An Independent Miss

by Becca St. John

  “I see.”

  “Yes, I am sure you do. And from my view, you have not shown much promise.”

  “My aim, Lady Westhaven, equals yours. Unfortunately and understandably, your daughter is set on refusing me.”

  “She has no choice in the matter.”

  “That will work to my benefit, if I am to keep my pledge.”

  “Then you promise. No matter what you learn of each other, you will be good to her, support her in all that she is and wants to be?”

  “Is there something I need to know?”

  “No.” Her chin lifted, the same as Felicity’s when she took a stand. “No, I do not think there is. You are acquainted with her nature, her caring for others.”

  “Precisely why I proposed.”

  “That is all you need to know.” She told him, and looked to the fan she held.

  “Then it is an easy promise to make, as that was my intention all along.”

  “Good.” She tapped his arm, sealing the bargain. “I will see that you have the silhouette before the end of the night.”

  He placed it in the left inside pocket of his jacket, a memory of her bright calming light near at hand, as he must leave in the morning for the dark melancholy of his home, Montfort Abbey.

  ****

  Bea slept in Felicity’s room. Perhaps Felicity’s parents feared she would go visiting again, or perhaps they understood, with so much on her mind, she needed someone to talk to.

  “What happened, Cis, when you spoke with Andover in the library? Something went terribly wrong.”

  “Not really.” Felicity focused on getting the tangles out of her hair. She didn’t dare tell Bea what happened. Too open to keep anything inside, Bea wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself. She would tell her mother, who would tell Felicity’s mother, or worse, she would tell Lord Upton.

  It was obvious now, her mother had been right. There was definitely something going on between Bea and Lord Upton.

  “Cis, I know you.”

  “Yes, and you know how I like to mull over something, again and again, before I share.”

  Bea sat cross-legged on the bed, her nightgown puffed around her so she looked like a white teardrop. In a posture normally foreign to her, Bea’s head bent, as she worried a piece of the counterpane.

  “Something is troubling you,” Felicity realized out loud.

  Bea shook her head. “Nothing next to what you are dealing with.”

  “I would be glad of a diversion.”

  “It isn’t really a diversion.” Bea looked up with mournful eyes.

  “If it isn’t about me, then it is a welcome change.”

  “But it is, you see. It does involve you.”

  Carefully, Felicity laid her brush down and crossed to the bed so they could braid each other’s hair. Bea started on Felicity’s.

  “You are going to tell me, you know. Might as well get it out quickly.”

  That drew a laugh and a swat at her arm. “You minx. That isn’t at all fair, but,” she sighed, “I suppose you are right. It’s just that I rather like Lord Upton.”

  “I noticed. He seems to like you.”

  “He lives next door to Lord Andover…”

  “Which would be perfect when I marry Andover.”

  “Yes.” Bea leaned around Felicity. “It would. We could be close and our children could grow up together and…”

  “And you’ve known Lord Upton for all of how many days?”

  Bea fell back on the bed. “We danced in London and he did call on me there.”

  “Really?” How had Felicity missed this? As she thought about it, even more gatherings came to mind. “Of course. How thoughtless of me, you never spoke of him so I missed a tendre developing.”

  “It seemed too good to be true.”

  “And there was no one on the horizon for me. You spared my feelings.”

  “You had callers.”

  Felicity rolled her eyes. “Yes, very intelligent, very serious young men who needed my dowry to further their scientific passions.”

  “No,” Bea snapped. “That was not why they courted you. It may have drawn their notice, but they were smitten with you. It was quite clear.”

  “While you noticed that, I failed to notice what was happening with you. It shames me.”

  Bea didn’t say anything, making Felicity more miserable. Her cousin, her best friend, falling in love and she had been too busy with her own affairs to notice.

  “I’m a horrible friend!” She fell back on the bed, next to Bea. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course, and you are not horrible, just preoccupied with your studies. Far more important than something that might turn to nothing. He hasn’t singled me out entirely.”

