“Oh, dear,” she said. “Would you like me to check if it’s broken?” When she reached a hand towards Pen, he recoiled.
“Don’t touch me, you harridan.”
Julian eased himself onto the opposite bench, tempted to ask if she wished to examine his stones. “You had best not have broken me.”
She lowered her head. It was too dim in the carriage to determine the color of her skin, but he suspected she was blushing. Perhaps he hadn’t been wrong to select her on Pen’s behalf. She played the role of innocent maiden well enough now.
Pen issued an exaggerated huff of annoyance. “Shall we try this again? Please allow me to make introductions. I am Leander Thornhill, Baron Penlow, and this is my cousin, Julian Beckford. And you, my dear, are to be my wife.”
~ 2 ~
Wife! Felicity Halliday nearly fell off the carriage bench. “You want to marry me?”
Lord Penlow sniffed and closed the window. “You needn’t sound so appalled. My offer is better than any other you’re likely to receive.”
The gentleman had a sound argument. A physician’s daughter with no dowry would receive no offers of marriage from anyone, much less a nobleman. Still, the man had stolen her from the streets. He probably hadn’t even gotten a good look at her yet. What in the world made him think he wished to marry her, or that she would consent, for that matter?
Mr. Beckford gingerly adjusted his position. A soft groan accompanied his movement. She looked away, focusing on the dark street beyond the window, as a fresh wave of heat swept over her. Mr. Beckford’s testicles had felt like smashed apricots under her knee. His pain must have been horrendous.
“You should request ice for your injury as soon as you arrive home,” she said.
“Nothing is going anywhere near my injury, thank you very much.”
“And don’t think he’s pleased about it either,” Lord Penlow said, scolding her like he’d been a cantankerous grandmamma in a former life. “I’m certain Julian had other plans for the evening.”
She aimed a glare at the obnoxious popinjay. “As did I, and they did not include an abduction by a madman or a ridiculous proposal of marriage.”
“Abduction was not part of my plan. I simply wished an audience.”
Mr. Beckford sighed. “Correct her misunderstanding, Pen. You’ve caused enough distress for the woman already.”
“The wench hasn’t suffered near the distress she has doled out,” Penlow argued.
“An unpleasant experience, to say the least,” Mr. Beckford agreed, “but not unprovoked.”
Felicity sent a fleeting smile of gratitude across the carriage for him. The gentleman obviously didn’t remember her, or perhaps the circumstances of their reunion negated his memory. She, however, had never forgotten Julian Beckford, smitten as she had been at the age of seventeen.
She hadn’t been foolish enough to believe she could ever make a match with a viscount’s son. But Mr. Beckford, through his loving attentions to his aunt during her illness, had set the standard for the type of husband Felicity would someday marry. She hadn’t realized at the time someday would never arrive.
“What do you really want with me?” she asked. “Do you require a doctor?”
Lord Penlow looked down his nose at her. “Not prior to our unfortunate meeting, Miss…?”
She hesitated to reveal her true name. The last thing she needed was rumors of her abduction and subsequent ruin destroying Meredith’s chances of making a match.
“I was under the impression I would soon be Baroness Penlow.”
Mr. Beckford laughed. “Grandfather will have met his match with this one.”
The baron swiveled towards her, angled his head to the side, and looked her up and down. “But will he find her believable?”
Mr. Beckford rubbed his chin while Lord Penlow fiddled with his unruly hair. Neither of them spoke as they eyed her like a piece of horseflesh up for auction.
She threw up her hands. “Oh, for goodness sake! Do you wish to look at my teeth?”
Mr. Beckford balked.
“All right,” Lord Penlow agreed.
“No.” Mr. Beckford’s arm shot out to stop the baron’s advance on her. “We beg your pardon, miss. What my cousin has failed to do with any grace or evidence of good breeding is extend an invitation for you to join our family at Danby Castle in Yorkshire for Christmas.”
