by Cheryl Bolen
She smiled wanly and walked to a nearby set of chairs. He sat beside her, propping his cane against his knee.
“I was not aware,” he said, “that you were friends with Mr. Moreland.”
“I quite forgot the connection, I assure you. It was so very long ago,” she said.
He detected an unfamiliar nervousness in her voice. He could not like the encroachment of the big man of even bigger fortune. The colonel had waited too long and risked too much for Felicity Harrison.
“Just when was this, my dear?”
“Oh, it must have been just before I married Michael.”
Must have been? Either it was or it wasn’t. “But as I understand it, he would not have been wealthy then. How was it that he came within your circle?”
“You must admit he is very handsome.”
“To be sure,” he said, containing his fury. How skillfully she had evaded answering his question! “I shall be very jealous of him.”
“You have nothing to be jealous of, Colonel. The man is really quite arrogant. I suffer his company in order for Glee to reap the influences of his sweet sister.”
“I must admit I found the girl to be possessed of the quality I am sure her brother lacks.”
Felicity stiffened. “He has been from English soil many years whereas his sister has enjoyed the tutors and masters that her brother’s wealth could furnish.”
“His own clothes, I will admit, are very fine. A pity he can do nothing about his hideously dark skin,” the colonel said.
“Yes, quite a pity,” Felicity said.
Her voice lacked sincerity, Gordon thought. A frown furrowed his angular face. Throughout the dance, he found himself watching the nabob. Though the man could probably have any woman he desired, Mr. Moreland chose not to dance this time. Instead, he hungrily watched Felicity. Gordon knew the signs. He knew what it was to lust after the beautiful widow until his very loins ached.
And he could gladly kill Moreland. What was the man about? He had a strong desire to learn more about the enormously wealthy Mr. Thomas Moreland.
Chapter Six
“Thank you so much,” a jubilant Glee said to Felicity as they left the mantua maker’s shop. “Never did I dream I would get so many new dresses.”
Seeing her sister’s happiness was more than enough thanks for Felicity. That Glee did not ask how they had come up with such money surprised Felicity, who had been fretting for hours how she would explain their newfound wealth to her sister.
Indeed, Felicity was surprised when her solicitor informed her that morning the generous quarterly allowances were already available. Mr. Moreland was clearly a man of his word. A man who would never allow grass to grow under his feet. No wonder he had amassed a great fortune through his own cunning.
Though she had no desire to rush out and purchase finery for herself, she was ever so glad to be able to settle accounts with the tradesmen who were owed sizable sums of money.
Felicity came to a halt and waited for a cart to pass along the busy street. “I think we’ll cross here and go to the milliner’s,” she told Glee.
Glee’s emerald eyes sparkled. “Do you mean I get a new hat, too?”
“No. I mean you get more than one.” Felicity stepped onto the stone street.
“I can’t accept so much when you’re not getting anything for yourself,” Glee protested.
They quickened their steps to get to the other side before they collided with a pair of oncoming horses. “I don’t need new clothes since I’m not on the market,” Felicity said.
“I do love the sound of that,” Glee said. “On the market. . . Think you I will find a husband this season?”
“Only if you comport yourself with more maturity than you’ve shown heretofore.”
Now they were on the sidewalk teeming with pedestrians and lined with fashionable shops on either side of the street. “Did I not conduct myself with deportment last night?” Glee challenged.
“You did. I am completely puzzled over your exemplary behavior. I must admit it was nothing like your usual manner. And today, you have not once proclaimed yourself to be in love.”
Glee frowned and thrust one hand to her hip. “I will have you know I do not fall in love with every young man I meet. In fact, not one of the men last night caught my fancy. They were all rather . . . well, rather insipid. The whole lot of them so much the same. Dressed the same, talking the same. They all looked the same, fair and very British.”
“You, my dear, are British.”
Glee stomped her softly booted foot. “You just don’t understand. I long for a man who is dark and mysterious.”