  “But Bea, you always say something.”

  Bea looked over at Felicity. “Even for me, some things are too fragile to talk about.”

  Felicity put her head on Bea’s shoulder. “Oh Bea, I will never ever wait for you to speak. I will be more observant. Do you know, my mother knew before me? How selfish is that?”

  “Not as selfish as my wanting you to marry Andover. Lord Upton says he really is a good man, that he would make you a splendid husband.”

  “He would say that, wouldn’t he?”

  Neither girl said anything. Felicity lay back. They just stared at the underside of the bed canopy.

  In a whisper, Felicity admitted. “He kissed me this afternoon.”

  Bea rose up on her elbow and looked at her cousin. “Was it horrible? Is that why you pulled into yourself so deeply?”

  Felicity shook her head. “I’m afraid, Bea, it was too wonderful. I’m afraid that, should we marry, he could hurt me terribly without doing anything the world does not expect him to do.

  “It is bad enough now and we are not yet married. Can you imagine how much worse it could be?”

  Bea held silent, back to fidgeting with the poor tortured counterpane. “You don’t think,” she finally tried, “that he might fall as much in love with you?”

  “No!” Felicity shook her head. “How could he, when no one would expect him to?”

  “Do you think it is the same for Lord Upton? Do you think he would be the same kind of husband? Are you saying that a young lady should only marry where her affections can’t be held?”

  “I don’t know.” Felicity closed her eyes. “I just don’t know anymore.”

  CHAPTER 11 ~ REVELATIONS

  Just shy of dawn, two of the Westhaven party roused themselves from bed, though neither knew the other was up and about.

  A recipe woke Felicity, an idea for a cleansing tea that would calm. It was different than what she’d prescribed for Adele. Eyes closed, so she’d not lose the sleep-induced idea, she ran through the ingredients. Yes! It was an ingenious combination that must be written down before forgotten.

  Felicity shot up, scrambled to light the lamp only to remember, just as she was about to spark the light, Bea, still asleep beneath the counterpane, on the other side of the bed.

  Felicity lay back down, recited the ingredients before they floated away with the rest of the dream, puzzled that it came to her. There was no one she knew of who required cleansing and calming all in one. Not that it mattered. This would not be the first time a recipe came before the patient.

  Certain she had the ingredients secure, she slipped from the bed, tiptoed to the wardrobe and gathered her working clothes. She wanted some burdock, but this year, with the cold damp, everything was out of whack. She would go into the woods, to a meadow where she knew it to grow, and see just how it faired.

  “Look who’s up and about before it’s even light,” Cook teased, as Felicity passed through the kitchen, drawn by the scent of fresh baked bread. She snagged a sweet cinnamon roll.

  Cook laughed, swatted at her hand. “Fresh tea brewing, I’ll get you a cup.”

  “No, thank you.” Felicity headed for the door into the kitchen gardens. “I need to get outside, find some plants.”

>   “You need more than that roll, if I know you. You’ll forget all about time and starve yourself before you return.”

  “I promise to get back before the ladies are up and about. Mother would have my neck if I weren’t here to help.”

  “That she would.” Cook pressed a steaming mug into Felicity’s hand anyway. “Take that with you. You can bring it back in that bag of yours.” She gestured to the old canvas hold-all slung over Felicity’s shoulder.

  “You spoil me!” Felicity took a sip, holding the warm mug with both hands as Cook opened the door for her.

  She headed for the kennels, along the path to the stable yard, her mind on what she wanted to gather and what was in her stillroom. Years ago, Felicity’s parents had given up trying to stop her from traveling about the family woods by herself, as long as she promised to take a few of the dogs with her.

  One step past the garden trellis, where the peas would grow come summer, Andover’s coach stood in the stable yard, horses harnessed, a coachman and a yard boy in conversation beside it, oblivious to her approach.