She blinked, unable to comprehend what either gentleman was talking about. They both sounded like escapees from Bedlam.
“That’s not exactly how I would have worded it,” Lord Penlow said. “I need you to accompany me to my grandfather’s home and convince him you are my wife. I’m afraid he is on his deathbed, and the last thing I want is for him to leave this world disappointed with me. I would be unable to live with myself.”
Mr. Beckford rolled his eyes.
She looked back and forth between them. “I don’t understand. Is your grandfather dying or not?”
“Highly unlikely,” Mr. Beckford answered. “He has been at the brink several times this year and managed a miraculous recovery each time.”
“But this time could be it, Julian. Why else would he summon all of us?”
She had never heard such nonsense in all her life. “For how long do you expect me to pretend to be your wife, exactly?”
“Well, Grandfather is a duke,” Lord Penlow said. “He’s very important, you know. An audience would last fifteen minutes, at best.”
“Let me see if I have the facts correct. You wish me, an unmarried woman, to travel with you alone—”
“Out of the question,” Lord Penlow said. “We will not be traveling alone. My cousin will accompany us.”
Mr. Beckford sat up straighter. “Pardon? I never agreed to—”
“Jul, please. You cannot leave me alone with her.” The baron tossed a quick look her direction from the corner of his eye and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “She drew my cork.”
“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
They argued under their breaths back and forth for several seconds until Felicity lost patience.
“It matters not whether Mr. Beckford accompanies you to Danby Castle or not, my lord. I’m declining your invitation. I have no intentions of pretending to be your wife or leaving London, especially during the holidays. Now if you will kindly signal the coachman to pull over.”
“I’ll pay you,” Lord Penlow blurted. “Five hundred pounds.”
Her jaw dropped. Five hundred pounds? To come by that amount of money, she and Mama would have to work for years. With five hundred pounds, her younger sister would have a decent dowry. There would be no more fear of someone discovering Mama was taking in other people’s mending to help stock the larder. Felicity could take a respite from sneaking into the playhouses and brothels to provide medical treatment for those women respectable doctors wouldn’t treat. At least until she saw her sister safely settled in marriage.
“Why isn’t she speaking?” Lord Penlow hissed.
She opened her mouth to sincerely thank him for the generous offer, but she couldn’t accept. Five hundred pounds would help her family, but she couldn’t abandon her mother and sister around the holidays. Nor could she lie to the baron’s family by pretending to be something she was not.
“A thousand!”
Mr. Beckford reached across the carriage and grabbed Lord Penlow by the lapels of his jacket. “Leander, what are you doing?”
The carriage turned onto a well-lit block, the glow of the street lamps throwing blocks of light across her captors’ faces. The baron was looking at her with eyes glittering wildly, desperately. “A thousand pounds to play my wife. I won’t offer anything more.”
Felicity was speechless. A thousand pounds for a few days of her life?
“Very well. Fifteen hundred. That truly is as high as I may go.”
A thousand thoughts flew through her mind. How immoral it was to lie. How damaged her reputation would be if anyone discovered he
r actions. How topsy-turvy her life had become when Papa died. How unfair for her mother to have to struggle with a needle and thread when her arthritic fingers ached. How hopeless Meredith’s future was. Felicity didn’t wish to see her young sister take a position as a scullery maid, or worse, work in one of the brothels. Fifteen hundred pounds would end her family’s suffering.
“Please, miss, I require an answer.”
She looked up, her jaw tightening. “When do we depart?”
~ 3 ~
Felicity’s sister sat on the edge of the bed they shared as she packed. Meredith didn’t speak; her wide cocoa eyes followed Felicity’s movements as she moved to and from the wardrobe. Placing the last item in the battered valise lying on the bed, Felicity sighed. She had very few articles of clothing appropriate for the journey, and only a single decent gown Mama had refashioned from older dresses that had once belonged to her. Although their mother had become an excellent seamstress since Papa’s death, the quality of the satin and lace were nowhere near what one would expect a baroness to wear, particularly to an audience with a duke.
