by Jo Beverley
"Chesterfield. Amusing in places, isn't he? In fact, he rather reminds me of the Duke of Belcraven."
"Lucien's father?"
"Yes." Beth poured the tea. "Strict, but wise and witty, too."
"On the other hand," said Blanche, "Chesterfield had a low opinion of women. What did he say? That he never knew a woman with sense?"
"Strange how even clever men are blind," said Beth. "He claimed women always let passion or humor intrude upon their actions."
"But why on earth not?" Felicity asked. "Aren't humor and emotion what differentiate us from clockwork monsters?"
Beth smiled at her. "How true! Sometimes I steep myself so deep in the writings of men that I forget reality." Her expression turned serious. "Hold onto your humor, Felicity, and your emotional commitment. It is, as you say, what makes us human."
It was support of a kind, and Felicity cherished it as she waited to confess all.
* * *
When the gentlemen joined the ladies, Felicity immediately rose. "Miles, I need to speak to you."
He was surprised and perhaps a little wary, but he said, "Why don't we go into the library?"
"So you'll have a chair handy?" As she swept out of the room, she heard a chuckle.
Once in the library, however, her bold spirit collapsed. "I'm sorry," she said, hands clasped before her.
"For what? Going to fee stables? As you said—"
"No! No, not for that."
"For what, then?" After a hushed moment, he said, "You're carrying a child."
"No! I don't know.... Just give me a moment, Miles, and I'll get it out."
"Whatever it is," he said wife a touch of amusement, "it can't be as bad as you seem to think. Unless you've somehow managed to marry Dunsmore, of course."
That dragged a shaky laugh from her. "Perhaps I had a parson concealed in the stable yard, and Rupert was the back half of a pantomime horse."
He laughed, but tears almost deprived Felicity of her voice, and she sucked in a steadying breath.
He immediately came to put an arm around her, despite feeble resistance.
"Come on," he said, drawing her against his chest, "Having eliminated fee truly disastrous, let's hear the merely awful."
She'd forgotten fee sweetness of being held gently in his arms, and took a moment to let her senses draw strength and sustenance from it.
"I had a note from Rupert today."
His arms tightened a little. "At last. Then he's in the area." He moved back a little to look into her face. "He frightened you?" Then, turning watchful, "What did you do?"
"Came in and read it. Nothing more." She took a deep breath. "But I had one on Sunday, too."
She felt the reaction run through him and be controlled. He did and said nothing, except to draw her back against his chest, but she knew that was in part to give him time to think.
At last, he said, "It would be pleasant if you could trust me."
"Oh, Miles..."
His hand soothed her back. "But I do understand. All my life I've had dependable family and friends as close as brothers. I've never had to stand alone. You've had no one since your parents died. When you've learned to cope alone, it must be hard to surrender part of your will to another."
She pressed closer into the cloth of his jacket. "I thought you'd hate me."
"Never. It frightens me, but that's because you could dash off at any moment...."
She sighed. "Yes, I could. I'm not sure I can ever change that."
"I'll make it part of the wedding vows."
When she tried to protest, he kissed her into silence.
When they found strength to stop, he smiled into her eyes. "I do note that you're still here to be kissed. If I remember your promise to me, that first letter freed you to leave."
"In the middle of a party?"
"That wouldn't stop you."
She could at least give him honesty. "I thought of it, but I didn't want to go. I don't want to go now. And if I do marry Rupert, I'll be weeping as I say the vows."
"There's scant comfort in that." He pushed her gently away. "Now, let me see this letter. Both of them, if you still have the earlier one."
Felicity pulled them out from behind her stays. "I'm not sure how I came to deserve you."
He took the two sheets of paper. "Nor am I when you keep another man's letters so close to your heart."
"Idiot! This gown has no pockets."
"Excuses, excuses." He unfolded the letters and read them quickly. "He has a fine hand with a veiled threat, doesn't he? Did these frighten you?"
