Miss Fellingham's Rebellion

by Lynn Messina - Miss Fellingham's Rebellion

At his polite tone, she raised her head and saw him looking at her with curiosity. There was no affection in either his look or tone, and she knew again that Arabella was wrong. He didn’t love her. It seemed to her right now that he barely even liked her. “Her ladyship overstated the case. I imagine she knows how grateful I am for your help and assumed I wanted another opportunity to thank you for the service you do my family. We are extremely grateful.”

  “I assure you, Miss Fellingham, as a gentleman, I am honor bound to help your sister out of this distressing circumstance,” he explained, making it clear to her that his willingness to help had nothing to do with his affection for her. “I do not doubt that marriage to Finchly would be intolerable to anyone, no matter how delicate her sensibilities.”

  Catherine nodded and returned her attention to her clasped hands, thinking of Arabella’s departing words and the declaration she expected of her.

  Would she say it? Could she say it? The very idea seemed preposterous and yet something inside her wouldn’t let the matter rest. Arabella’s insistence that Deverill loved her had wormed its way into her heart, creating an unbearable burden of hope, and Catherine knew a declaration was the only sure way to put an end to it once and for all.

  The very thought of making a confession terrified her to the point where she could barely breathe, for it would be the single biggest risk she’d ever taken in her life, and Miss Catherine Fellingham was not the sort of girl who took risks. She recalled all those years she sat in her father’s study, reading books and newspapers and journals, happy to be left alone and yet, she could admit now, not quite happy. She’d told herself she was choosing independence and freedom from frivolity, but in truth she was merely hiding from all the things that scared her and intimidated her and made her feel like she was half the person she thought she was.

  Six years later, she was older and wiser and more alone than ever.

  Catherine closed her eyes, counted to ten and took deep, measured breaths in an attempt to calm herself down. She could do this. All she had to do was open her mouth and speak three measly words. It was daunting, yes, but surely Miss Catherine Fellingham had some small amount of courage.

  “Lord Deverill,” she said, clutching the teacup, for she had to do something with her hands or they would curl into tight fists, “over the last few days we seem to have had a series of misunderstandings and I just wanted to say that I…that I—” But here she faltered and despite her best intentions the words wouldn’t come out. She tried again. “I just wanted to say that I…um…I—”

  Seeing her struggle, Deverill interrupted her. “Miss Fellingham, the hour grows late, and I am sure that your mother must be wondering where you are. No doubt you didn’t mean to be gone for so long. Your sister will be anxious to learn of the good news. Not to mention that you’ve kept the coachman waiting.”

  Catherine listened with a growing sense of devastation as he rattled off this list of reasons why she should leave. He knew, she thought. He knew exactly what she was trying to say and was sparing her the humiliation. Absurd misses like her must fall in love with him all the time.

  Feeling an unexpected well of loneliness, she took a deep breath and said, “You are right, my lord. How inconsiderate of me not to have thought of my sister sooner.” Suddenly she wanted nothing else than to be out of his presence and back in the safety of her father’s study. She put the teacup down, rose to her feet and smiled with all the civility she could muster. “Please make my apologies to Lady Courtland.”

  Deverill stood and bowed over her hand. “Of course.”

  Catherine nodded and walked to the door. She had her hand on the knob when she turned around to look at him one last time. “Goodbye, Julian,” she said softly, the finality of it weighing heavy on her heart. After tonight, she would make sure she never dealt with him again.

  Something of her distress must have conveyed itself to him for he suddenly he was at her side and holding her arm. “Miss Fellingham…Catherine…my dear, we must talk,” he stammered, losing some of his detached air.

  Catherine didn’t know what lay behind his change of heart, but she did know that she couldn’t bear any more. Looking at him—so dear, so handsome—she realized that she would never marry. How foolish to think she could find another man she loved as well as him. That would never happen, and she knew now that she would follow the plan outlined to Lady Courtland: invest on the ’Change, set up her own establishment, maybe host a few small parties and be happy in her independence. If any good had come out of the Deverill affair, it was the realization that she could hold her own socially, and if she chose not to go among the ton it was because she didn’t want to, not because it had rejected her that first season.

