“And pray, who is the enemy?” Felicity remained standing with her fists planted on her hips.
“You needn’t look so truculent, my dear. It’s just a figure of speech, but I refer to the ton. Perhaps it’s been said all these years that you were promised to Renton while Lydia was promised to Howland, but if you marry Howland as soon as possible, then everyone might well be gulled into believing they had it wrong all this time—that instead, Lydia had always been promised to Renton while you were promised to Howland.”
“Yes—yes!” Cordelia yipped, nodding furiously. “That’s what we’ll do!”
“Who’s going to believe that?” Felicity’s voice rose again, this time to a near shriek of disbelief. She glanced at Blake, who sat with one elbow on the table and a hand pressed to his brow as he muttered the names of deities. “Renton inherited his title only a couple of years ago because of an epidemic that swept through his family. He could never have become an earl any other way.”
“For all anyone knows, Felicity, you were betrothed to the next Earl of Renton, regardless of who eventually became that next earl,” said Dolly. “Or rather, Lydia was. That you two have been absent from society in recent years because of bereavement means you girls haven’t been uppermost in people’s minds. As long as you marry Howland without delay, the ton will be less likely to notice that the two brides traded bridegrooms. Now do sit down.”
Those last four words might have been the only coherent ones she’d heard since Cordelia’s arrival, but Felicity defiantly remained on her feet, determined to stand her ground, or at least the duke’s floor. With both hands she squeezed the spindles on the back of her chair. Blake, for his part, excused himself and practically fled the dining room.
“Howland isn’t all that bad,” Dolly went on. “He may be under the hatches no thanks to the debts his father left behind, but your dowry will change that.”
“That’s what you said about all the men who came to my ball the other night.” Felicity suddenly recalled Howland sneaking down the hallway of the guest wing in his own manor. “Will it change the fact he’s having an illicit affair with the widow of a peer?”
“Felicity Griffin!” Cordelia burst out, as if her niece had just uttered an obscenity. “Do you honestly believe I would’ve let my own daughter marry him if such a thing were true?”
“There’s nothing so shocking about that,” Dolly said. “Most men have mistresses, and they’re often widows. We should be more surprised that our young, unmarried niece would be in possession of such fascinating intelligence about the man originally intended for her cousin.”
“All the more reason it can’t be true! Therefore, we should say no more about it!”
“But I’d like to know where she might’ve heard such a thing.” Dolly cast her niece a peculiarly encouraging smile.
“Dolly, she only said it to avoid marrying him. Don’t you find it odd she never dropped a hint about it until now?” Cordelia scorched Felicity with a blazing glare. “Why didn’t you say something before, when he still had an understanding with Lydia?”
“Because no one would’ve believed me.” As it was, Felicity still had no proof, only circumstantial evidence. And Jack’s casual remark about it the other night.
“Exactly!” Cordelia shrilled. “It’s nonsense, that’s what it is, so let us not speak another word about it! I won’t hear another word about it!”
Dolly reached over to pat her sister-in-law’s hand. “There now, Cordelia, drink the tea and calm yourself. You, too, Felicity. Sit down, before you give the poor dear an apoplexy.”
Dolly did have a point. Cordelia was even more distraught than she’d been the night they encountered the highwayman, but Felicity could scarcely blame her aunt for that. Lydia’s elopement with Renton was a horrific shock even to Felicity. She finally sat down.
“I’m sorry,” was all she said.
“The Ellsworth ball is tonight,” Dolly told Cordelia. “I don’t suppose you’d care to go?”
Cordelia sipped her tea with trembling hands. “I did plan to go, before all of this happened. Lydia was going to attend with Howland. But I daresay he still means to go, if he hopes to find a new bride now that the season is almost over.”
“Perfect. Felicity’s ball was an utter disaster, but then the season is almost over. A pity Howland couldn’t have come to London sooner, or everything might’ve been settled that night.”
Felicity forced herself to remain calm. She might get better results that way. “Aunt Dolly, Aunt Cordelia,” she said softly. “What about Captain Jordan? He said he would marry me.”