"The first one did. But then I decided that if he had Kieran in his power he'd make more use of him than mere threats. Today's didn't bother me at all until I realized you'd know there'd been an earlier one." She wasn't sure he fully grasped her perfidy. "I went out hoping for another message, you know. It was a deliberate attempt to deceive you. Lord Chesterfield would be disgusted."
He looked up blankly. "What the devil does he have to do with it?"
Felicity laughed. "Oh, Miles, I do love you in the most painful way."
He folded the letters. "As I do you. And I live in the fervent hope that one day it will be less painful for both of us. Now, since Luce doesn't want to bother Francis with this unless necessary, we'll have a two-person council of war."
Felicity nodded and sat down in the familiar library chair. "As I see it, as long as Rupert believes I cannot escape, we're safe. Once we hear from Cheltenham, we can contact him and lay down our terms. My main concern is that he'll call our bluff and try to seize Kieran."
"We'll have to secure Rupert first."
She shivered. "More violence."
"It might be simpler just to kill him."
She looked at him, a man she knew to be so very gentle. "Could you?"
"Oh, yes."
And she believed him. Men were strange creatures. "We'll try reason and bribery first. Which means you had best keep me guarded or locked up for the next few days." She rose. "I suppose we should go back now. Heaven alone knows what Lord Middlethorpe is thinking."
"Not that we're making love. I have him convinced I find you a galling burden."
Irresistibly, she drifted back into his arms. "And I am, aren't I?"
He kissed her hair. "True enough. But one I'll be happy to carry for the rest of my life."
* * *
The next days passed as planned, with the men riding out with one of the local hunts, and Felicity well-guarded. Beth and Blanche never left her unaccompanied, and if she elected to stay in her room, they locked her in.
Stephen had to leave on political business, but assured everyone that he wasn't needed once the evidence came in from Cheltenham. Felicity suspected he wanted to be out of the way if any illegalities took place.
Almost as soon as his dust had settled, his place was taken by a new Rogue called Con Somerford, more formally known as Viscount Amleigh. Here was another handsome specimen. He wore his dark brown hair short, and his jaw was square and strong. Humor always seemed a flicker away from his gray eyes, however, and if he smiled widely, he had dimples.
Felicity was heartily tired of creating a bad impression for new guests, so she told him the truth.
"We are a bundle of problems at the moment, aren't we?" He produced those charming dimples. "Remind me to avoid all women like the plague."
"In my case, I might have been better off without male interference," Felicity said, though she meant Rupert more than Miles. "It does sound as if Francis's lady needs his help, though."
For Lucien had been right. Francis had a problem. A woman he had befriended was being persecuted by her brothers, who had even stolen her small widow's jointure. A neat plan had been dreamed up to snatch back some of the lady's stolen money through a horse race—a horse race involving a certain gray called Banshee.
Miles had come up with the plan. "Tom and Will Allbright care for gambling, horses, and women, in that order, and they're not too bright about any of th
em. Why not take them on, two out of three?"
"How?" Francis had asked.
"You know Banshee?"
Francis shuddered. "Yes."
Miles grinned. "During Stables this Sunday, it shouldn't be that hard to set up a wager between Banshee and one of the Allbright's nags. They have a couple they're proud of. I'll win, and there you are."
Con pointed out the flaw in that. "The Allbrights would have to be imbeciles to underrate any horse of yours, Miles, and they're surely not that stupid."
"And this is my business anyway," said Francis. "I'll ride him. In fact, I'll buy the horse first just to make it above board. How much do you want for him?"
Miles grinned at Felicity. "Fifty."
Francis pulled a face but said, "Done."
"There, cailin." Miles had said. "You owe me a cake baked by your own fair hands."
Felicity had laughed. "Miles Cavanagh, sometimes I have to like you, you wicked man. But now you have to eat the cake!"
At least her efforts in the kitchen trying to master the art of cake-making served to pass some time. And to amuse the servants, for Felicity played her resentful part, regaling the staff with her tale of abduction and persecution by her brutal guardian.
