by Darcy Burke
They walked to an area on the other side of the ballroom that had been arranged with seating that provided an excellent view of the dance floor.
Eyeing a chair, Felicity inclined her head. “Come, Mama. You must sit. Otherwise, I will rethink my decision to allow you to come. You are still recovering.”
“Oh, pooh. I’m fine, dear. But yes, a chair would not come amiss.”
Turning her head slightly, Felicity saw a pair of familiar faces—Calder’s sisters. Her heart paused as she glanced around in search of him. Not seeing him, she exhaled with relief as his sisters, along with a gentleman, came toward her. Felicity dipped into a curtsey. “Good evening Lady Darlington and Lady…Buckleigh, is it?”
“Yes,” Bianca, Calder’s youngest sister who had very recently wed the Earl of Buckleigh, answered. “Allow me to present my husband, the Earl of Buckleigh. Ash, this is Mrs. Felicity Garland.” Her blue eyes glowed with warmth.
Ash inclined his head. “Of course I remember you, Mrs. Garland.”
Surprise leapt through Felicity as she rose from her curtsey. “Ash, as in little Ashton Rutledge? I would not have recognized you.”
“None of us did,” Bianca said with a laugh, a dark curl grazing her temple.
“How marvelous to see you all.” Felicity allowed her gaze to briefly scan the ballroom once more. “Where is your brother? I’ve yet to encounter him since I returned to Hartwell.” She wasn’t asking because she wanted to see him, but because if he were here, she wanted to know. To be on guard.
Poppy, the older of the two and the Marchioness of Darlington, and Bianca exchanged a wary look. “I doubt he’ll be here this evening,” Poppy answered. “He’s not very social these days. The dukedom keeps him quite busy.”
Felicity was shocked to feel a spark of disappointment. “That’s too bad. I’d looked forward to seeing him. I suppose I’ll just have to pay a call.” The words came out because Felicity always endeavored to be polite. She had no intention of calling on him.
It appeared his sisters didn’t think visiting was a good idea. Bianca snapped a look toward Poppy and opened her mouth to speak. However, Poppy cut her off, saying to Felicity, “Perhaps send him a note asking when he receives visitors.” Her lips curved into a serene smile, likely meant to smooth any upset Felicity might have detected. Clearly, she wasn’t imagining their discomfort.
The sound of the Earl of Buckleigh inhaling sharply drew Felicity’s attention. But the earl was fixated on the entrance. “He’s here.” His tone was flat and yet the two simple words sliced through Felicity with the quick, terrifying efficiency of a long sword from days of old.
Felicity felt her mother pat her arm, but her gaze was trained on Calder. Tall, with broad shoulders that had once made her swoon, he filled the doorway. His crystalline eyes swept over the assembly, his expression impassive.
Had the ballroom gone quiet? Not entirely, for there was a faint buzzing in Felicity’s ears as she beheld her former love for the first time in over a decade.
Then she felt the full force of his attention as his gaze settled wholly and purposely on her. Heat danced along her skin. Her pulse sped.
He started toward them, and she felt utterly torn. Part of her wanted to flee. Another part of her wanted to rush to meet him. The largest part of her wanted to stand firmly and call him out for his reprehensible behavior ten years ago.
She opted for the latter. Rather, part of the latter. Or maybe it was really that she couldn’t seem to move beneath the weight of his stare. Blast, she hoped it wasn’t that, and yet feared that was precisely the case.
He came to a stop next to Poppy. “Good evening.” His voice, so deep and silky, like rich, plush velvet, glided over her, eliciting an almost physical response. She felt as though she might sway toward him, her body reacting to his familiarity. But no, he wasn’t familiar. This man was a stranger.
She noted the changes in his appearance. His shoulders seemed even broader, if that were possible. His face was more stark as evidenced by the lines around his mouth and the stern set of his jaw. He looked like a man who rarely smiled. The black of his evening clothes gleamed with importance and wealth beneath the flickering chandeliers. He looked every bit a duke and nothing like the young man who’d chased her across a meadow, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he laughed when he caught her.