“So he did, but you said you wouldn’t unless he proposed to you,” Dolly said sharply. “You wished to be courted first.”
“The same goes for Howland,” Felicity said firmly.
“Felicity.” Dolly gave her a severe look. “There’s been too much scandal already. Forget all this romantic nonsense about a courtship and a proposal. If not for all the deaths these past few years, you’d be married to Renton by now and there would’ve been none of this trouble. Unless you can find a way to marry Captain Jordan between now and midnight, you will become Howland’s wife.”
Then Felicity would have to come up with some way to make Jack propose this evening—or even elope!
She wished it didn’t have to be that way, but she didn’t want to marry Howland any more than she’d ever wanted to marry Renton.
Besides, she knew now that she loved Jack.
Even if he didn’t love her.
Chapter Seventeen
As Jack stood on the edge of the ballroom at Ellsworth House that evening, he couldn’t help thinking that since the end of the war and his subsequent return from the Peninsula, he’d only traded one uniform for another. He’d thought the same thing at Felicity’s ball the other night.
Instead of scarlet regimentals, all he saw were dark evening coats like his own, varied only by waistcoats. Oh, there were a few evening coats in brighter colors, but they belonged to so-called Pinks and Tulips who wanted to stand out, as if they had no intention of hiding from matchmaking mamas and their daughters—especially if the daughters had enormous dowries like Felicity. Jack had seen some of them at Halstead House the other night.
But that was partly why he hadn’t the faintest idea one of his fellow pranksters was present until he felt a familiarly hearty slap on the back. “Jordan! Just the man I’m looking for!”
“Howland! What the devil are you doing here? Where is the lovely Lady Lydia?”
Howland’s shoulders slumped as he frowned. “She jilted me. Now I must find another heiress, and soon.”
Jack could barely conceal his astonishment. “She—?” There was no point in repeating everything Howland just told him, since he’d heard quite clearly and the fact obviously pained his boyhood friend. “Good God, man, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Howland sighed tremulously. “’Twas her prerogative, I suppose, though it doesn’t make it any less humiliating. At least it wasn’t because she’d fallen in love with a highwayman. Now that would be mortifying. Speaking of which, did you ever find Miss Griffin?”
Mild annoyance needled Jack. “I don’t think she fell in love with me—or rather the highwayman, if that makes any difference.” If she had, surely she would have agreed to marry him already. “But yes, I have seen her since coming to Town. It seems her family decided not to banish her to the most desolate part of Britain.” Jack thought the better of adding that she now had a large dowry. He didn’t want to give his debt-ridden friend any ideas about her.
“Then they believe her account of what happened that night—which is that nothing happened?”
“I told you nothing happened. Lady Tyndall exaggerated everything. Didn’t you hear her blather about four and twenty brigands? Everyone else did, and that’s why your mother insisted that Miss Griffin leave your house party.”
“Only because Renton exhorted her to do so.” Howland cast an uneasy glance around the ballro
om. “Jack, old fellow, is there anyplace where you and I can talk privately?”
“Anywhere other than this ballroom. Only I don’t want to leave before—” He caught himself. He’d been about to say “Miss Griffin.” “Before all of the guests have arrived.”
“But they’re not your guests. They’re your sister’s and brother-in-law’s.” Howland sounded sullen, which Jack attributed to his justifiable heartache over his betrothed’s sudden defection. “Or are you waiting for Miss Griffin?”
Jack realized how foolish he would sound if he admitted as much, even if it was the truth. Besides, maybe she didn’t want to see him the moment she arrived. Now that she was allowed her pick of bridegrooms, why would she settle for Jack, when he was nothing but a reminder of the scandal that had nearly ruined her?
“Follow me,” he said. “I doubt anyone is going to miss me for a few moments, and I have some spirits in my bedchamber.” He suspected Howland wanted to pour out his heart about Lady Lydia’s rejection and he’d surely need a drink. They headed for the staircase in the front hall, where guests were still streaming through to the ballroom. He led Howland upstairs and into his bedchamber, where he lit a candle and immediately set about pouring a pair of brandies.