They didn't believe a word of it, for they knew Miles well, but they believed she felt that way and humored her. As she beat eggs and sifted flour—for she insisted she had to do every bit herself—she elaborated on his heartless cruelty in not letting her marry the man of her choice. She complained bitterly about being cooped up in the house when she was used to riding wild and free wherever she pleased.
Which scandalized them, as she'd intended, putting Miles firmly back in the right of it.
The end result of her efforts turned out rather heavy, but the cook rescued her by soaking it in brandy. "We call it tipsy cake, miss. A dollop of cream on the top of each piece, and everyone will be delighted."
So it proved, though Miles teased by proposing a toast with it.
When Saturday's postbag did not bring anything from Cheltenham, Felicity was ready to scream. "I have to get out of here," she said to Miles. "I need fresh air, and Josh might have another message from Rupert. We'd know what he was up to."
"If you manage to slip away again, he might wonder why you didn't just slip away altogether. However, there's no reason you can't ride around Stables on Sunday."
"A woman? The world will come to an end!"
"Not a bit of it. A few of the men have asked why you're not hunting since you're both a Monahan of Foy and the Lady of the Quintain. They'll accept you. We'll ride around and look at some of the best horses—you'll like that—then come back here in time for Francis's performance with the Allbrights. Perhaps young Josh will slip you another note then."
"Then why can't I go hunting?"
"Quench that fire in your eye! I didn't say all the men are in favor. Tom Assheton-Smith would have an apoplexy if you turned up with the Quorn. Then there's the small risk that Dunsmore would stage an abduction."
"Despite forty or so men to make sure I had a good ride?" she queried naughtily.
"You'll be the death of me. I swear it."
"One day soon, I hope."
"Damnation, stop it, Felicity, or I'll suffer a permanent injury. I tell you, when it comes to riding, you women have it easy."
"Then, perhaps, all you men should stay safely home sewing samplers!"
* * *
Sunday went as planned and Felicity witnessed Lord Middlethorpe coolly egging his red-faced target on. In the end, Tom Allbright bet three thousand guineas that his fine thoroughbred could beat the vicious mismatched heap of bones called Banshee.
She had to miss the race which, of course, Banshee—the horse of tremendous stamina who could not bear to be behind—won. But she heard the story of it again and again over an uproarious celebratory dinner.
And during the day, she received word from Rupert Dunsmore.
It was not a letter this time. While in the Vauxhall stables, Josh had caught her eye. She'd cautiously followed the groom into an empty stall. "Do you have a letter for me?"
Josh shook his head. "He says you must write to him, Miss. He's... he's not pleased. He seems to think you could escape here if you wished."
"How?" Felicity demanded. "I'm escorted everywhere. Though it all looks very civilized, one word amiss and I'm in bonds. Tell him that. Tell him we'll have to wait the few weeks until I'm of age. No one can stop us then."
The young man grimaced. "He's doubtless a mite impatient, Miss. Down at the Three Hands, talk is that there's men here after him for owing money. A lot of money. He's in hiding. What I hear is he told these men he owned some land that'd cover his debts, but it don't belong to him but to his son. They're the type that if they can't have their money, they want blood."
Felicity was hard put not to grin at that thought. But it probably wasn't funny. "Tell him I'll run to him if I can, but he can't depend on it. He may have to wait."
Josh shook his head. "He'll not be pleased." He looked at her awkwardly. "Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but are you sure about him? Seems he's cheated these men, and though they're moneylenders, it don't seem right to me. And he's... well, he's not a kind man. I tell you true, I'd not want my sister married to such a one."
It was terribly hard for Felicity not to hug the young man for his genuine concern. But she stuck her nose in the air and snapped, "I know what I'm doing."
She resisted the temptation to rush over to Miles to discuss the news and instead shared a joke with a Meltonian.
