An Independent Miss

by Becca St. John

  “Oh, Cissy! Whatever has happened? Everyone was so glum.”

  “Never mind that.” Felicity swiped at her eyes. “I’m just so excited to see you. It has been a worry, your delay. Thank goodness you have arrived!”

  “We tried desperately to get here for Easter, but lost a wheel and then no one would fix it because it was Saturday, and then Sunday and Easter and all and—” she stopped to catch her breath. “Oh Cissy, you must tell me. Something terrible has happened, I can tell. Aunt Elizabeth had tears in her eyes, you have as well, please don’t say nothing is wrong. I shan’t believe it, I refuse!”

  “It is awful, Bea, truly awful, and I don’t know where to start.”

  In the process of untying her bonnet strings, Bea stilled. “Someone died?”

  It felt as if she had, Felicity thought. “No. That might have been better. But that is not the case.”

  “Oh Cis,” Bea tossed her bonnet on a chair, grabbed Felicity’s arm and plunked her back in the window seat, as she worked the buttons of her spencer. “I will ring for tea, for I am positively parched.”

  Ever practical, she moved over to the bell pull, rang it, and struggled so hard to get out of her spencer Felicity got up to help her.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Cis, if I use one of your shawls? My spencer has grown a tad tight. I’ve a new one being made in town, but of course, we haven’t been there because of the Easter holidays,” she explained. “I didn’t dare let a footman help me out of it in front of everyone!”

  Bea, still speaking, looked through Felicity’s shawl drawer to find something lighter than the jacket. She flourished a paisley wrap. “Ah, yes, this will do.” She settled it over her shoulders. “It is so good to be here, even with everyone so unhappy.” And she settled down on the seat beside Felicity, and patted the cushion between them. “Don’t keep me in suspense now.”

  There was a rap at the door and Jesse, Felicity’s abigail, poked her head into the room. “Did you want something, miss?”

  “Yes,” Bea answered. “Please bring us a tea tray, and see if Cook can rummage up something scrumptious.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Felicity smiled at Jesse, as though all was right with the world, crushingly aware of looks shot her way. She was not fragile china, would not shatter. It was a relief when the girl bobbed her head and withdrew.

  “Interesting,” Bea smoothed her skirts. “Where were we?”

  “Welcoming you here.”

  The seat was wide enough, and deep enough that the girls sat legs tucked to the side, backs against the open shutters. From this comfortable position, Bea tipped her head. “No, I do not believe that was where we were.” Nose scrunched, she looked so hard, Felicity turned away. “I was asking you not to keep me in suspense. You are avoiding answering, so the great upset has to do with you.”

  Felicity slumped back. Impossible to keep a secret from Beatrice. Not that she wanted to, not that the rest of the world wouldn’t tell her. Voicing it was just so hard. She was not ready to do that, but do it she would. Better to have it come from her than some other source.

  “He proposed,” she admitted. “I didn’t even know he was courting me, had only known him a matter of weeks, and he proposed.”

  At the start of Felicity’s admission, Bea jackknifed, leaned close. “Who proposed?”

  “The Marquis of Andover, Lord Andover.” The hollowness of her feelings lingered in his name.

  Bea patted Felicity’s knees. “But that is good news, isn’t it? Aren’t you thrilled? You’ve bested Lady Jane!” Bea crowed. “That alone makes it worth it. Doesn’t it?” On a swallowed whimper, Felicity shook her head. “It isn’t.” Beatrice scooted around, pushed Felicity over and wrapped her arms around her. “What is it? Did your father turn him down? Did someone do something to turn him away? What? What could be so difficult?”

  “He…” Felicity pulled away, straightened. She had to fight this emotion and sympathy didn’t help. “He had Aunt Vi in his room last night.”

  “What!” Bea gasped. “The cad, the downright, horrible, terrible cad!”

  “I think Mother is right.” Felicity offered. “I think Aunt Vi set it all up, only I don’t know how she would know that I would go to his room…” She looked at Bea, realizing her admission, only to see her cousin’s pure delight.