  She stepped back, behind the trellis. A foolish place to hide when there were no plants to fill in the gaps. If anyone were to look, they would spot her. She counted on the fact that no one would think to gaze that way.

  She stood still, hidden in plain sight, and watched for him. He said he would leave early, but she hadn’t expected it to be this early.

  As the grey dawn lightened the yard, Andover strode from the house. “Beacher,” he called out, as he headed toward the coach. “Is it loaded? Did Jones send everything down?”

  Magnificent. Despite everything, despite knowing he did not love her, probably never even considered the idea, the thrill of him raced through her. Harsh frown in place, he moved with purpose in the half-light. She clung to the flimsy trellis, fought a sigh of appreciation. She would get over him, adjust to a marriage of convenience, a forced marriage. All she needed was to see more of the world, rather than spend so much time with plants. Buried in her work, she failed to develop immunity to the males of this world.

  “Yes, m’lord.” Beacher pulled at his forelock.

  “Good. We’ve no time to spare.”

  Anxious to get to his mother who, if Aunt Vi had the right of it, barely tolerated his marrying a Redmond. If the Dowager Marchioness was on the fence about Felicity, ‘The Scandal’ would topple her straight into condemnation.

  Would marriage to Andover mean life under the eye of a scornful mother-in-law?

  It didn’t matter how often she said she wouldn’t marry him, it didn’t matter if his mother approved. Marry they would, or risk her family’s reputation, risk her living off her brothers, risk her whole way of life.

  Her own fault.

  She sighed as he mounted his horse. Tall, long-legged, he would suffer in a carriage for hours at a time. She watched the way he settled in his seat, spoke a few words to the coachman. Indistinguishable words that reached Felicity as a deep thrum that roused her heart.

  She had been wrong when she claimed there would be no love in her marriage. There would be love, it just wouldn’t be a husband’s love.

  She sighed again, besotted and sorrowful, grateful she hadn’t been spotted. In a matter of moments he would be gone. How long she did not know, watched all the more closely to add another memory to cling to until it was too painful to hold close.

  Time, they say, heals all wounds.

  “Lady Felicity!” Cook’s shrill call lanced the air. Felicity spun around, crouched down and shook her head, on the small chance the jerk of Andover’s focus did not turn to the trellis where she was not-so-very-well hidden.

  “Shhhhh,” she hissed, but Cook’s hearing wasn’t good when she listened, and she wasn’t listening, too intent on fussing and explaining what she had packed in the small package.

  “Here’s some hard rolls, and a bit of ham, as well as a nice chunk of cheddar. Boiled eggs…” Cook stopped walking as she looked up, stricken. “M’lord!” She curtsied. “I was just telling Lady Felicity, well, I was, I mean, I fixed her up a packet just like the one is in your carriage for you only less, ’cuz she won’t eat so much.”

  “Thank you, Cook. I shall enjoy mine.” Andover reached for the packet.

  “This one’s for Lady Felicity.” Cook pulled it out of his reach.

  “And I shall carry it to her, if that meets with your approval.”

  “Thank you, Cook.” Beyond mortification, Felicity stood. “You spoil me.”

  Cook smiled, curtsied again and toddled back to the kitchens as quickly as her girth could carry her.

  “Did you come to see me off?” Andover asked, harshness replaced by that boyish smile of his, the one that hooked her heart, quick as a trout to a mayfly.

  Felicity looked down at her old, outgrown cloak that hid an equally worn and frayed dress.

  “Ah.” He noticed the worn garment. “I suppose not, then.” The weight of his disappointment chastised her.

  She was not the only one condemned by The Scandal. They had shared that cloud of censure. He more so, since she had the protection of her own home, her own people. He didn’t even have her support, which was most unkind as she had gone to his rooms uninvited.

  Of course, he did have another woman in his rooms. An improperly dressed other woman.

  She would do well to remember that.

  “Had you told me your plans, I would have dressed to see you off.”