Lord Penlow would have to accept that her sparse wardrobe was part of the risk he assumed, an independent variable beyond her control, and certainly not a cause to dissolve their agreement.
Felicity had negotiated her terms before making a commitment to participate in the baron’s tomfoolery. Lord Penlow would pay her whether or not the Duke of Danby believed their story, so long as she did nothing to rouse His Grace’s suspicions. Clearly, her lack of an appropriate wardrobe would not fall under the category of her fault.
“I think I have everything,” Felicity said as she closed the valise. “Wish me luck.”
Meredith tipped her head to the side. “Why do you need luck?”
She paused. Meredith was a pretty girl of fourteen, with silken locks as rich as mahogany and the delicate features of an angel. She would be a beauty without equal by the time she came of age, and with a decent dowry, she was assured to marry at least a shopkeeper or, God willing, capture the notice of a wealthy merchant.
Felicity smoothed a hand over her sister’s hair. “You are right, Meri. We no longer require luck. Fortune has found us at last.”
Meredith captured her hand and clung to it. “Why must you leave Mama and me alone at Christmas?”
Felicity carefully slipped out of her sister’s hold and avoided meeting her direct gaze. “Mrs. Livingston cannot help when she has her baby.”
“But I have never heard of Mrs. Livingston. Or Mr. Livingston either.”
Grasping the handle of the valise, Felicity lifted it from the bed. “Yes, well. You cannot be acquainted with everyone in London.” Especially with the fictional Mr. and Mrs. Livingston who were traveling to Yorkshire on urgent family matters when the lady should be lying in wait.
“Leave your sister be, Meri. She has an important task to perform.”
Felicity started at the sound of her mother’s voice. Mama stood in the threshold, her hands braced against the doorframe to steady herself. Arthritis had settled into her knees, just as it had invaded her fingers, making the simple act of walking a chore some days.
Her heart ached for her mother, the woman who had kept their family afloat when despair had threatened to overtake them. She hated lying to Mama, but she would worry less if she believed Felicity had a proper chaperone for the journey. Mrs. Livingston was a necessary fabrication.
“Perhaps we shall travel to Bath when I return so Mama can take the waters.”
Meredith perked up. “Do you really mean it? We can go on holiday again?”
She gathered her sister in a hug. “Only if you allow me to travel with the Livingstons now. We need the money Mr. Livingston will pay me for tending his wife.”
Her sister hopped up from the bed to follow Felicity to the bedchamber door. “May I have a new travel dress, too? Or do you think a walking dress is more practical?”
Felicity laughed from the sheer pleasure of knowing Meredith wouldn’t have to choose between the two. “If you behave for Mama, you may have both.”
Meredith squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh, Felicity. You are the best sister in the whole world.”
Felicity stopped at the threshold where her mother waited to say goodbye. “I will miss you both. I expect to be back in London by the new year.”
“Write to me once you are settled,” Mama said.
“I will.” Felicity placed a kiss on her mother’s soft cheek. “I must go now. The hack will be here soon.”
She scooted past her mother then headed for the stairwell. As she reached the foyer, footsteps pounded down the stairs behind her, and she wheeled around to see her sister.
Meredith held out her black bag. “You forgot your instruments. Won’t you need them to care for Mrs. Livingston?”
Warmth spread into her cheeks. “Indeed. How silly of me.”
~ * ~
Julian’s cousin wiped away the condensation from the carriage window and peered out the slash he had created. They were waiting for the pretend Lady Penlow outside of Lord Orrick Theatre, just as her missive had indicated they should.
“What time is it?” Pen asked.
Julian frowned. “It’s high time you purchased a watch of your own.” Still, he pulled his watch from his pocket to check the time again. “She’s ten minutes late now. Perhaps she has come to her senses and will not show.”
“She wouldn’t dare leave me in such a bind, would she?” His cousin turned a pleading look Julian’s direction. “Please, tell me she wouldn’t.”