  “You saucy girl, you!”

  “No! It wasn’t like that. I…”

  “It doesn’t matter what it was like, you broke the rules! You!” Bea laughed. “This is just too delightful! And you were betrothed, so it wasn’t such a bad thing. You must tell me all!”

  “Bea, my Aunt Vi was there in dishabille! And she confessed that they had been lovers.”

  “Oh.” That dampened Bea’s reaction. “That’s not a comfortable thing at all.”

  “And the servants knew that I went to his room.”

  “So you have to get married.”

  “I refuse, Bea. I absolutely refuse to marry him!”

  Bea continued to study her. “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “I don’t care if it is wise or not. I will not marry him.” If only she felt as smug as she sounded. Although she had an inheritance coming, it would be ages before she had access to it. And, even then, she had no idea what it cost to keep a household, even a small one.

  “Would you at least tell me about it?” Bea pushed, for they had shared dreams of courtship and proposals, had shared sensational novels absolutely forbidden by their mothers. “This is our first proposal. Was it anything like we imagined? Did he get down on one knee and profess his undying love for you?”

  “It wasn’t exactly like that.” Felicity scooted past Bea and off the window seat, crossing to the desk, startled by the rose and note she had tossed in the lacquered Chinese waste bin there. She reached down, lifted the flower, turned it in her hand. The thorns had been snipped. If only he could snip the barbs of life.

  “Well, did he kiss you? He must have kissed you.”

  Tears threatened. “No.” Felicity sniffed. “At least, he did not kiss my lips.”

  “But he kissed you?” Bea tilted her head.

  “My fingers, my wrist. I should have known then. Actually, I had wondered about that, one of the reasons I went to his rooms. A man must want to kiss a woman for the marriage to be a good one, don’t you think?”

  “Is it a business arrangement, then?” Bea fiddled with the hem of her skirt, her disappointment clear. “I didn’t think your parents would pressure you that way.”

  “They didn’t. It was a proper proposal only, well…” Felicity was at a loss how to explain. “Do you remember the mesmerist, at the fair a few summers ago?”

  “Of course. How could I forget? Your abigail lay like a board with nothing holding her up but the back of a chair at her ankles and neck. It was wonderful. But what has that got to do with anything?”

  “Have you ever heard Andover’s voice?” Bea shook her head. “When he speaks, you can feel it, like a warm bath in a chilly room, it washes over you.”

  “Deeper and richer than hot chocolate?”

  “Exactly! I think he mesmerized me. All I could do was think about how beautiful his voice was, and how I wanted to wrap myself up in it. I missed half of what he was saying and I’m afraid I don’t know if he said he loved me. And now I’m certain that he does not.”

  Bea was about to say something when Jesse opened the door and directed a servant to place a tea tray laden with goodies on a side table before shooing the girl out. Jesse stayed, fussing about, shifting perfectly placed plates and napkins.

  “I won’t break.” Felicity finally told her. “But as long as you are here, you might as well tell us what everyone is saying below stairs.”

  “Oh, miss.” Jesse’s eyes filled with tears. “There’s you so in love, and him being such a scoundrel!”

  “I’m not in love.” Humiliation burned. She was not in love, or soon wouldn’t be. It was merely a matter of time.

&nbs
p; “Of course, miss.” Jesse whispered, obviously unconvinced. “His lordship asked to be told when you woke.”

  “Lord Westhaven or my brother?” Bea asked.

  “No, not the earl or your brother. The marquis.”

  The young ladies shared a look. “I do not wish him to know that I’m awake. Not at present.”

  Jesse poured milk into two cups.

  “Jesse?” Felicity’s abigail didn’t look up. “Does the marquis already know I am awake?”

  The tea was abandoned. “Yes, miss. Humphrey saw that you rang.”

  Felicity thought for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. I plan to go to the stillroom. If he asks, tell him we can meet after I have finished my task there.” She took over pouring the tea. “That’s enough, Jesse. I will call you when I need you. Bea, do you want to freshen up after your journey, or would you like to go to the stillroom with me?”

