Dangerous Joy

by Jo Beverley

  Blanche straightened to consider it. "I have nothing that isn't white, and that isn't your color. I could stake my drake's feathers," she said hopefully.

  "Done." Felicity turned to Beth. "Are you entering the contest? It can be winner take all. I think, judging from the stakes so far, it should be something you'd be rather glad to get rid of."

  "Well, there is one of the kitchen maids," Beth said with a twinkle, "but I think we've made buying and selling people illegal. What about my amber-headed riding crop? I have little taste for riding. Of that sort, anyway," she added.

  Felicity laughed, and despite Blanche's complaint that she'd never be seen with an amber-headed crop even if she rode a horse, they settled the stakes and progressed to the game. Beth proved to be an indifferent player, but Felicity and Blanche were closer matched. Felicity suspected Blanche was holding back a little, but she didn't mind. This was all serving to pass the time.

  Since they hadn't set a limit to the contest, they just kept playing until hunger and thirst sent them in search of sustenance.

  "My," said Beth as she poured tea and the others helped themselves to sandwiches, "there is an alarming amount of science in that game. Are we to continue? I think Felicity is just slightly ahead at this point."

  Blanche faded gently backward into a languishing pose. "I am drained. I could not find the strength to lift the cue."

  "You mean you want to be rid of those feathers."

  Blanche opened her eyes enough to wink.

  "Oh, very well," said Felicity. "I'll relieve you of them. If nothing else, Gardeen can hunt them." And she spent the rest of the afternoon piecing together a quite pretty aigrette for her hair. She went to the mirror to try the effect.

  "My heavens," said Blanche, looking up from Sense and Sensibility. "However did you do that in so short a time?"

  "Grandfather taught me to tie flies. I think the dark feathers sit well against my black hair—mysterious and devilish."

  "Isn't it strange," said Beth, "how in nature the male is always more gorgeously plumed than the female. And yet we human females take those male weapons and use them in our own wars."

  As Blanche helped fix the aigrette in her hair with pins, Felicity said, "Perhaps we need male weapons to fight the male."

  "It's not always war, you know."

  "Isn't it?" Felicity returned to the piano to play a dramatic, rebellious piece by Herr Beethoven.

  When the men came home from an indifferent day's hunting, Miles noticed the aigrette and complimented her on it.

  When she explained she had made it, his brows rose. "Another feminine skill. I'm not sure I can stand these changes."

  "Very wise," said. "Changes are not always for the better."

  But a day was over without a message from the weasel.

  * * *

  The next morning, some of Felicity's tension was relieved by a letter from Kilgoran Castle.

  Lucien, emptying the postbag, passed it to Miles, who glanced at it then offered it to Felicity.

  She shook her head. "No. It's to you from your mother. But please, read it quickly."

  He broke the seal and started to read. "Everything is fine. She's at the Castle, complaining about the earl's dictatorial ways.... They clash like breaker and shore, you know, even though he's frail. Kieran and Mrs. Edey are established in the nursery wing with a dozen servants to obey their every whim..." He scanned down. "There's a note further on that Kilgoran has appointed a strong, healthy groom to be personal servant to the lad and go with him just about everywhere. It's all right."

  Felicity realized she had her hands clasped painfully tight and relaxed them. "Thank heavens!"

  And if Rupert were here, he'd had no time to change that happy state of affairs before leaving.

  Her son was safe.

  Then, though Felicity kept a bright smile on her face, her bubble of relief and delight abruptly burst.

  She had promised herself that when she heard this happy news, she would tell Miles about the letter from Rupert. But how was she to do so without admitting she'd kept it secret for more than a day? That she hadn't trusted him and his friends?

  She couldn't.

  But she had to tell him. It was right to tell him. Shuddering at the thought of making her confession in public, Felicity decided to wait for a private moment.

  But, of course, as soon as breakfast was over, the men headed out for another day's hunting, so no private moment occurred. She could have made one—she had only to ask Miles to step aside for a moment—but she gave in to cowardly evasion. Perhaps, if she waited, she'd think of some way of avoiding a confession.