“Perhaps you’re not ready for marriage, after all,” Felicity said with displeasure. “Such a comment shows gross lack of maturity. One does not select a life’s mate based on the color of his hair.”
“I will show you that I am ready,” Glee said with irritation.
“I hope you do. A pity it would be to waste all this money,” Felicity said with intentional dramatic flair.
Glee glowered at her sister as they rounded the next corner to Cheap Street, where their milliner was located.
Felicity saw the lad who was always in front of Mrs. Simmons’s millinery shop, and her heart lurched. He was maybe half a dozen years and had great brown eyes set in a small angelic face. He was small for his age, and unable to walk. But he seemed cheerful enough, always playing marbles by himself.
“Good afternoon, young sir,” Felicity said to the boy.
He looked up from his game and smiled, and her heart melted anew, for he was missing his front teeth. Like other boys his age. Only the other boys could walk and run and play any manner of boyish games. “Hello,” he said shyly.
That his hair was the same shade of red as Glee’s must have tugged on Glee’s heartstrings, too, for she leaned down and asked him what his name was.
“Jamie,” he whispered.
“I am guessing you must be a very good boy,” Glee said.
“How did you know?” he asked, warming to her.
“Because you are always in the same place. I believe your mama has told you to stay put in this very spot.”
His red head nodded.
Glee straightened up. “I am going to go see your mama and tell her what a good lad you are.”
He favored her with his toothless grin and returned to his game.
As they entered the shop lined with bonnets and headdresses of every color and style, Felicity could not rid herself of the vision of little Jamie and his toothless smile.
Mrs. Simmons greeted them and was only too happy to assist Glee in selecting her new head wear.
“Is Jamie your lad?” Felicity asked the milliner.
The stodgy woman shook her head. “His mum— Mrs. Campbell—is my seamstress. She came here from Aberdeen, hoping the waters would help her lad.” Mrs. Simmons shook her head and whispered. “Poor tot. Not a bit better.”
Felicity and Glee frowned. “How sad,” Felicity said.
“He’s a very good lad,” Glee added. “Please tell his mama we said so.”
Felicity noticed a smile cross the face of a red-haired seamstress at the rear of the shop.
With Mrs. Simmons’s help, Glee selected an olive green velvet bonnet to go with one of her new pelisses, and a straw bonnet with a variety of colored flowers that could be switched out to go with several dresses. The selection of a white feathered headdress for evenings completed their purchases.
As they left the shop, said farewell to Jamie, and were walking back down the sidewalk, a phaeton slowed beside them, and they turned to see Mr. Moreland and his sister.
“What a pleasant coincidence,” Dianna said, “we were on our way to call on you.”
Glee eyed her new friend. “Since your brother’s phaeton is not large enough for the four of us, why do you not come and walk the rest of the way with me while Felicity rides ahead with Mr. Moreland?”
Dianna moved to disembark, but her brother jumped
down to assist her. Then he turned to Felicity and offered her his hand. “Allow me.” His smooth gallantry did not reflect his disappointment in the unhappy expression on Felicity’s face.
As they rode down Milsom Street, he felt intoxicated from the feel of her so close to him. Why was it, he wondered, when he was with Felicity he felt a bumbling greenhorn once again? Never mind that each governor of India had treated him as exalted guest. Never mind that he held wealth enough to possess the finest manor on English soil. Never mind that any woman in Bath would gladly find room in her bed for him.
He did not want any woman. He wanted Felicity. Always had. Always would. Even when there had been no hope, when he had thought her married to her paragon, he could never purge her from his thoughts. Or from the numbing desire her very memory aroused, a desire that no other woman had ever been able to slake.
All his successes would be nothing if he failed at the conquest that mattered most. With a sickening jolt of reality, he realized he might never possess Felicity. He stole a glance at her perfect profile, at the metallic white highlights in her spun-gold hair. His lids lowered as his glance swept over her slim body and softly rounded breasts. And he knew if this was all he would ever be granted, it would have to be enough.