Later, however, after Lord Middlethorpe had retired to rest a body suffering from a long ride on Banshee, the rest of the Rogues held another council of war.
"So," said Miles after the tale was told, "he's in deep with the moneylenders. How very pleasant. I think we have him now."
* * *
On Monday, the postbag contained another letter from Kilgoran full of light chat about life in those chilly, elegant halls. Folded with the letter was a colored drawing with the carefully printed message To Felicity, from Kieran George Dunsmore. Alongside the drawing, in case there was any doubt, it said a white horse.
Felicity smiled at Miles through tears. "He's never had occasion to write to me before. Bless Lady Aideen."
"And he writes well for his age, too. Though I have to say that the 'white' horse, if horse it is, bears a closer resemblance to Banshee than I would like."
And the next day, a package of papers arrived from Cheltenham. Since it was a hunting day, the men had already left, but the women had no qualms about settling to study the documents.
Felicity found it eerie to read the statements taken from the illiterate Bittens and hear her tragic story related in prosaic words. Yes, a young lady very like the one in the picture had spent the winter and early spring of 1811 with them, growing big with child. And she had delivered a boy which had been taken away by a woman and her husband. Yes, the woman had also appeared to be heavy with child, but had produced no child there. Yes, the couple had been summoned by the Bittens as soon as the young lady's pains started. They'd been instructed to do that.
A Mrs. Stafford of Cheltenham had written her own statement about the time Mr. and Mrs. Dunsmore from Ireland had stayed with her while the lady received medical care for her condition, which was that of carrying a child. Mrs. Dunsmore had driven out in her carriage every fine day, and one day had returned with her newborn baby in her arms, it having apparently been born suddenly in a cottage in the country. She had appeared surprisingly fit and hearty. No, she had not put the child to the breast as far as Mrs. Stafford knew and, in fact, a wet nurse had been standing by, ready.
Felicity looked up from the document with a frown. "This points the way, but it's circumstantial."
"Yes," said Beth, reading the letter from the solicitor. "Mr. Scrope says that the doctor who attended Mrs. Dunsmore was very old—retired, in fact—and has since died."
"Weaselly, indeed, to choose such a one!" exclaimed
Felicity. "I didn't know he had such intelligence."
"Call it cunning. I have to say, Felicity, that this isn't good. Dunsmore could claim that his wife merely helped you in your problem and found a good home for your child. And that by some strange coincidence, she also gave birth—in the carriage even—on the way home."
Felicity experienced a moment of blind panic, then put her hands to her head. "No, wait! The driver would know. She could not possibly drop off one child and give birth to another on the way home without his knowledge."
"True. But it was presumably a hired carriage. How do we find him?"
"There has to be a way. I've come too far to give up now."
Blanche smiled. "Good for you."
But Felicity wasn't sure it was good. She knew she'd relaxed her guards too far, and opened her heart to pain. If she had to marry Rupert, it would be far worse now than it would have been before she found trusted friends and fell deep in love with Miles Cavanagh.
That evening, the men concurred with the women's opinion. Beth had already dispatched another groom back to Cheltenham to order an enquiry into the driver of the Dunsmore's carriage.
"More waiting," said Felicity to Miles. "Truly, I'm going to go mad!"
Two days later, Francis, once more mobile, announced that he must leave. He said nothing, but they all suspected it had something to do with his lady-in-distress, Serena Riverton.
"The hell of it is, he can't marry her," Lucien said after Francis's curricle had disappeared down the drive. "Apparently, she can't bear children."
That struck too close to home for Felicity. "If men weren't so obsessed by children, the world would be a better place."
"It's the inheritance laws that rule us," Miles pointed out, "not our inclinations."
"Is it not?" she asked with a meaningful look, and everyone laughed.
The next day, however, she had to tell Miles, blushing, that she was not carrying a child.
He gathered her into his arms. "I feel a touch of regret, but it's doubtless for the best. I'd prefer that our first child be born at least nine months after our wedding, particularly if your past has to come out."