  Heaven knows, Miles was sufficiently aware of her flaws without her throwing another one in his face.

  Felicity spent another day indoors, "guarded" by Beth and Blanche, trying to convince herself that there was no need to tell Miles anything. Nothing had come of the message, after all.

  Would Beth tell?

  No.

  So there really was no reason to say a word, even if she did feel horribly guilty and dishonorable. And the most wretched coward ever to walk the earth.

  By the next day, she'd fretted herself almost sick over it.

  The night before, even easygoing Miles had begun to worry about Rupert's non-appearance. Admitting the possibility that the weasel was stalking Kieran, he'd mentioned leaving for Ireland to make sure the boy was safe.

  Beth had caught Felicity's eyes with a meaningful glance.

  Felicity had not acknowledged it, but she'd known she must do something. In addition to Miles's concerns, she had her own. Not hearing from Rupert since Sunday—though it was by her own design—left her uncertain of his moves.

  Delay, however, had made it even more difficult to tell Miles the truth.

  As she played a soothing berceuse, inspiration struck. If she were to receive another message, she could tell Miles about it without having to reveal the earlier one. And there was no longer any reason for her to hide away in fear. If Kieran were safe, Rupert could threaten as ferociously as he liked without shaking her.

  So Felicity lost her guards much as she had once lost Miles, by using the privy as her excuse. Then she slipped down the unfamiliar servants' passage and found a door to the outside with a rack of red, woolen cloaks beside it. Snatching one, she went out and took a deep breath of fresh air.

  It was still cloudy, but today the air was reasonably dry. It wouldn't be a bad day for the hounds. Her main concern, however, was that a certain groom be in the stables, not out with the hunters.

  She hurried into the stable yard to see five men engaged in various tasks, two of them inspecting a fine dun gelding. None of them was the towheaded messenger. Professional curiosity took Felicity over to the horse, which she had to admit didn't look too happy. It was yawning, and even shivering a bit.

  "Colic?" she asked.

  One man looked up and touched his hat. "Aye, Miss. But not too bad, we reckon."

  She sensed uncertainty and glanced around. "Where's the head groom?"

  "He's been called out to one of the hunt horses, Miss."

  "Ah." Clearly the men knew their business but were uncertain of their authority. Would they accept hers?

  She stepped closer, put her ear to the horse's side, and heard the familiar gurgling of too much gas. But clearly the horse wasn't in much pain. "No, not too bad a case. You're doubtless planning to feed him a bran mash and keep him walking. That should do the trick."

  The man's face lightened. "Aye, that's what we had in mind, Miss." As he led the horse off, the other groom went to make the mash.

  Now what? Should she ask after towhead? Then Rupert might think she was looking for a message.

  She almost laughed out loud. If he believed she was a prisoner, he would expect her to be looking for a message and a means of escape.

  Felicity turned to ask the help of one of the men, but was interrupted when an elegant curricle drawn by four matched blacks rolled into the yard, tooled by
a servant.

  Someone new had arrived at Vauxhall. Doubtless another Rogue.

  Curiosity was overwhelmed by relief when the towheaded groom ran out of the tack room to help tend the lathered team.

  Felicity went over to stand reasonably close to her quarry. "Fine horses. Whose are they?"

  "Don't know," he said, as he flipped loose the surcingle. "Hey, Harry. Whose rig is this?"

  "Lord Middlethorpe's, and he's a generous man, Josh, so take care of 'em." Then he saw Felicity. "Beggin' your pardon, Miss."

  The towhead—Josh—gave her a quick, startled glance then went back to his job.

  "I'm sure you're always dependable, Josh," she said and wandered to eye the other horses, giving the man a chance to finish and make contact if he needed to.

  How long, though, before Beth came searching?

  The men had the team free of the traces now, and while the curricle was pulled away to be washed, they rubbed the horses down and covered them with blankets. Then she saw Josh nip into one of the rooms. He came out with a new cloth, but flashed her a look.