  “Cis, once in the stillroom you wouldn’t even know I was there,” Bea smiled. “And don’t look like that, I am not offended. That is where you find your peace. You are free to go find it and I will go up to see my other cousins in the nursery. First, let’s have some tea and biscuits. You will feel better once you’ve had your tea.”

  Felicity looked to the empty cup in her hand, neither putting it down nor pouring tea into it. “He doesn’t believe in medicine. He doesn’t believe in foraging.”

  “No!” Beatrice’s mouth formed a perfect O, a lemon biscuit halfway to her lips.

  Felicity shook her head, came out of her daze. “He has so many concerns, I did not want to burden him with the truth.” She poured the tea.

  “That is awful, Felicity. How could your father condone such a match?”

  Felicity handed the drink to Bea, looked toward the window, the dismal day outside. “Thomas is dead set against the marriage. I think that’s why. I think he knew. Father had no reason to consider such a thing.”

  “It would be awful if you married him,” Bea said, crossing to the bed and curling up, her drink in hand, a plate of treats before her.

  Felicity sat in a chair by the fireplace, pulled her legs under her. “I don’t know if I can afford not to marry him.”

  “Can’t afford not to?” Bea bounded off the bed to sit on the floor next to her cousin’s chair. “You can’t tell me you need his money!”

  “No,” Felicity shook her head. “It’s not that I want his money, but what do I do if I don’t marry?”

  Bea looked up stunned. “Why, you marry someone else.”

  “But who? Who wants a girl who has been such a hoyden? Who wants a girl whose former betrothed preferred an old woman to her? Who wants…”

  “Stop!” Bea held up a hand. “That’s enough. The scandal is not your fault. Besides, you have beauty and brains and you are no hoyden! A bluestocking, perhaps, but not a hoyden. And you have a comfortable dowry. You must have because Uncle William is no pinchpenny and he adores you. I don’t see why you shouldn’t marry.”

  “Bea, you are forgetting.” Felicity smoothed a lock of hair from her forehead. “I went to his rooms in the middle of the night. I am tainted, stained. Mother was quite right when she said I should have thought about the ramifications. So, do I agree to a marriage of convenience? Or do I never marry?”

  “Oh, Cis, if you don’t marry, you can’t have children!”

  “No.” Felicity felt the tears pool. “Almost as bad, I would be a burden on my brothers!”

  “No!” Bea yelped. “That would be horrid! Don’t you have any money of your own?”

  “Grandmother remembered me in her will, but it’s an age before I have access to it, not for years, when I’m twenty-five, and even with that, what does it cost to run a household? I’ve been thinking about that, and doubt she would have left me enough, even with modest expectations. What a bumble broth.”

  “What about your Aunt Vivien? It seems to me that she owes you.”

  “She hasn’t two halfpence to rub together. Mother has been helping her for years, and just said she would cut her off.”

  Bea got up to pace, waving a piece of cake in the air as she spoke. “We shall have to think about this. There must be a way to clear your name.”

  “I can’t imagine anything that would do that.”

  “Or a way to help you finance your own life.”

  “I could work.”

  Bea gasped, held her hand to her chest. “Work? Not even our fathers and brothers do that!”

  “Well, I could.” Felicity nodded. “Maybe.” Her enthusiasm drained. “If I could find anyone who would hire a woman of loose morals.”

  “Stop!” Bea ordered once again. “You do not lack morals! No one can say that you do.”

  “They will, which means I cannot teach young ladies, or work as a governess. Not unless I go to some faraway place where no one will have heard of me. I can’t even work as a seamstress. My sewing and embroidery are merely adequate. I do a rather fine job of netting, but who is going to hire a woman who merely nets?”

  “You could open one of those cute little shops that sells medicines!”

  “Medicines? I would have to be a member of the Society of Apothecaries and they will not have me. I already tried, when I was younger and didn’t know better. They do not accept females.”