Howland stared at the fireplace as if wishing for a blaze he could fall into so as to immolate himself out of his misery. He took the proffered brandy with a trembling hand and swallowed it in what appeared to be a single gulp.
Jack held out his own. “I suppose you need more? Take mine. I haven’t so much as sipped from it yet.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when Howland snatched the second snifter and emptied it just as swiftly as the first. He wiped his face with his handkerchief. “About the highwayman prank, Jack. It wasn’t just a prank. Not like our previous pranks.”
This astonished Jack less than the news that Lady Lydia had jilted his friend. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Believe it or not, I’ve had some suspicions about that. Go on.”
“Over time, I may have told Lady Lydia things—you know, about some of the pranks you and I and Rollo played over the years—things she must’ve mentioned to Lord Renton. When I was last in London, he approached me and said he’d heard that I—or rather we, meaning you and I and Rollo—might be able to help him.” Howland heaved a deep breath as he grabbed the mantel with both hands and looked down at the fender. “He’d heard about the brigands hired by the dowager Lady Bryant to kill the previous Duke of Ainsley near Thorndale Abbey last year. That’s where he got the idea, but he didn’t want anyone killed, only his mother’s garnet ring stolen from Miss Griffin. All he needed were pranksters like us. He never said why he wanted the ring stolen, and when he offered me enough money to keep the wolf away from the door at least until I married Lady Lydia, I agreed to remain silent about the particulars.”
“I thought the whole highwayman caper was Rollo’s idea.” Jack just barely kept the mounting fury out of his voice.
“No, it was mine. You know how Rollo always likes to take the credit, but never the blame. So I let him take the credit. And now I must take the blame.” Still clutching the mantel, he hunched his shoulders as if bracing himself for a well-deserved flogging.
“Does Rollo know of Renton’s hand in this?”
Howland shook his head and finally dared a glance at Jack. “I realize you’re more entitled to compensation than I am, especially since you did the actual work. And I promise you, as soon as I marry an heiress and gain access to her dowry, I’ll—”
“Never mind that,” Jack bit out, as sudden nausea churned in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was payment for contributing to the ruin of Miss Felicity Griffin, whom he still hoped to make his wife. “What has this to do with Lady Lydia?”
“Renton wanted to be free of Miss Griffin to marry Lady Lydia instead.” Howland’s face crumpled and—oh, bloody hell. He started blubbering. “Once he inherited the earldom and the vast fortune that came with it, he was suddenly more attractive to Lydia, whereas Miss Griffin’s feelings for him hadn’t changed at all.”
Of course not. Felicity wasn’t so insipid that she would suddenly conjure previously nonexistent feelings for Renton simply because he’d come into an impressive inheritance. Her heart was warmer, softer, and truer than that. And she deserved a man who recognized it.
She had only to realize that man was Jack himself.
He refilled the snifters. Though he longed for some brandy himself at this point, he thought it best to keep a sober head if he could. “Here,” he said, offering both snifters to Howland. “I can’t bear to see a grown man cry.”
Howland stopped sniveling long enough to take the snifters and drain one after the other in quick succession. Jack snatched them back before he could drop and let them shatter on the hearth.
“Right af’er you ‘n’ Miss Griffin lef’ our ’ouse party, Renton ‘n’ Lydia ’loped. Now I need ’nother heiress. I ’oped to find one to—” Howland hiccupped. “—tonight. I’m all rolled up!”
“And half sprung to boot, after depleting my modest brandy supply. I daresay you’re in no condition to find your heiress this evening.”
“You’re no’ angry wi’ me, are you, Jack?” Howland swayed on his feet as he wiped his damp face again.