Poppy turned toward him. “Good evening.”
Felicity dropped into another, deeper, curtsey and then assisted her mother in doing the same. “Your Grace, I was just telling your sisters how I looked forward to seeing you.” Again, politeness seemed to have taken over her tongue.
“Did you? How surprising after all this time.” Calder sounded every bit as cold as she’d imagined him to be given the way he’d rejected her, not at all the young man she’d actually known.
“Yes, it’s been many years. I do hope we’ll find time to visit.” Felicity allowed a bit of sauce into her tone. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my mother to a chair.”
Calder looked at her mother, and for a brief moment, Felicity thought he meant to say something to her—something obnoxious. Before she could think of how to respond if he did, Buckleigh moved toward them, presenting his arm to Felicity’s mother. “Allow me to help.”
“Thank you, Lord Buckleigh,” Mama said, taking his arm.
“I’ll be right there, Mama.” Felicity watched as they walked away, then looked back to Calder.
“Why are you here?” he asked her sharply, his voice low, but she feared at least Poppy and Bianca could hear.
How dare he question her like that in public? Felicity stiffened. “Everyone comes to the assembly.”
“Not here at the assembly, here in Hartwell.” The outer edge of his lip curled slightly.
“My mother returned to Hartwell last year, and several weeks ago, she became ill. I came to take care of her.” Why did she feel so defensive? She didn’t have to explain herself to him. On the contrary, if anyone was owed an explanation, it was her.
“So your visit is temporary.” There was a hopeful edge to his tone.
It seemed he would like her to say yes. So she said, “I haven’t yet decided.” She sent a smile toward his sisters, making it clear the expression was for them and not him. “I’m especially glad to be here for the holidays. No one celebrates better than the people of Hartwell.” Schooling her features into a mask of concern, she shifted her gaze back to Calder. “I am looking forward to St. Stephen’s Day, but I was sad to hear Hartwood would not be hosting the event. I’d feared you were ill.” She couldn’t think of why else he wouldn’t be hosting it. The dukes of Hartwell had done so for generations.
“I am not, as you can see.”
Since he’d decided to speak plainly, so would she. “You don’t appear to be, and yet you aren’t quite the man I remember.” Felicity shook her head. She supposed she’d hoped there was a good reason for his rejection ten years ago. A part of her hoped he’d gone on to be happy. She had—as well as she could. She’d loved her husband, but it hadn’t ever been the same as what she’d felt for Calder. In fact, she often wondered if their time together had been a dream, that her recollections were somehow a delusion. “But then it’s been over a decade.”
“Yes, people change over time. And some people change overnight.” Calder’s eyes burned with a cavalier intensity. “I’m not sure the woman I remember ever existed.”
Felicity stared at him, her insides stalling as if she were turning to stone. What was he going on about? That was what she would have said about him.
Poppy reached for her brother’s arm. “Calder, perhaps we should—”
He snapped his gaze toward her. “Don’t touch me. I will say what I like.”
“Not to my wife, you won’t.” Poppy’s husband, the Marquess of Darlington—at least that was who Felicity believed him to be given that he’d referred to Poppy as his wife—stepped between brother and sister.
Poppy seemed surprised to see the marquess but quic
kly recovered. She glanced about, whispering, “Calder, you’re causing a scene.”
Calder’s gaze darkened, and the marquess took an infinitesimal step toward him. “Careful, Chill, don’t let this scene escalate into something else.”
What would happen? More importantly, what had become of Calder? For the first time, Felicity felt something she never imagined feeling toward him—concern and maybe a flash of pity.
Calder glared at all of them before settling a particularly horrid stare on Felicity. “I’ve come to see what I needed to. And now I am free.”
He turned abruptly and stalked from the assembly. Felicity snapped her jaw closed before she could gape after him, her mind and body coursing with agitation. What had just occurred?
