The Determined Duchess

by Erica Monroe

  He pulled back from her to kiss her again, loving the feel of her, the taste of her, honey and cinnamon. Upon her lips he branded their own truth, the story of their burgeoning love and the memories of their friendship.

  But he didn’t want to push her too far, too fast. Felicity was new to the physical aspects of relationships—hell, she was new to the emotional aspects, too. He needed to respect that, just as he respected how her brilliant mind worked.

  When they pulled apart to catch their breaths, Nicholas held her in his arms, and Felicity leaned her head against his chest. He rested his chin atop her head, the smell of smoke from her hair serving as an ever-present reminder of how close he’d come to losing her.

  When he’d heard the explosion, he’d immediately run for the stairs, fearing the worst. He’d suspected her experiments were dangerous, due to the depth of what she was attempting. Given her anguish when he’d found her, he surmised she hadn’t been successful.

  She hadn’t wanted to talk about it earlier, but hopefully she would now. He pulled away from her to lead her to the settee. She plopped down next to him, rubbing her thumbs against her temples in a circular motion.

  He took a seat next to her, but he did not reach for her hand again, suspecting it would be easier for him to talk to her this way. Every time he touched her, his heart pounded like a bloody racehorse running the Royal Ascot.

  “So, the laboratory exploded.” He stated this in the same pragmatic way she usually spoke, hoping she would fill in the details. When she continued massaging her temples instead of meeting his gaze, he leaned forward, prompting her further. “What caused the explosion?”

  She let out a long breath that ended in a sigh. “Aqua fortis, when added to sophick mercury.”

  “I see,” he said, though he hadn’t the foggiest notion what either of those two things were.

  “Sophick mercury is an amalgamation of antimony, silver, and mercury,” Felicity explained, hunching her shoulders, as if she could retreat inside herself. It had to be bad, what had happened in the laboratory.

  “And you use it to make the Philosopher’s Stone.” He remembered her talking about this now. At the time, he’d been a little stunned by the going to bring your aunt back to life, Nicholas part of her explanation. “Why did you add the aqua fortis then?”

  She let out another long breath, then inched toward him, setting her hand on top of his. He remained still, not wanting her to retreat, but also making sure he gave her the space and time she needed.

  “I couldn’t get the stone to transition into the Phoenix,” she said, her nose scrunching up and her brows wrinkling in such abject frustration it would have been amusing, if he hadn’t known how much this meant to her. “I thought I’d found the secret in a manuscript Margaret bought me. But there was a crack in the lamp, and the ethanol splashed onto the mercury and nitric acid, and then it exploded.”

  “That must have been terrifying.” Lord knew it had terrified him enough; he could only imagine how she’d felt. “Will you try again, with a new lamp?” He held his breath, dreading her answer.

  “No,” she said, with such absolute surety his head snapped up.

  He exhaled, but his relief was short-lived, for he did not know why she had stopped. Her insistence before had unsettled him, and he still didn’t believe she should attempt to play God. But he also didn’t want to be the reason she gave up, because that meant she’d resent him later on, as his mother had grown to resent his father. He could not bear to ruin Felicity’s life that way—could not bear to see her so desperately, desperately unhappy.

  A woman as devoted, loyal, and brilliant as she was deserved the absolute best in life.

  He forced himself to ask the question, even if he meant they had to return to their previous vow of friendship. “Why not, Felicity? Because of me?”

  She blinked at him, clearly surprised by the question. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  “I said I didn’t support what you were doing.” Before this week, he would have been offended that she hadn’t considered his opinion—but now, he was starting to see that sometimes, he did not have the last say on things.

  “Oh. Yes.” She patted his hand. “Nicholas, I like you and I enjoy kissing you, but when it comes to science, I must defer to more educated opinions.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh, for even in her admission of her feelings for him, she was to the point. He would always know where he stood with her—and after months of dealing with lords who stabbed him in the back, her candidness was even more valuable.

  “I like you too, Lissie, and I greatly enjoy kissing you.” He grinned, relishing the quick pink that flooded her cheeks at his admission.

  “That is good, then.” She smiled back at him before returning to the point. “I will not continue with my resurrection attempts for two reasons. One, the explosion turned into a fire, and it burnt most of my notes.”

  “Oh, Felicity, I’m sorry,” he said, pressing her hand.

  “I will never understand the need for people to apologize for things they did not do.” She arched a brow at him, and while he could have explained to her the societal convention of the expression, he figured there was no point. If he had learned one thing this week, it was that Felicity danced to her own beat, and he was damnably glad for that. “Nevertheless, I suppose I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “And I appreciate your appreciation,” he said, chuckling.

  She nodded, a swift, quick incline before her face became impassive again. “Second, even before the explosion, I could tell that the experiment wasn’t going to work. The stone kept repeating the white cycle, instead of transitioning. Aqua fortis was my last hope. Margaret’s body has degraded too much to be saved.”

  Tears had begun to fill her eyes as she described the failed experiment, never falling. Her voice dripped with agony, and he could do nothing to make it better.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, without thought. “I mean—”

  She stopped him with a quick kiss. “I know what you mean, and I thank you.”