“I know nothing about the woman, but I had the distinct impression she needs the ludicrous amount you offered to pay her. I have no idea what you were thinking.”
“I was thinking you had chosen her, so she must be perfect for my purposes. I couldn’t allow her to refuse me.”
Julian returned his watch to his pocket and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension building there. How had he become entrenched in this foolishness? They would arrive at Danby Castle in three days, and he didn’t look forwards to facing the duke’s wrath once he figured out the truth. Julian had always gotten on rather well his grandfather, and he didn’t wish to fall out of the duke’s favor.
“Have you thought about what you will tell Grandfather?”
Pen shrugged. “I’m sure you will think of something.”
“Me? I never agreed to any of this, you rotter.”
“But as you have been reminding me for days, my ideas are rubbish.” He bolted upright on the carriage bench. “Oh, look. Here comes my bride.”
“You really should insist upon knowing her name,” Julian said. “We are running out of creative ways to address the woman.”
Pen climbed from the carriage then Julian joined him on the walkway to watch her approach. The young woman boasted a lively step, her dark curls bouncing around the brim of her hat. Her cheeks and pert nose were reddened from the chill wind. As she neared, she flashed a brilliant smile. This grey, winter morning she appeared as welcoming as a ray of spring sunlight. Nothing like the hellcat she had been several nights ago, but Julian knew not to underestimate her. His body had healed, but his memory remained sharp.
“Did you walk to the theatre?” Pen asked with a scowl.
She drew up short, her good humor fading. “Well, I didn’t fly, my lord.”
“Perhaps I’ll tell Grandfather you are a mute,” Pen grumbled. “You may assume the role immediately.”
She ignored Julian’s cousin. “Good morning, Mr. Beckford.”
He bowed to her. “Lady Penlow.”
The footman stepped forwards to take her belongings.
“I will keep my black bag, thank you.”
“What do you store in there?” Pen asked. “Instruments of torture?”
A mischievous grin spread across her full lips. “Perhaps.”
Julian offered his hand to assist her into the carriage. She held tightly to him as she navigated the steps. Her scent was fleeting as
she brushed by him, elusive and yet recognizable at the same time. Was it lemons and chocolate? An odd, but pleasing combination. Something hazily familiar lingered in his mind, a memory beyond his grasp.
“Do you ever have the sense you have met someone before,” he asked, “but you have no idea when or where?”
She settled on the carriage bench and smoothed her skirts. Amber eyes—not brown as he’d supposed the other night—met his gaze. “No, Mr. Beckford. I always recall when and where I’ve met someone of interest.”
The expanding sensation in his chest caught him off guard, but he surrendered to the warm feeling, allowing a smile for her. “You know my name. Now do be kind enough to tell me yours.”
“Felicity,” she said softly. “Felicity Halliday.”
Halliday. The name had a familiar ring to it. Perhaps he had seen her perform on stage before he left London.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Halliday.”
Pen nudged him. “For pity’s sake, move aside before I catch my death. I’m certain Miss Halliday does not wish to be widowed before she has collected her fee.”
“Certainly not! However, afterwards is still up for negotiation.”
Julian laughed. The minx would keep his cousin on his toes. Funny that Julian should experience a pang of envy.
~ 4 ~
Felicity studied the two gentlemen across the carriage. Mr. Beckford met her gaze and held it. The slightly jaded sheen in his miraculously blue eyes spoke of his worldliness. What had he seen in his time abroad?
A few weeks after Mr. Beckford’s aunt had died, Felicity learned of his new position with the Foreign Office. He had already departed for India when she paid a visit to his uncle, Vicar Whitton. She had been worried about the vicar after his wife’s death, and unable to erase the image of his pained expression from her mind. The gentleman had appeared so frail in his grief, and she feared he too might succumb to illness as spouses often did after a loss.
A Summons From the Duke (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 2) Page 11