He attempted conversation with the icy beauty. “You and your sister have no doubt been purchasing finery.”
“I do not know why you bother to ask,” Felicity snapped, “when you already know everything there is to know about us—including the amount of funds so recently made available to the members of my family.”
A smile curved his lips. “Perhaps I need to procure the services of informants in the various shops.”
Felicity haughtily stuck out her chin. “I daresay you could, given your propensity for throwing around your money on foolish pursuits.”
“But I beg to differ,” he replied, “none of my pursuits are foolish. For everything I do, there is a sound reason.”
He turned onto Monmouth Street. “May I hope you purchased a dress of color for yourself?”
She kept her gaze straightforward. “You may hope for anything you want, Mr. Moreland, but I fear your hopes are uncharacteristically thwarted this time.”
“Alas, I will not have the pleasure of seeing you in a dress the color of your lovely eyes.”
“I am sure it is a disappointment from which you will recover.” She smiled coyly. “It’s not as if your stocks decreased in value.”
“ Tis true,” he said, turning to gaze at her, a crooked grin on his face. “How disappointing it would be to have reduced stacks of money to count.”
Her eyes inadvertently met his, and he detected a mirth she tried to suppress.
She folded her gloved hands in her lap and turned to him. “How are you liking Bath, Mr. Moreland?”
He looked straight ahead. “Some aspects of it I find . . .” He thought of the exhilaration of sitting next to her at this moment. “... most satisfactory. But I cannot say it a pleasant matter to behold so many invalids who have come to Bath for the waters.”
She nodded her agreement. “I know what you mean,” she said softly. “A seamstress at the milliner’s brought her little boy here from Aberdeen for the cures, and the poor little mite is no better. He must be around six years old and still unable to walk. Sits alone in front of the shop day in and day out.”
Now, Thomas thought, Felicity demonstrated the compassion she had revealed six years ago, the compassion that separated her from the other Bath matrons who entered the millinery shop every day without a thought for the lame boy. He winced. “It’s hard enough on adults, but for a mere lad . . .”
“It’s heartbreaking.”
“I can’t have your heart broken, Mrs. Harrison. Should you like seeing the new production of Taming of the Shrew at the theater? It is said to be quite good.”
“I should enjoy it excessively. I confess to a preference for Shakespeare’s comedies.”
“Most women do,” he said with authority. “They deal with love and happy endings.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
He smiled. “Nothing.”
“It will be delightful to see Taming of the Shrew live. I’ve not seen it before.”
“Tomorrow night?” He was afraid to glance at her, afraid of being rejected. He flicked the ribbons and looked straight ahead.
“Yes,” she said self-consciously.
They pulled in front of her house at the same time Carlotta did. Thomas whisked Felicity down from the seat, and as he turned toward a door caught a wave of heavy lavender scent that emanated from the woman in lavender. He ran his eyes approvingly over Carlotta. “May I say it is refreshing to be in the company of at least one widow who graces us with beautiful color.”
Felicity’s sulking expression did not escape his notice.
As Felicity opened the door, she said, “Mr. Moreland happened by as Glee and I finished shopping.” She held the door open for the others.
“And Miss Pembroke and my sister chose to walk home together while Mrs. Harrison did me the goodness of riding home with me,” Thomas added. He came to halt in the entry foyer and spoke to Felicity. “Since you have the companionship of the gracious Mrs. Ennis, I believe I’ll extricate myself from the hen party that is sure to follow once our sisters arrive. I have only just recalled something that demands my immediate attention. Please tell Dianna I will call for her in an hour.” That said, Thomas departed to the cooing disappointment of Carlotta and the quiet resignation of Felicity.
Once he was gone Felicity ordered tea, and she and Carlotta shared a sofa in the drawing room.
“Really, Felicity, I do not know how you suffer the man’s company. He positively reeks of new money.”
Although Mr. Moreland certainly held no place close to Felicity’s heart, somehow she did not like to find him maligned by someone other than herself. “Well, he is very rich.”