Darlington turned to Poppy. “I didn’t mean to drive him away.”
“It was for the best,” she murmured.
He offered her his arm. “Shall we take a turn?”
Felicity barely acknowledged that they’d left as she worked to understand why Calder had behaved in such a fashion. He’d said the woman he knew had never existed. She tried to recall the letter he’d written her, words she’d once committed to memory but had since wiped from her mind.
He’d said he wouldn’t be courting her or proposing marriage as they’d discussed. He’d said his duty required him to find a more suitable wife. As the daughter of a farmer, she’d feared they had no future, but he’d assured her endlessly that he intended to make her his wife.
Until he’d written the letter and failed to come home for Christmas.
That was when she’d realized it had all been a lie.
Chapter 2
“I’m sorry about that,” Bianca said quietly.
Felicity tried to make sense of Calder’s behavior just as she tried to reconcile the blissful time they’d spent together followed by his complete dismissal. It had been more than a lie. It had been a betrayal. And for what? A handful of stolen kisses?
Buckleigh returned from escorting Felicity’s mother to the seating area. “Your mother is situated with a few friends.” He looked to his wife. “Everything all right?”
“I don’t know.” She addressed Felicity. “Are you all right?”
Felicity mentally shook herself. People were conversing once more, but she was still aware of inquisitive looks drifting in her direction. She blinked and looked at Bianca. “Yes, thank you for your concern. Your brother disturbed me a bit, but I’m fine.” She smiled to mask her remaining unease.
Bianca’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a cad. He didn’t even come to my wedding last week.”
Felicity was shocked to hear it—in their youth, he’d always spoken highly of his sisters. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.” Bianca exchanged an expression of disappointment and frustration with her husband, though the earl also looked…angry. Felicity could understand that. She was angry too. But she was also baffled. It would be easy to simply walk away and return to York. Why then did she want to find out why Calder held her in such disregard?
Because then she could stop wondering what had happened, what she’d done to drive him away from her. Perhaps her comment that she would pay him a call wasn’t merely courtesy. Beyond his behavior toward her—now and in the past—she was curious as to why he wasn’t continuing Hartwood’s holiday tradition. “Why won’t he host the St. Stephen’s Day party?”
Bianca scoffed. “He doesn’t really have a reason except to imply he can’t afford it.”
Felicity heard the skepticism in Bianca’s voice. “You don’t believe that’s true?”
Bianca shook her head. “I don’t, especially since he kept the money my father left for my dowry.”
Felicity gasped, then abruptly lowered her voice lest she draw further attention to them. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he doesn’t like me,” Buckleigh said. “He refused to give his permission for us to wed.”
“Not that I need it.” Bianca glowered toward the door as if Calder were still there.
Buckleigh gave her a sympathetic smile. “You did if you wanted your settlement.”
“It would have been nice to have so that we could help Hartwell House, not to mention the rebuilding of Shield’s End.” Bianca referred to the Institution for Impoverished Women and Buckleigh’s home. Rather, his home before he’d become the earl of Buckleigh. His seat, Buck Manor, was several miles from Hartwell.
Felicity turned her attention to the earl. “Oh my goodness, I meant to tell you straightaway how sorry I was to hear of the fire. I’m afraid Cal—His Grace—distracted me.” She prayed they didn’t notice that she’d almost called him by his given name. However, given the flash of surprised interest in Bianca’s blue eyes, Felicity was fairly certain at least she had.
“Thank you,” Buckleigh responded. “The bright spot in all of it is that we will rebuild Shield’s End as the new Institution for Impoverished Women.”
“Will you?” Felicity asked. “How marvelous. What will happen to Hartwell House?” The Armstrongs had started the institution for women, particularly those with children, several years ago. Mr. Armstrong had passed away, but his wife continued their work, and everyone in Hartwell supported the endeavor as a benevolent alternative to a workhouse, which would separate the women from their children.