  That little kiss meant more to him than the far more explicit attentions he’d received from other women. He chucked her on the shoulder. “I have no doubt in mind that if it was possible to resurrect the dead, you would have accomplished it. You’re the most determined woman I’ve ever met, and you truly are the cleverest.”

  That made her grin, a real, true, all-encompassing smile, like she’d given Lady Hettie on her arrival. His heart clenched. Finally, he knew what it was like to bring Felicity joy, and it was everything he’d thought it’d be—and more.

  “Took you long enough to realize it,” she said.

  He tugged her closer to him, placing a kiss atop her head. “Well, I plan on being here for a long time, so you can keep reminding me if I ever forget again.”

  She pulled back, so that she could peer up at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  Trust Felicity to need it all spelled out for her, with the details neatly delaminated. He didn’t know how she’d take his offer—only that he wanted to be with her, for the long-term. “I’d like to court you, if that’s acceptable. We can take things as slow as you want.”

  “I…” She considered for a moment, and he felt his heart stop as her face screwed up in thought. After a moment of nerve-wracking silence, she nodded decisively. “I would like that. But when I said before that I wasn’t duchess material—I’m even less suited to that now. You must see that, given my experiments.”

  He couldn’t deny that. But he also knew that he had to start living for himself, instead of seeking everyone else’s approval. And what he wanted—what he’d always wanted, if he’d been honest with himself—was Felicity.

  “I can’t promise that the ton will greet you with open arms,” he said, not wanting her to enter into this without having full knowledge. “There are some societal functions I will have to attend, yes, because of my position in the House of Lords. But I can help you navigate th
at world.” When she blanched, he added quickly, “Without Georgina’s input.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Would you give me a set of instructions? Rules to follow. Proper conversation topics. I work best with guidelines.”

  He winked at her. “Do you really think I’d ever pass up the opportunity to order around Felicity Fields?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It will be the only time I listen to you, I’ll have you know.”

  He tapped her nose, grinning. “I’d expect nothing less from the girl who put frogs in my bed.”

  “I can think of a much better use for your bed.” Her shy smile let him know that for once, she actually meant the double entendre. “Eventually. In time.”

  His cock twitched at the very thought of her in his bed, her naked body underneath his as he thrust into her. But he could wait, as long as she needed. He wanted her first time to be perfect, as remarkable as the woman herself. He had a lifetime to learn the many secrets of Felicity Fields, and discovering how her mind worked would be the best of studies.

  For the first time, he knew that the days ahead of him would be good—for real.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Felicity spent the morning of Christmas Eve at the church of St. David’s, serving as a bridesmaid in Tressa’s wedding to Matthew Kent. As it was the first wedding she’d ever attended, she viewed the ceremony as a learning experience, keeping mental notes of the things she most assuredly did not want at her own wedding. That helped her to overcome the anxiety of standing up in front of the village for Tressa—that, and the reminder Nicholas had given her before they’d left for the wedding.

  “Most people will be looking at Tressa, not you,” he’d said. “But if you start to feel nervous, look out at me, and know that I am there with you.”

  His words, combined with the quick yet passionate kiss he’d given her in the carriage outside of St. David’s, made her feel unstoppable.

  Once the ceremony began, she’d forgotten to be apprehensive. In the face of all of Tressa’s dreams for love coming true, she could not think of anything else but how joyful she was for her dear friend. She’d always thought Matthew Kent was a rogue, but today, as she listened to them bicker during their exchange of vows, she surmised that perhaps Tressa had needed a rogue all along.

  As she learned in the last week, the principle of opposites attracting did not just apply to chemistry, but to her relationships with people as well. She had not unlocked the secrets of the Philosopher’s Stone, but she had still achieved a great transformation.

  She was Felicity Fields, last of her line, loser of the battle against Death, but winner of so much, much more. She was in both mourning and love—two states she’d never thought could occur simultaneously. Tomorrow, she’d spend time trying to categorize these emotions further, but for now, she simply acknowledged that her feelings existed.

  As she rode in the carriage back to Tetbery, she reconsidered her list. She neither wanted hordes of villagers attending, nor did she want to be married at a church, like Tressa. She’d like to be married at Tetbery—perhaps by the Reverend Teague, since she found him the least objectionable of religious officials.

  Of course, the mere fact that she was considering her own wedding was a shock. She’d always thought she’d end up a spinster. Yet, as the wedding started, Felicity had looked out in the audience for Nicholas, and she’d felt a now familiar tug at her heart.

  Slowly, surely, she was beginning to see a future. It would be a future without Margaret—perhaps she’d always mourn that fact—but it would be happy.

  Because as Tressa had said, she deserved happiness.

  She pulled out her watch as the carriage descended the long drive to the house, checking the time. Nicholas had gone with his friends to Castle Keyvnor, for he was supposed to attend the Hambly sisters’ wedding. She had not been invited, and for that she breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she knew she wouldn’t be leaving Tetbery permanently, she wanted to clean up her laboratory and say a final goodbye to Margaret before she was placed into the crypt with Randall. While she still thought Nicholas was being overly sentimental, she had to admit it did bring her comfort to know Margaret’s body wouldn’t be alone.