  “There’s no need,” Catherine said, determined to avoid further conversation. Her moment of boldness had passed to be replaced by the same old Catherine everyone knew—shy, awkward, dumb. It was still early in the afternoon, but she felt as though she had been awake for days. She was exhausted and overwrought and fearful that she might fall off her feet if forced to stand on them for much longer. No, she could not bear any more. “Please do me the consideration of letting me return home. As you have pointed out, my sister will be worried.”

  Deverill dropped her arm and stepped back. “By all means, go. I didn’t mean to add to your distress.”

  His said this last piece with a trace of bitterness, and Catherine wondered at the cause. Surely she hadn’t done anything to put his nose out of joint. After all, she wasn’t the one who had toyed with his feelings. “Of course not,” she said, more gently than she had meant to. “And I thank you again for the service you do my family. I assure you, we’ll not soon forget it.”

  “I’m relying on that,” he murmured so quietly she wasn’t quite sure whether she’d heard him correctly.

  “Yes, well…” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Until later, then.”

  “I trust you will be at Lord Raines’s ball?”

  “In all likelihood.”

  “Then I can assure you of the happy conclusion of this affair at that time. Perhaps you will save me a waltz?” he asked, the familiar teasing glint returning to his eyes.

  Unable to stand the way that familiar look made her feel, she nodded abruptly—which was not, she told herself, agreement to his request—and left the room. No, she would not be saving a waltz for the charming Lord Deverill, nor would she wait for his arrival at Lord Raines’s ball to learn of her sister’s fate. She would go the gambling hell and witness the scene for herself. She wanted to be there when Deverill wiped that smug smile from Finchly’s face. With her hopes of requited love dashed, there was very little satisfaction left to her and she would not be deprived of what small amount remained. She would be there to demonstrate to the awful cad that she had some small amount of power after all.

  Despite her misgivings, Catherine knew she would need Freddy’s help, so upon arriving home, she asked Caruthers if her brother was in.

  “Yes, miss,” he said, relieving her of her reticule and pelisse, “I believe he’s in the study.”

  Catherine nodded at this unexpected development and proceeded to her father’s study, wondering as she went what in the world Freddy was doing there, for he never had any use for books. She found him behind the large oak desk, a candle next to him and a quill in his hand.

  He looked up when she entered. “Ah, there you are, Cathy, I was just wondering which you would prefer—my pocket watch or my signet ring,” he asked, as he put down the pen and rubbed her eyes. “Don’t worry. I have you down for my books. Not a remarkable collection, of course, but my tutors at Oxford will make me read literature occasionally and I have a fair number of Greek classics. They’re a particular favorite of yours, are they not?”

  The sight of Freddy behind a desk looking studious was so shocking to Catherine that his words barely registered. “What are you doing?” she asked, rather than express her preference, which was for the signet ring. Freddy’s po
cket watch kept deplorable time.

  “I am making out my last will and testament, of course,” he said as if stating the obvious. Then he yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Been doing it for hours.”

  Catherine sat down in a leather chair across from Freddy and picked up the parchment. She read silently for several minutes before breaking out into gales of laughter.

  Affronted, Freddy grabbed the document from her. “I don’t see what’s so funny. A fellow’s will is serious business.”

  “Of course,” she said, trying to give the matter the respect her brother clearly felt it deserved. “But I don’t understand why you’re giving Mama your snuff box.”

  The question made him blush slightly, and he answered stiffly, “It is only a memento. A token, really, to comfort her in her grief.”

  Catherine, duplicating her brother’s solemnity, considered him for a moment. “All right, Freddy, what’s the game? Why are you making out your will? I hadn’t realized your demise was imminent.”