  Heart pounding, she strolled over to the lathered horse he was rubbing down. A piece of paper slid into her hand. "He says you're to make sure to act this time," he muttered.

  "Tell him I'm guarded, night and day. I only managed to... See there," she added. "Here come my jailers." With perfect timing, Beth had arrived, accompanied by a slender, dark-haired man.

  "Felicity!" Beth said rather sharply. "What on earth are you doing here?"

  Felicity slipped the note into her pocket and assumed her most brittle manner. "Faith, and am I not allowed to take the air anymore? I wanted to smell the true sweet aroma of a stable." She looked the handsome stranger over, from supple leather boots to glossy beaver. "And who's your fine gentleman friend?"

  Beth's eyes expressed exasperation, but her voice was level as she said, "Francis, let me introduce Miss Felicity Monahan of Foy Hall in County Meath. She's Miles's ward for a few weeks and doesn't appreciate the situation. Felicity, I present Francis, Lord Middlethorpe, another Rogue. Now come along back to the house, do. You must be chilled."

  Felicity smiled sweetly at Lord Middlethorpe. "Brought you along in case force was necessary, did she?"

  He seemed rather delicate and poetic, but there was nothing delicate in his manner when he said, "And is it? I do like warning if I'm going to have to manhandle a woman."

  Felicity stifled a gasp of surprise.

  He didn't like her.

  That was hardly surprising in the circumstances, but it gave her a jolt. In all her life, the only other person she'd met who had taken a speedy aversion to her was Miles.

  Of course, in both cases she'd been playing a rather unpleasant part. Faith, but she was clearly a gifted actress and should ask Blanche to set her up on the stage!

  She laughed insolently. "But I like to maintain the element of surprise, my lord, particularly when I'm among enemies." With that, she swept ahead of the other two and led the way back to the house.

  Once in the house, she hinted to Beth and was locked in her room. Safely private, she pulled out the reward of her expedition, the note.

  My darling Felicity,

  You cannot imagine my anguish that we are not yet together.

  Oh, can I not, you veritable weasel? You're probably gnawing the wainscoting in your fury.

  The thought of you a prisoner has me in a ferment. I am sick with it. God knows what I will do next.

  Now there's a threat. What a shame you have no edge to put on it.

  Can you imagine my pain as I watched you out riding, so near and yet so far? And again that night, waiting, watching the candles flicker behind your curtains, hoping you would find the strength to follow my instructions and flee to me.

  She shivered under the horrible sensation of having been watched, especially when she knew the power of a spyglass. On how many other occasions had he watched, and what had he seen?

  How much did Rupert suspect?

  He was no fool. Would he realize that if she really wished to be free of this place, she would have found a way? Tapping the letter against her fingers, Felicity assessed the situation. If Rupert didn't have a willing inside spy, then it should be all right. Certainly the upper servants would gossip among themselves, which is why she and Miles had been staging minor squabbles. But, hopefully, none of those family retainers would give a close account of matters in the house to a stranger, or even to such a lowly creature as Josh.

  Therefore Rupert wouldn't know how lightly she was guarded.

  In that case, the scene in the stable yard would have worked wonderfully. Beth's appearance, accompanied by someone clearly willing to enforce her will, was just what they wanted Josh to take back to Rupert.

  At this rate, she should be able to hold Rupert off until word came from Cheltenham.

  She read the last part of the note—the instructions.

  The servant who gives you this can be trusted as much as any member of the lower orders ever can.

  Oh, Rupert, you pompous fool.

  Inform him of your best chance of escape, and I will ensure it comes to pass. With the men out every day following the hounds, it should be possible for you to slip away.

  Definite suspicion there, alas.

  I need to hear from you, speak to you, kiss you, my darling. Do not make me wait. Remember always that one you love, and who loves you, will suffer for every moment you delay.

