by Jen Turano
He returned the smile. “Maybe, but I have to say, Sam, Beatrice, and Harriet are wonderful children and haven’t caused any problems—whereas Ming . . .”
Whatever he was going to say next slipped out of his mind as a laugh he knew only too well floated to him on the breeze. He took a step forward, and then another, coming to a stop when he caught sight of Felicia and felt his temper kick in.
As Agatha had mentioned, she was dressed in a delightful gown of purple, her hair attractively arranged with some type of barely there hat attached to her crown. He took no issue with the way she was dressed, but he did take issue with the fact that she was surrounded by gentlemen trying to win her favor. His lips thinned into a straight line when one bold gentleman picked up her gloved hand and pressed a far too intimate kiss against her knuckles.
“Don’t do anything rash,” he heard Eliza mutter right as he began moving again.
He pretended he hadn’t heard that bit of nonsense, set his sights on Felicia once again, and decided that a rash act was exactly what was needed.
20
Felicia forced out yet another laugh, the odd thought coming to her that it was slightly pathetic that she wasn’t enjoying herself. Here she was, surrounded by delightful and eligible gentlemen, all of whom were vying for her attention, but . . . she wasn’t having much, if any, fun.
Not one of the gentlemen gathered around her seemed capable of making her pulse race even the slightest bit, and it was entirely Grayson’s fault.
He’d ruined her, probably for life, in the matter of racing pulses. Since he hadn’t tried to contact her again after her unfortunate decision to climb out her window, she was fairly certain he’d come to the conclusion she was a crazy lady and was through with her forever. That meant her pulse was destined to simply plod through her veins instead of gallop for the rest of her days.
“. . . and the sanctuary is almost as lovely as the one here in New York,” Reverend Bannes said, causing Felicia to blink out of her thoughts as she tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
Reverend Bannes was turning out to be a somewhat pleasant gentleman, when he wasn’t pushing the idea of marriage on her, or his belief of what a perfect wife should be, or how she could obtain such perfection. He’d toned down his wooing efforts, much to her relief, but she knew he hadn’t given up just yet. She had the sinking feeling he was determined to win her picnic lunch.
Felicia shuddered at the thought of having to watch him eat what she’d prepared. She’d only attempted a sandwich with a salad, but unfortunately, the bread had turned slightly soggy, and the salad . . . How could she have known making boiled eggs would prove to be so tricky?
“Miss Murdock, are you paying attention?”
She certainly wasn’t going to admit that her attention had not been on whatever it was he was saying. She summoned up a smile. “I’m sure the sanctuary at your church is lovely.”
“I was inquiring as to when you’d like to visit.”
“Ah . . .”
The rest of her response—whatever it would have been, since she really had no idea what to say to that inquiry—was deemed unnecessary when the sea of gentlemen surrounding her parted and an uneasy silence settled over the group.
“Forgive me for interrupting, but I need to speak with Felicia.”
Her gaze immediately found Grayson, right as her pulse began to flutter. He was staring at her all too intently, and from what she could tell, there was a distinct hint of surliness in his tone.
He was never more attractive to her than when he was surly.
She shook herself slightly over that ridiculous idea, remembered she was still supposed to be put out with the gentleman—even though she readily admitted, at least to herself, that she’d missed him dreadfully—and lifted her chin. She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by Reverend Bannes, who seemed to have a vast number of words at his disposal.
“Now, see here, Lord Sefton. This is not well done of you. It is common knowledge that Miss Murdock has refused your suit, so hear me well—I won’t stand idly by and allow you to badger the lady.”
Grayson arched one aristocratic brow. “Felicia thrives on badgering.”
It was suddenly perfectly clear that it was about to turn into a very interesting day.
“Demure young ladies such as Miss Murdock do not enjoy badgering, let alone thrive on it,” Reverend Bannes returned.
“Miss Murdock, although she’s been able to put on a good show of it the past few years, is not demure in the least.”