  He sat up straighter in the tall wingback chair, and Catherine noticed for the first time how much he looked like their father. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you everything,” he announced in a voice that was unusually calm and mature. Then he added, a little defensively, “It is men’s business and should be left to men. Why don’t you get ready for Lord Raines’s ball? And see to it that Evelyn gets dressed as well.”

  “Get ready now? Why, it’s not even lunch— Evelyn!” she exclaimed as the scene in the study suddenly became clear. “Do you know about this business with Finchly?”

  Freddy’s flush deepened as he realized Catherine knew about it, too. “Yes. Pearson heard they were engaged from his brother Morgan, who heard it from Micklesby, who heard it from Barthes, who heard it from Finchly, who told him to expect an announcement soon. Of course, I told Pearson it was a bag of moonshine, but then Evelyn told me it was true and promptly turned into a watering pot. My coat is still wet!” he said with disgust, almost as if this were the greater offense. “I intend to call him out, of course. His behavior is despicable, to prey on an innocent young lady like that. I don’t care if it does ruin the family. He won’t get away with it.”

  Catherine thought this was a fine speech, and it warmed her heart to see him passionate about something other than the state of his cravat. At the same time, the thought of Freddy with a pistol aimed at another human being was terrifying. “You mustn’t call him out. It won’t do any good. You will be dead, and he will still tell everyone the truth about Mama. The only advantage as far as I can see is that there will be one less Fellingham alive to blush,” she said, dampingly. “But do not despair. I’m working on a solution, and a happy resolution is within our grasp.”

  Freddy narrowed his eyes, suspicious of her intent. “I won’t be fobbed off with a fairy story while you go out and challenge him to a duel yourself.”

  Although Catherine had considered that very thing, hearing her brother say it out loud made it sound ridiculous and she laughed at the absurdity. “No fairy stories, I promise. Indeed, I’ve arranged with Lady Courtland for Finchly to be caught cheating at cards. Once he is caught, we will trade our silence for his. It happens tonight and was the very reason I sought you out this afternoon. I would like to attend the event, and I would be grateful if you would accompany me.”

  “Cheating at cards, eh?” he said consideringly. “That is an inventive plan, as there have certainly been rumors about Finchly’s infernal luck. He never loses, you know. You say Lady Courtland arranged it? You brought our sister’s predicament to her attention?”

  Catherine nodded. “I believe it’s only fair that she extricate us from this mess, as she is the one who got us into it.”

  Freddy could not cavil at this logic, for it was true enough. Their mother had more hair than sense and would always follow the dictates of her much more clever friend. “You are right. I should be there. It is the Fellingham honor that’s at stake. Thank you for telling me,” he said, folding up his last will and testament and slipping it in the top drawer of the desk.

  It was obvious he had no intention of taking Catherine along, and his sister let him enjoy that misconception for a few moments before disabusing him. “Very good. And where are you going?”

  He seemed not to immediately grasp her point, for he opened his mouth to speak and his jaw flapped several times before he realized he didn’t have the answer to that question. “You are not coming,” he said, his voice tight with resolution. “In the absence of our father, I’m the man of the house and it’s my responsibility to see this matter through.”

  At this, Catherine smiled. “Our father is not absent. He’s down the hall in the drawing room.”

  Annoyed, he said, “I meant figuratively absent, not literally.”

  “It won’t wash, Freddy,” she said, although, in truth, she had a little sympathy for his situation. “Finchly is wholly repugnant and I simply must be there when Deverill wipes—”

  “Deverill!” Freddy said in surprise. “He has a hand in this?”

  “Yes. He’s arranging the game,” she explained. “He will invite some of his friends who are known to be entirely trustworthy to witness Finchly’s humiliation.”

  “Well, you certainly can’t come if Deverill is there. I don’t want him cuffing me on the ear and calling me a coxcomb again,” he said, the indignity still fresh. “Besides, I promised him that I wouldn’t take you to another hell.”

