasionally, I accompany him to an event at another church.” The less said about his likely career, the better. “I hope you have had only joy in your visit to our greatest city.”
Her face clouded. “Yes, for the most part.”
His stomach knotted. Was Norris the reason for her distress? “And what part do you dislike?”
She rubbed her finger over the condensation on the side of her glass. “If you must know, I do not care so much for Mr. Norris.”
He pasted a concerned expression on his face, while his heart danced a merry jig. “He appeared a little somber, but then, I saw him for only a few minutes.”
“Yes, he is somber. I have rarely seen him laugh. Yet Mama wants me to consider marrying him.”
All the air in the room vanished. “Marry him?” Frank sputtered the words. “Why?” The thought of another man with Felicity made him wince.
Her smile was sad. “I am one-and-twenty now, and Mama lectures me that I will soon be on the shelf. This year she was especially eager to accept Aunt Philadelphia’s invitation because there are more eligible men here than in Woodford.” Forehead puckered, she looked around. “Although, even in this crowd, I do not see too many men.”
“Norris is too old for you.” Damnation, he was forty if he was a day. Past forty.
She nodded. “I think so, too. But, I must humor Mama for now. Perhaps he will improve on acquaintance. Or find someone else.”
Frank hoped so, but he didn’t say anything. He clenched his fists. He wanted to hit something. Preferably Norris.
The moment stretched long, but then Felicity’s smile brightened. “But on to more pleasant matters. Tomorrow is the next meeting of my literary society. Actually, the group is dedicated solely to Jane Austen.”
Fortunately, she always bounced back from the dismals quickly. How he wished he could help her. But, at the moment, no ideas occurred. “Here such a short time, and already you have found like-minded friends?”
“Oh, no, I discovered them back home. There are Jane Austen enthusiasts all over the country. We write to each other. I cannot wait to tell them about the publisher requesting my book. How excited they will be.” She poked the lemon slice decorating the cup’s rim into the liquid. “I have the best of ideas. Why not come with me to the meeting tomorrow? The ladies would be most happy to meet you.”
Were they young or old? Visions of being the only male surrounded by a bevy of husband-hunting ladies hit Frank with the force of a sledge hammer. Too much like the Season, with eagle-eyed females in avid pursuit of male quarry. Even literary-minded women were always on the prowl for husbands. And if he walked into that meeting of his own free will, he was asking for whatever their wiles could conjure up. “I think n—”
“Oh, please.” She set her hand over his on the table. “I would so like you to come.”
His every rational thought fled. “If you want me to escort you, then, of course, I shall.”
Chapter 7
“Yes, I will enjoy your meeting.” Frank gritted his teeth behind his smile. He thought no such thing. But Felicity was so happy, he would put on the best act he ever had.
Last night, his brain once more on holiday, words of agreement had tumbled from his lips when she asked him to come with her. Although he wasn’t too sorry. While part of his mind cringed at the ordeal in the offing, he couldn’t regret spending more time in her company. The subtle pressure of her fingers on his sleeve more than made up for any possible distress.
A bitter wind funneled between the buildings and Felicity shivered.
“Are you cold?” Frank hugged her arm closer to his side. Thank you, Wind. “We can take a hackney.”
He slanted a glance her way. Felicity did like her little jokes. “Why so?”
Her grin was that of the cat in the cream. “You will see.”
A mystery. Mayhap this afternoon wouldn’t be altogether the tribulation he expected.
Felicity skipped a little as she walked, forcing her maid to step lively to keep up. Her low spirits of yesterday had completely vanished. Good. “I am sure you will enjoy the Pemberley Society.”
“They named their club for Mr. Darcy’s house?”
“Not exactly. They named the group for the houses or estates in each of Miss Austen’s six novels. The full name is the Pemberley-Northanger Abbey-Barton Cottage-Mansfield Park-Donwell Abbey-Kellynch Hall Society.”
“A mouthful, that.”
“Indeed. Which is why we shorten the name. Especially since we recently added ‘Kellynch Hall’ from Miss Austen’s latest novel, Persuasion, which was published this year. We also alternate the names. This month is Pemberley’s turn.”
“The ladies are nothing if not inventive.”
“Just so.” Felicity chattered on about the society members as they continued up South Audley, crossed Grosvenor Square to North Audley, and then turned onto Green Street. Frank turned a mostly deaf ear. Nothing of interest there.
They stopped about halfway down the row of well-tended red brick townhouses. Scrollwork adorned Number 13’s polished, black-painted door, and small potted evergreens flanked the portal.
Frank mounted the stairs after Felicity. “A double house. Twice the size of most townhouses. The sign of a flourishing family.” He plied the door knocker. “And a book door knocker. Unusual.” The knocker’s rapping, although loud outside, softened on the other side of the panel, as if something smothered the sound.
Felicity’s cat-in-the-cream smile returned. “But appropriate, for Selina has filled her house with books.”