For some odd reason, Grayson’s words, which might have been seen as an insult to most ladies, caused her heart to sing, to sing until he opened his mouth again and a distinct expression of grumpiness stole over his face.
“My patience is waning rapidly, Felicia. So either you can agree to come along peacefully and speak with me, or I will resort to flinging you over my shoulder and carting you away in order to say my piece.”
One corner of her mouth curled up. Grayson, it seemed, was in an unusual mood, but he apparently had forgotten he was standing in the midst of numerous gentlemen, all of whom were now muttering rather fiercely. She felt the other corner of her mouth begin to curl, but it stopped midcurl when all the mutters abruptly ceased, evidently because Grayson was sending the men one of his all too dangerous glares.
She couldn’t help but be slightly impressed by his determination—even though it was somewhat annoying to learn that her bevy of admirers, who’d moments ago been only too keen to seek out her company, didn’t seem as keen to defend her from the seemingly insane gentleman who’d wandered into their midst.
Grayson took that moment to crack his knuckles. She couldn’t help it—she grinned.
“You’ve lost your mind, Mr. Sumner. While I would adore nothing more than to speak with you, especially since you’ve asked in such a pleasant yet demanding manner, I see my mother signaling over there, and I do believe the bidding on the baskets is about to begin.”
To her surprise, he smiled, but it was a somewhat frightening smile, especially when he stopped cracking his knuckles and rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful, let the bidding begin.”
Before Felicia could so much as blink, Grayson strode forward, took her arm, and ignoring the halfhearted protests of the men she’d been speaking with, towed her away from them. He strode through the crowd and brought her to a halt right in front of the makeshift stage that had been created for the day’s festivities.
Ruth stood on that stage, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Felicia was suddenly a little wary, knowing her mother had never run the auction before. She had stepped in for Reverend Fraser, who was still away on his wedding trip.
“Happy Fourth of July,” Ruth called. “It’s a lovely day for our celebration and a lovely day to bring in much-needed funds for the church.” She narrowed her eyes as she scanned the crowd. “I expect the bids to be generous.” She smiled as laughter filled the air, turned, and strolled casually down the row of baskets, plucking up a delightful-looking red basket decorated with red, white, and blue ribbons, holding it high for everyone to see.
Felicia wondered why she hadn’t realized her mother would start with her basket. Considering the food resting on the inside was probably not edible, she was thankful she’d taken extra time to make certain the outside of the basket looked presentable.
“This delightful basket has been created by my dear daughter, Miss Felicia Murdock,” Ruth called as she held the basket even higher. “I must tell you, she is a fine cook. I’m certain she’s made a delicious feast for any gentleman who wins this basket.”
She really needed to have a chat with her mother regarding her frequent exaggeration of her talents.
“I bid five dollars.”
Felicia swung around and barely had time to look at the man who’d placed the bid before another man yelled a higher bid, and to her amazement, a fierce bidding war erupted around her.
It was disconcerting to be the
object of such attention, but . . . She narrowed her eyes as her gaze settled on Grayson.
Why was he just standing there? Had he changed his mind and decided he didn’t want to win her basket? Had he come to the conclusion she wasn’t worth the effort? Was he truly going to allow some other man to make off with her basket and win her company?
The urge to swallow her pride and tell him she’d made a mistake by refusing his offer swept out of nowhere, causing her to forget to breathe. She had made a mistake. She didn’t want to lose him, and . . . she wanted another chance.
She also didn’t want to eat lunch with the burly man who’d just shouted out a bid of fifty dollars.
She reached out a hand to him, but before she could make contact, he stepped forward.
“One hundred dollars.”
Relief and a thrill of something she couldn’t quite name coursed through her.
“Are you certain, Mr. Sumner?” Ruth called.
Grayson tilted his head. “Better make it two.”
Breath came charging back, filling Felicia’s lungs with air. She stepped toward him. “That might be a little too generous. The last bid before yours was only fifty dollars.”