“Wasn’t it you who cautioned me to hold out for good birth?” Carlotta challenged.
“I don’t know why we’re having this perfectly obtuse conversation. It’s not as if I’m going to marry the man. I don’t even like him.” As soon as she uttered the words, Felicity was sorry. It was one thing to impugn him to his face, quite another to do so when he was unable to defend himself. To soften her words, she added, “I must admit there is nothing offensive in his or his sister’s manners, and Mr. Moreland is a very fine-looking man.”
Carlotta did not meet Felicity’s gaze as she brushed lint from her gown. “I daresay he’s much too big for my taste.” Felicity did not believe her for a moment.
Thomas had no trouble finding Jamie. After tethering his phaeton, he walked to the boy and squatted beside him. “I used to play marbles when I was a lad about your size. How old are you?”
“Sixth,” Jamie lisped through the gap in his teem.
“What’s your name?”
“Jamie.” Framed by rich red curls, the boy’s face was almost too pretty, Thomas thought, with its fair skin the color of country cream, its great eyes as brown as fresh humus. There was a slight hollowing in his slender cheeks. Thomas’s eyes traveled the folded-up length of the lad, and his stomach twisted at the sight of the ill-formed legs. “You are from Bath?”
Jamie shook his head. “No, thir, we’re from Aberdeen.”
“Aye, I hear the sun rarely shines in those parts.”
“Not often, thir.”
Thomas remembered the ill-formed bones of young sailors he had observed as a younger man. Was not the disease of rickets associated with lack of sunshine and lack of the sunshine fruits? “Tell me, Jamie, do you like oranges?”
The boy nodded. “Mum says they’re much too dear.”
“As it happens, I have a place where they grow oranges on my property. It’s called an orangery. I’ve got more oranges than ever I can eat. I’ll send some to you and your mother.” He glanced toward Mrs. Simmons’s establishment. “Your mother works here?”
Jamie nodded.
Thomas stood up, tipped his hat to the boy, and entered the milliner’s shop. “I should like to speak to Jamie’s mother,” he said.
From the rear of the shop a frail, redheaded woman raised her head from sewing at a table piled with threads, ribands, feathers, and flowers of every color. Her eyes darted to Mrs. Simmons, who nodded her assent. The young mother rose and walked to Thomas. “I’m Jamie’s mother,” she said timidly.
“Has he seen a doctor since you’ve come to Bath?”
She shook her head. “No. I had to find work, and find a home. Haven’t had the time nor the money.” Her green eyes brightened. “But he’s had the waters,” she defended.
Thomas nodded. “I would like for you to take him to Dr. Langston, whose office is just on the next street.” He took a guinea from his pocket and gave it to her. “This should cover the charges as well as your lost wages.”
He turned to Mrs. Simmons, whose eyes darted to another shiny guinea in his hand. He gave it to her. “For the temporary loss of your employee.”
Jamie’s mother’s eyes misted. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“ ‘Tis nothing,” Thomas muttered. “The ingestion of oranges could benefit the lad. Expect some.” He doffed his hat and left.
“Who was that man?” Jamie’s mother asked.
“I’ve never seen him before,” Mrs. Simmons said. “A gentleman of quality, to be sure. And ever so handsome.”
Thomas’s handsomeness held him in good stead when he collected his sister at Felicity’s home and found himself the only male in a drawing room filled with a dozen young women. Though Felicity was sure he did not remember half of them from the Assembly Rooms, his geniality belied the fact. He had a knack for making each of the maidens blush and giggle at being addressed by him. The only maiden inured to his charms was Lady Catherine Bullin, who completely ignored him.
And Carlotta, more than any of the others, openly flirted with him. Why had Felicity never before noticed how vulgarly low-cut Carlotta’s daytime dresses were? Had the woman no concept of propriety? To Felicity’s dismay, Mr. Moreland seemed not to object to the lavender-hued widow. In fact, he flirted right back with the raven-haired beauty.