  “But you always know exactly what people need. It’s a true gift, Felicity. You help people.”

  “No, it is not possible. If there were any chance, my father would have to put considerable pressure on others and I do not believe I can count on him for that.”

  “Even now?”

  “No, Bea, especially not now. It may have been possible before this, I may have been able to convince him to sponsor me, but not after this. And who would go to a woman apothecary who has no man backing her?”

  “Well,” Bea sat down again and looked at her cake, what was left of it. Most had fallen as crumbs with her gesturing. “Other women, children.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It is worth investigating.”

  “It would be difficult.” She fought the flutter of possibility.

  “Women control where their children go, and,” Bea jumped up, paced, as her enthusiasm grew, “from my experience women are more comfortable speaking with another woman about their ills.”

  “That is true, Bea, but there is still the Society to confront.”

  “You don’t need them, you already know everything.”

  “I need them for respectability.”

  Bea plunked down again. “Will you at least try? When we are in London?”

  It was too unlikely, but so was Andover’s proposal. “I will see what happens when we are in London.”

  ****

  “Excuse me,” Andover went below stairs, ventured into the realm of servants. None bothered to respond. “I am looking for Lady Felicity. I have been directed to the stillroom.”

  The cook, or so Andover surmised by the roundness of her girth and the large white—or once white—apron, stood in the doorway of what could only be the kitchens.

  “Do you know where the stillroom is?”

  She huffed and turned back to her work, but not before nodding toward the end of the hall.

  Obviously, Felicity was a favored child of the household, and he was the beast responsible for cutting her to the quick. It was not his intention. He strode down the hall past what was indeed the kitchen and a scullery, to a closed door at the end of the hall. He opened it to find a space more akin to some natural scientist’s abode than a great house’s stillroom.

  Certainly, there were herbs drying from overhead rafters, and rows upon rows of jams and cordials and any manner of jarred foods and wines. There were scales for measuring, and jugs with plugs, and any number of clear flasks and flagons, as well as funny little stoves with lamps beneath them. He frowned over the small jars, of little use for anything but medicines.

  On the table lay a great volume, opened to a page with pictures. Andover looked down to see exquisite drawings
of a plant. Not just the whole plant, though there was that, but other drawings, in different stages of growth, dissected with detailed illustrations of particular parts of the plant.

  He pulled a stool out from beneath the table and sat, fascinated by the study of biology and the most delicate of drawings. Beautiful, the color clear, precise. He was so drawn to the study that he ignored the writing, at first. Curiosity pulled him to it, notes written in boxes and more illustrations of the plant drawn as a frame.

  There was the Latin name and the common name. Comfrey. It rang a bell. He read more on how to identify it, how to forage for it, when to pick and precisely how to pick it.

  He stood up, knocking the stool over.

  He stepped back.

  Looked around, half expecting to see Macbeth’s three witches.

  Very carefully he lifted the stool, put it back in place and left. He would find Felicity later.

  ****

  “Lord Andover, I presume.”

  He’d seen the woman approach, in the reflection of the window. Family, he presumed, as most of the other guests had left with the uproar of the morning. London would be all-aflutter over events.

  He’d taken his position, looking out the window, for solitude. When the men finished their port and cigars and joined the ladies, he found Felicity sitting in the back of the room, as she often did, but this time with Lady Bea. She met his eyes, for a moment, her expression wary and too full of pain.

  He wanted to soothe her, to speak with her, work through this, but she looked away. The two ladies rose then and, before he could reach her, she was off, claiming a headache, Lady Bea in her wake.

  He managed to meet them, before they passed through the door. “Please, Lady Felicity,” he said for her alone. “Let us speak.”

  Soft and low and innocently seductive, she whispered. “Perhaps tomorrow, my Lord.”

  Bea bustled her away, but not before slaying him with a look.

  If only Upton hadn’t chosen this night to go visit friends on a nearby estate. Andover could use his support, not knowing who was friend and who was foe. Upton would have diverted Lady Bea and, possibly helped enliven a party subdued by scandal and premature departures.