Grayson, much to her surprise, let out what sounded remarkably like a snort. “I’d pay double that, triple even, to win your basket.”
Right then and there, Felicia’s knees began to wobble.
“You know I can’t cook.”
“I’m not a particularly picky eater.”
“Sold,” Ruth shouted, “to Mr. Sumner for two hundred dollars.”
Nerves suddenly made themselves known, most likely brought on by Grayson’s gazing at her oddly, with what seemed almost like tenderness in his eyes. She cleared her throat and struggled to come up with something to say. “Ah, well, you’ve just made my mother’s day. She’s been nagging at me all week to talk to you.”
“She’s not still put out with me?”
Felicia smiled. “Hardly. She’s been reserving her ire for me, mostly because I wouldn’t talk to you.”
“We have much that’s left unresolved between us. Perhaps we can get some matters solved while we eat your picnic lunch.”
“I’m not certain it’s advisable to eat the lunch I made. I wasn’t being modest when I admitted I couldn’t cook.”
Grayson stepped closer to her, causing her knees to go all wobbly once again. “We don’t have to eat, Felicia. There are so many—”
His words were interrupted when Reverend Bannes appeared right behind them, his face red and his brow perspiring. “Lord Sefton, or Mr. Sumner, or whatever you’re calling yourself today, I fear I must insist on speaking frankly to you, although I do hope you’ll refrain from hitting me after I’m done.”
Grayson frowned. “My good man, I don’t normally attack people, especially men of the cloth.”
Reverend Bannes wiped a hand over his perspiring brow and simply looked at Grayson for a long moment.
Grayson turned to her. “Why does he think I’ll hit him?”
“Because you were sending him and all the rest of the men who were around me one of your dangerous glares.”
“I was doing no such thing.”
She patted his arm before she turned to Reverend Bannes. “He won’t hit you, Reverend Bannes, so please continue.”
Reverend Bannes eyed Grayson a bit warily for a moment and then nodded. “Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that you, Miss Murdock, are distressed regarding Lord Sefton winning your basket, so I and some other gentlemen thought we’d pool our money together to beat Lord Sefton’s winning bid. That way, we could eat lunch with you, even if your basket doesn’t have enough food in it.”
“I’m perfectly capable of exceeding any amount you and those other gentlemen can scrape together,” Grayson said, his eyes going all too dangerous once again.
She punched his arm this time instead of patting it. “Be quiet.”
She turned back to Reverend Bannes. Even though he was a rather blustering sort, he was a dear man at heart, but . . . he wasn’t meant for her, nor were any of the other men she’d been speaking with.
“Reverend Bannes, forgive me, but I do believe you’ve been suffering from a few delusions in regard to me. While I appreciate that you were willing to face Mr. Sumner and his temper by approaching us, it isn’t fair to allow you to continue believing you and I would make a good match.”
“But . . . from what Reverend Fraser told me, you’d make the perfect minister’s wife. He said you’re a lady of exceptional faith.”
“Which I am, but I’m not demure, which is what you claimed you were looking for in a wife. Quite honestly, I’d drive you insane if you spent much time in my company. I’m afraid you’re going to have to look elsewhere.”
“But you’re going to have to eat lunch with him now,” Reverend Bannes said slowly.
Felicia smiled. “So I am.”
“You don’t seem distressed about that.”
Her smile widened. “I’m not distressed in the least.”
Before she could say another word, and with barely a nod to Reverend Bannes, Grayson took her arm and pulled her through the crowd, not stopping until they reached a spot well away from the people still bidding on the baskets. She couldn’t help but notice that after he let go of her arm, he took hold of her hand.
“Why aren’t you distressed?” he demanded.
Here it was, the opportunity she’d been dreaming about, the opportunity to tell him the truth. “I, ah, well . . .” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I wanted to have lunch with you.”