  “Who is Deverill to tell you what to do?” she asked, knowing full well the fascination her brother had with the older, more accomplished peer. “You are the man of this family. You even have a last will and testament. You’re not so easily intimidated.”

  “Cut line, Cathy,” he said, much offended by her tact. “A gentleman has to keep his promises. It’s a matter of honor.”

  “Very well, then,” she said, realizing it was futile and returning to her original strategy. “I trust you and your honor will represent the family well at whichever gaming hell you wind up at. I only hope it’s the right one.”

  He paused for a long moment, no doubt trying to figure out a solution to the conundrum that didn’t include threatening to tell on her to their mother. Like breaking promises, tattling didn’t fall under the purview of proper gentlemanly behavior. “Fine,” he said petulantly.

  “And you’ll lend me breeches?” she asked.

  Freddy heaved such an oppressed-sounding sigh his sister could easily imagine him scratching her name out of his will. “Yes. But this time we have to do a better job with the cravat. I can’t go around with a fellow wearing such an abysmally tied knot. Embarrassed me last time.”

  Not minding the criticism, Catherine gave him a big kiss on the cheek and a wholehearted thank you before going to Evelyn’s room to assure her sister that she had everything well in hand.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Even in the hack, Catherine refused to tell Freddy where they were going.

  “We’re on our way. What harm can it do now?” He looked out the window and observed the passing streets, trying to figure out their route.

  “Well, after I tell you, you could bind my wrists, order the driver to stop, hand me over to your confederates in the hack that has been following us since we left the house and force me to dance at Lord Raines’s ball while you go on by yourself,” she said with what she thought was apparent logic.

  Freddy’s eyes opened wide, and he stuck his head out the window to see who was behind them.

  Catherine smiled. “Nobody is following us, you coxcomb.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I made it up,” she said brightly. “I was just outlining the possibilities as I see them.”

  Her brother stared at her. “When did this happen?”

  “What?” She looked down at her clothes expecting something to be horribly wrong, but her black breeches were clean, her white shirt was pressed and her cravat tied in a semirespectable fashion. The wig on her head was heav
y and it itched, but by all accounts, it was straight and properly centered.

  “This—your personality,” he explained with a loose hand gesture. “You used to be so placid. Now you are given to odd fits.”

  Not sure how one responded to such a comment, she simply said, “Oh.”

  “Maybe it’s Deverill. You females get all queer over men like Deverill. Of course, you never have before. It’s usually chits like Evelyn who lose their heads,” he said and then laughed.

  At the mention of Deverill, her cheeks began to flush and she was grateful for the gloom of the carriage, which hid her face. “What is funny?” she asked, wondering if he was laughing at her. Had she been acting that queer over Deverill?

  “Just imagining Mama’s face when she finds out about this evening,” he explained. “You’ll have a devil of a time convincing her that Deverill isn’t about to make an offer.”

  Catherine knew he spoke the truth, but she also knew their mother was so stubborn and impervious to reality that the only thing that would eventually convince her was time. In a week, when Deverill had stopped dancing attendance on her, she would begin to grasp the truth. In a few months, she would be unable to deny it.

  “I think it’s best for all parties concerned if we don’t tell Mama about this night’s work,” she said, thinking more of Evelyn than herself.

  Freddy assured her she wouldn’t hear it from him. “It’s Lady Courtland you should be concerned about. She and Mama are bosom friends. They tell each other everything.”

  Catherine acknowledged the truth of the statement and hoped she could prevail on Lady Courtland to keep this adventure to herself. As grateful as she was for her help, she cringed at the thought of having another conversation with her ladyship, as none of their previous ones had turned out the way she’d wanted. No doubt, she had dropped many encouraging hints in her mother’s ear, assuring Lady Fellingham and herself—mistakenly, of course—that her scheme was going exactly according to plan. Catherine was so lost in these thoughts that she hadn’t noticed that the hack had stopped until Freddy said, “Damnation!”