  Felicity crumpled the note viciously, but then reminded herself that Kieran was safe at Kilgoran with a personal guard, not in Rupert's power. But she knew the threat was real. If she played Rupert false and failed to keep Kieran out of his power, he would get his revenge through the child.

  And nothing on earth could change the fact that Rupert was Kieran's father.

  Again she was tempted to give up and run, but she shook her head. She had agreed to this course and must see it through. She would wait until they heard from Cheltenham.

  She smoothed out the paper. At least now she had something to show Miles and could put her deception behind her.

  But then her hands froze. It was obvious from this letter that there'd been another!

  She sat with a thump. Now what was she supposed to do?

  After half-an-hour of miserable thinking, Felicity acknowledged that she had no option other than telling the horrible truth. It could not be yet, though. The men were still out.

  Halfway through the day, Beth escorted a maid bearing a tray. When they left, the door was locked again, doubtless within view of the servant. Oh, what an excellent little scheme.

  Ignoring the tray of food, Felicity went over to the window. She wanted to be seen. When Rupert heard she'd been locked in her room, she wanted him to remember her here at the window, gazing wistfully out at freedom.

  It was eerie, though, to think that he might be out there somewhere, watching her now.

  When she finally settled to eating, Felicity found Beth had sent up a book to entertain her—or to educate her, more likely. Lord Chesterfield's Letters.

  In fact, the witty, worldly earl's advice made rather better reading than Mary Wollstonecraft's sermonizing, but Felicity came to wish Chesterfield was not quite so firm on the subject of truthfulness.

  "Virtue consists in doing good and speaking truth...."

  "I am sure you know that breaking of your word is a folly, a dishonor, and a crime."

  "I really know nothing more criminal, more mean, and more ridiculous than lying. It is the production of either malice, cowardice, or vanity...."

  She slammed the book down, wondering which of those forces had driven her to lie about the letter. For it had been a lie, if only one of silence.

  Vanity. And, perhaps, cowardice. But not fear of disclosure; fear of consequences. She had feared that once Miles knew Rupert was around, he would keep closer watch on her. Even more, she had feared that he might break his word and kill the man.

  Yes, she thought, rising to pace
the room, Lord Chesterfield had missed one factor—distrust.

  Miles was going to be delighted by that, wasn't he?

  As for cowardice, that was what had compounded the problem.

  She saw the men ride back and heard them enter the house. She half-expected Miles to come to speak to her, but instead Harriet arrived to unlock her door and prepare her for dinner.

  Chapter 22

  When Felicity entered the drawing room, Miles came over to her looking somber. She thought he already knew the dreadful truth, but he said, "Why on earth did you go out to the stables? It could have been dangerous."

  "Dangerous? This place is infested with servants."

  He shook his head. "I gather you met Francis. He's a fine fellow."

  "He doesn't like me."

  "Francis?" Then Miles sighed. "I suppose you treated him to one of your better impressions of a wayward ward."

  "I had no choice. Beth brought him when she came to find me, and there were so many servants around..."

  He touched her—a gentle, unobtrusive touch on her back. "It's all right. We'll explain to him later."

  But after dinner, when the ladies went apart, Beth had an opposing view. "If you don't mind, Felicity, we're going to leave Francis in ignorance of your situation for a while. Lucien says there's something up with him, too. And Francis is such a kindhearted fellow we're afraid he'll keep it to himself if he thinks there are other matters to be handled."

  "Kindhearted?" Felicity echoed, remembering the cool-eyed man who'd offered to manhandle her.

  "He is, truly. If you found him a bit hard, it's further proof something is wrong. Now, tell me why you ran out."

  "You think I went because I received a message. I didn't."

  Beth relaxed. "That's all right, then. I was concerned that one of the upper servants had been bribed. I'm not used to so many servants anyway, and the thought that one so close to me cannot be trusted makes me shudder. I suppose you just felt the need of action and exercise."

  "That's it exactly." And it was true, though not as Beth intended. More falsehoods. Lord Chesterfield would not have approved. "I read part of the book you sent up."