Grayson’s eyes darkened and he leaned forward, lowering his head. All the breath left her in a split second when she realized he was going to do the unthinkable and kiss her right in the middle of Central Park.
“Uncle Grayson.”
Grayson stilled, released a breath, the air from it fanning her face, and then he pulled back and turned. Felicia turned as well and discovered Piper marching up to them, a mutinous-looking Ming by her side, while three nannies trailed behind them, all looking somewhat resigned.
Piper tugged Ming over to them and stopped. “Ming is being difficult. She keeps trying to bite everyone, and when her nannies tried to help us, she threw herself on the ground and began screaming for you. So here she is.”
Piper let go of Ming’s hand, sent her a disappointed look, spun on her little heel, and marched off, one of Ming’s nannies falling into step beside her.
“Would you care for us to try again?” one of the two nannies left asked, stepping forward.
“I’ll take her from here, Clare. Why don’t you and Mary return to keep an eye on Sam and his sisters.” He sent Felicia a resigned smile. “On second thought, why don’t you bring them to join us? Miss Murdock and I were just about to eat lunch.”
Clare frowned. “Begging your pardon, sir, but Sam, Beatrice, and Harriet are having a wonderful time with Piper and Ben. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind eating lunch with you, but since they haven’t had much fun in their lives, do you think it might be possible to allow them to eat with their new friends? We’ll watch over them—not that they need much of that since Mrs. Beckett and Mrs. Watson haven’t let them out of their sight—and we’ll bring them to you after they’re done eating.”
“That’ll be fine, Clare,” Grayson said. “And thank you for the suggestion. Miss Murdock and I will take over with Ming, and do make certain you and the other nannies get some lunch as well.”
Clare nodded and then walked away with Mary, leaving Ming staring angrily after them. Felicia moved over to the little girl and crouched down. “Shall we go and find a lovely spot for a picnic?”
Ming’s lip jutted out. “No.”
“That was my favorite word when I was a child, Ming, but we’re going to have a picnic, and you’re going to enjoy it.” Not giving Ming an opportunity to protest, she scooped her up and ruffled her hair, causing the girl to smile ever so slightly. “Now, we need to go and fetch our basket.”
Grayson grinned. “No we don’t, because your mother’s heading our way, and it looks as if she has two baskets.”
Felicia looked up, and sure enough, Ruth was strolling their way, a huge smile on her face and clutching in her hands not one but two basket handles. Grayson stepped forward and took them from her, earning himself a pat on the cheek from Ruth once she had use of her hands again.
“You’re a dear boy.”
“Why did you bring us two baskets, Mother?”
“You don’t think I would actually allow anyone to eat what you’ve prepared, do you?”
Grayson laughed. “I swear I heard you make the claim just a short time ago that Felicia was a wonderful cook.”
“Did I? Hmm. I don’t recall.” She turned but then looked over her shoulder. “Do try and find a nice shady tree to eat under. It’s growing quite warm, and I wouldn’t want any of you to take in too much sun.”
Felicia looked around and realized that the nearest grove of trees that had available space underneath them was quite some distance away.
Her mother, it appeared, was back to her plotting ways.
She fell into step beside Grayson, and they strolled across the grass, Ming, surprisingly enough, chatting in the way three-year-olds were prone to do about everything and anything under the sun. They reached the grove of trees, but Grayson continued forward, pointing to another grove that was even farther away and would apparently lend them even more privacy.
Felicia found she didn’t have a single objection to that idea.
By the time they reached the second grove, she could feel perspiration beading her forehead. She set Ming down, swiped her brow with her gloved hand, and set about helping Grayson unfold a blanket they found in her mother’s basket. Once she had Ming situated on the blanket, she began pulling out food but paused when she felt Grayson’s gaze on her.
That gaze had heat warming her cheeks, and not a heat caused by the warmth of the day.
“Have I told you how lovely you look today?”
Her mouth felt remarkably dry. “Um, no, I don’t believe you have.”