“Why would I be angry with you? She wasn’t my fiancée.” No, Jack realized now he couldn’t be angry, because his role had led him to Felicity. He had only to claim her heart. That would be spoils aplenty for his part in this scheme. Renton and the screaming Lady Lydia deserved each other. Howland’s heartache was punishment enough for his deceit.
He grabbed Howland by the shoulders. “Maybe you should lie down for a spell. But not in here. I plan to sleep in this bed later on. There’s an empty bedchamber next door.” He helped Howland out of the bedchamber, stopping short at the silhouette of a young woman standing in the middle of the dark hallway, looking very much as if she couldn’t find the ladies’ retiring room, which must have been in the opposite wing or he would have seen quite a few more ladies strolling up and down as they giggled and gossiped. And more candlelight besides the single taper he’d brought upstairs.
As she turned to face him and Howland, he said, “Felicity?”
* * * *
Howland certainly hadn’t looked like that when she’d glimpsed him climbing the staircase with Jack as she and her aunts and Blake had passed through the front hall of Ellsworth House a short while ago. Lydia’s erstwhile betrothed looked as if he was crying or about to cry, and couldn’t even stand without Jack’s assistance.
But before she could respond to Jack with something foolish and lame like, “Yes, that’s my name,” he added, “Do you think you could fetch that candle from my bedchamber?” He nodded toward the open door from which he’d just emerged with Howland.
Without a word she ducked into the bedchamber and snatched up the candle, her reticule swinging from her wrist. She stepped back into the hallway where Jack said, “Could you lead us to that door further down the hall?”
Felicity complied. She entered another empty bedchamber and immediately started glancing around for another candlestick. She spotted a three-branched candelabrum on the dressing table and removed her reticule so it wouldn’t catch fire as she lit the three tapers. Jack, meanwhile, laid Howland haphazardly across the bed. “Wait outside,” he told her, and Felicity was only too happy to take the single candlestick and do so. The last thing she wanted was to be caught in a bedchamber with Howland.
Whereas the first thing she wanted was to be in one with Jack, and so she returned to his bedchamber and set the single candle on the dresser.
He soon returned, standing in the doorway in his elegant black coat, plainly knotted cravat, and waistcoat that she swore matched his deep golden hair. Her pulse quickened, skittering so fast it set her trembling all over as she gazed at him. She wondered if it was because she dreaded him saying something along the lines of “you shouldn’t be here.”
But to
her surprise, he said, “You’re just the person I want to see. The only person I want to see. And exactly where I want you. Tell me that’s why you’re here, Felicity.” He stepped toward her. “Tell me you didn’t lose your way to the ladies’ retiring room.”
“I didn’t, even though I told my aunts that’s where I was going.”
“Then you followed me and Howland.” He stood only inches away from her, speaking in the same whisper she’d heard at Halstead House on his midnight visit as the highwayman—her highwayman—even if highwaymen, as a rule, worked roads instead of residences.
“I followed you. Only you.”
“Then it wasn’t because you hoped to eavesdrop on our conversation?”
She lifted her chin. “Why? Did the two of you say something neither of you wanted me to hear?” He didn’t respond, but she thought she saw something flicker in his aquamarine eyes. Perhaps it was the reflection of wavering candlelight as he doffed his coat.
“You may not wish to hear it, though I don’t see how you can avoid hearing about it sooner or later, in any event,” he replied.
“If it’s about Renton and Lydia, then I already know. I don’t doubt that’s why I saw Howland in such a lamentable state just now.” She thought the better of telling Jack that her aunts wanted her to marry Howland as soon as possible to avoid any scandalous fallout from Renton and Lydia’s own sudden marriage. He might think she was here to seduce him simply to foil her aunts’ scheming.
But it was more than that. She wanted Jack because she was in love with him. If only he felt the same! She hated to think he wanted to marry her simply because of the prominent role he’d played in her ruin.
The hint of a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t fret too much about him if I were you. He’s more upset about losing her dowry than he is over losing her. Now he has to start all over again. But let’s not talk about him. Let’s talk about why you followed me, and only me.”
The Highwayman's Lady (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 22