  It was not the fate she had wanted for Margaret, but it was something.

  The carriage came to a stop. The driver pulled open the door and helped her down, and she headed for the front door. Tolsworth met her there, which was unusual, because she’d long ago told him he didn’t need to wait for her.

  “I think you will enjoy this, Miss Fields,” he said, a wide smile stretching across his wizened face.

  What an odd thing to say. She eyed him quizzically. “Yes, I should hope I’d enjoy my own home.”

  He opened the door wide, gesturing for her to enter. She did, and suddenly she knew exactly why he thought she’d be pleased.

  The grand hall was completely transformed. Evergreen garlands with giant red bows trimmed the white banisters of the spiral staircase, as well as the railings for the second story. Red and white hothouse flowers adorned every surface, while a large holly wreath was placed on the door to the sitting room. Every painting in the hall had been trimmed with greenery.

  It was perfect. Tetbery looked just as Margaret would have wanted it to on Christmas Eve.

  She had no time to reflect on the bitter sweetness of it all, because there was Nicholas, coming out from the atrium at the end of the hall. When he saw her, he sprinted toward her, his smile so wide it seemed to go ear to ear. She waited for him, her gaze darting from one corner to the next, marveling at the beautiful decorations.

  “Happy Christmas, Lissie.” Nicholas pulled her into his arms, embracing her.

  She rested her head against his chest, breathing in his leather and sandalwood scent, overlaid with the crisp evergreen. “Happy Christmas, Nicholas.”

  “So you like it?” He pulled back from her, gesturing to the staircase.

  “I love it. Before Margaret died, I never really thought about how festive the decorations were—I thought they were impractical, and I couldn’t bring myself to decorate without her.” She plucked a hothouse flower off the nearest table, running her finger over the petals. “But seeing the hall decorated again, I think I understand why she loved Christmas so much. I do feel hopeful, like anything is possible.”

  “Then my work here is done.” He took the flower from her, and tucked it behind her ear gently.

  “You’re supposed to be at the wedding,” she said. “When did you have time to do all this?”

  “I sent a message to Blackwater with my regrets, telling him I had a lady to impress.” Nicholas winked at her, and a welcome warmth flooded through her.

  Perhaps she’d needed a rogue too, and now she had one.

  “I rode back while you were still talking to the wedding guests,” he continued. “With the help of Tolsworth, Mrs. Mitchell, Mrs. Manning, and the maids, I was able to get all the decorations up.”

  “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She loved all of it—and she loved him.

  “One last thing.” Tolsworth came up behind them, a sprig of mistletoe in his hand. He held it up, above their heads.

  Felicity looked up at the mistletoe. “I believe we have to kiss now.”

  Nicholas leaned in, his lips twisting into that smirk she’d grown so used to over the years. They kissed, and Felicity thought she’d never heard a rule she loved so much before. When in a moment they stopped, both out of breath and lips rosy, Nicholas placed an arm around her.

  “Did you want to go to the castle and see your friend?” she asked.

  “No,” Nicholas said. “Right here, with you, I am finally where I am supposed to be.”

  Epilogue

  December 24, 1812

  They were married at the end of the Season, which Felicity had spent in London with Nicholas. She did not much enjoy Polite Society, but it was not as bad as she’d thought it would be, for she spent many of her days visiting the illustrious museum
s and research facilities in London. By the time they left London for Tetbery, she had even made a few friends with similar interests in chemistry.

  But none of that compared to the joy of coming back to Tetbery. Though she had discovered she could feel at home anywhere, as long as Nicholas was there, the old, rambling gothic estate was still her favorite place in the world. Now, they sat at the dinner table, about to celebrate their first Christmas Eve as the Duke and Duchess of Wycliffe, lord and lady of Tetbery Estate.

  “What do you think, Lissie? Would Aunt Margaret have approved?” He waved at their empty plates, once filled to the brim with two exquisite courses with a delicious dessert following.

  Felicity nodded, scooting her chair out from behind the table. “Absolutely. She would have fought us for the plum pudding.”

  “There is no better baker in all of England than Mrs. Manning,” Nicholas agreed. “Except maybe for you, my dear wife.”

  “I have not reached the same level of skill as Mrs. Manning,” Felicity informed him, though she knew enough now to appreciate the sentiment behind his comment. “My latest studies have taken time away from my baking.”

  “Should you wish to, I am certain that you could become both the most accomplished chemist and the most accomplished baker. “ He took her hand in his own, the love in his eyes reminding her once more how fortunate she was. “You are the most extraordinary woman, my determined duchess.”

  Author’s Note

  While the word “scientist” was not established until the 1830’s, I have chosen to use it throughout this novella because it is the best description for Felicity’s chosen profession, and because other terms from the Regency like “natural philosopher” no longer have the same connotation.