  “Instead you dressed to go trekking, perhaps?” He looked toward the carriage, and the restless horses, chafing at the bit himself.

  “In a manner.” She took his arm, nudged him toward the conveyance. “How fortunate that I am able to offer my good-byes.”

  He stopped. “I wish it wasn’t necessary.”

  It was necessary. His mother was still broken by grief. What was intended as a short respite for him had been extended because of her. “Your mother needs you.” She just hoped his mother’s grief wouldn’t exaggerate The Scandal. Andover had proposed, after all. He was not being tricked into marriage.

  He stopped them again, turned to her. “Lady Felicity, I do have a question for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “You ran from the kiss.”

  Having already concluded it wasn’t time for secrets, she certainly didn’t want to dwell on this one. “I ran to the nursery.” She deflected. “The children were playing.” Surprised she could converse so freely with him.

  “No. You ran from the kiss.”

  She wished he wouldn’t watch her so closely, with that harsh dark intent. She couldn’t help but blush.

  “You are not a gentleman, to dwell on such topics.”

  “Ah, so you did run, but why? Did I frighten you? Were you repulsed?”

  Repulsed? “No.” Good God, no.

  “Ah.” He smiled, faced her, tilted her chin, looking down at her lips. His gaze a warm shiver running through her.

  She licked her lips, whispered. “It will be dark before you arrive if you delay.”

  “We will marry, Felicity. Your father is posting the announcement tomorrow morning.”

  “I thought we were going to wait for that. I thought…”

  He lowered his head. “There is no point anymore.”

  “But I am not reconciled to…”

  His breath whispered across her cheek. “There is no choice, Lady Felicity. You know that.”

  Her breath hitched. “What will your mother have to say to all this…this…”

  He let her go, stepped back, sharp blue eyes catching hers.

  “What will my mother say about The Scandal?” He lifted the package of food Cook had placed in his hands, as though he’d forgotten he held it. “My mother has changed.” He scowled, intent on the packet. “The mother she was, used to be, would be up in arms.”

  Hand to shoulder, he turned her to face away from him, and opened the satchel hanging down her back.

  Felicity looked over her shoulder, as he placed the food pa
cket in the bag. He didn’t look at her. “That mother,” he continued, “would be busy protecting you, us, much as your mother has been.” He nudged her back around, face to face. Something in the way he looked to the side, the furrow of his brow, let her know this was important. Very important. “The mother she is becoming, however, will take the news with a sigh and pretend she did not hear.”

  He met her gaze for a moment, before it was pulled to some distant place. A difficult topic.

  “She may not be as bad as you suspect. She rallied for my aunt.”

  “Your aunt?” He skewered her with one glance. She nodded, determined not to step back, away from a simmering anger.

  “Lady Stanhope? She went to my mother?” Andover asked.

  “Yes…” Not a safe topic. “…which is why Aunt Vi came here. She said your mother would not approve of me.”

  Not a safe topic at all.

  Andover broke free, turned, stepped away, turned back, fists clenched, nostrils flared, skin white over that poor crooked nose where it wasn’t purple and green with bruising, his eyes bright with fury.

  Felicity backed up but he stopped her, a hand on her arm. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

  But he did frighten her. His anger was so different from that of her own family. Her mother, her brother would shout and rail, her father would offer a look. Tempered steel, barely restrained, was new to her.

  She tried to explain. “On her way home from a house party, Aunt Vivian called in, to see if a room could be spared for the night.”

  “I’ll throttle her.”

  “No, it is not her fault. Your mother chose to see her, spoke of the families being joined. That is why Aunt Vi came here. I believe that is why she did what she did. To protect me. She did not believe your mother would ever fully approve of the match.”

  “It was a fool’s errand. Of course my mother approves of you. She needs you.” Except he threw that out so quickly, so dismissively, Felicity wondered if it were, indeed, true.

  And then she realized what he’d just said.

  “Your mother needs me?” she asked. “You want me for your mother?”