Bianca frowned. “It’s in grave disrepair, unfortunately. That is why—well, one of the reasons why—I’m so frustrated with Calder. He refuses to continue the support our father provided to Hartwell House, much to their detriment.”
Calder was much worse than Felicity could ever have imagined. It wasn’t just that he’d turned cold to her ten years ago, it sounded as if he had no sympathy or concern for others at all. Had she completely misinterpreted the young man she’d fallen in love with, or had he changed that much?
“So he won’t support Hartwell House, and he won’t host the St. Stephen’s Day party.” And he’d failed to support his sister or allow her to take control of the settlement her father left for her. Felicity was torn between anger and despair. What had happened to make him so awful?
“That’s about right,” Bianca said with an exasperated sigh. “I won’t get into how awful he is to spend time with. I think you probably gathered that on your own.” Bianca winced as she looked at Felicity. “My apologies. I shouldn’t speak so freely, but I know you and Calder were once… Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
Felicity couldn’t deny that she’d cared about him. Even after his rejection, she’d hoped he would find happiness as she had with James Garland. It seemed he hadn’t. Beyond remaining unwed, he seemed to have distanced himself from everyone and everything that might bring him joy.
Bianca turned to her husband. “Ash, will you give me and Mrs. Garland a moment alone?”
Buckleigh smiled warmly, the love he felt for her evident in his gaze. “Of course. I’ll go check on Mrs. Templeton.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Felicity said.
“Please, call me Ash. I’m afraid I’m still not used to being a lord, and I’m not sure I ever will be—especially among my friends.”
Felicity nodded. “You—and you,” she said to Bianca, “must call me Felicity. We’ve all known each other far too long to stand on propriety.”
Bianca laughed softly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much. My brother is an idiot.”
Felicity couldn’t disagree with her there. She watched as Ash joined her mother and a couple of other ladies. Bianca linked her arm through Felicity’s as the music started.
“Oh dear, I’m keeping you from dancing,” Felicity said.
Bianca walked with her to a quieter spot near the wall. “There will be plenty of time for that. I wanted to ask if you had any insight as to why Calder is the way he is.”
“Why would I? I haven’t seen or communicated with him in over a decade.”
“Right.” Bianca exhaled. “Poppy and I had a theory that his change in behavior was somehow due to y
ou and whatever happened ten years ago. I suppose we were looking for an easy explanation that would help us understand—and maybe even bring him back.”
Was she suggesting that Felicity could fix him? Or that she would at least have the key to doing so? “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I’m as perplexed by him as you are. He is not how I remember.” At least not until he’d written her that horrid letter.
“I’m so angry, but I’m even more sad.” Bianca withdrew her arm from Felicity’s. “I want the brother I remember. I just fear he’s gone forever.” She said the last with such soft despair that Felicity’s heart squeezed.
Felicity really didn’t think she could help, but would it hurt to try? He clearly held ill will toward her—for a reason she didn’t understand. At the very least, she should get to the bottom of that. “I’ll pay him a call.”
Bianca’s eyes widened briefly, and she blinked. “You will?”
“On Monday. Perhaps I can convince him to change his mind about St. Stephen’s Day. It’s just not right that the Duke of Hartwell doesn’t host it.”
“Good luck.” Bianca’s response was heavy with doubt. “Viscount Thornaby has agreed to host the event. We were going to hold it at Shield’s End until Thornaby and his cronies set it on fire.”
“What?” The word exploded from Felicity. She modulated her tone. “They set it afire?”
“Not on purpose, but they were stupid. They wanted to play a prank on Ash and set the house ablaze by mistake. To their minimal credit, they are paying for the reconstruction, and Thornaby is falling all over himself to help however he can, including hosting St. Stephen’s Day.”
“But Thornhill is, what, five miles away? That’s an awfully long way for the villagers to travel.”
“Yes, but Thornaby and others, including us and Poppy and Gabriel, will provide transportation. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can do in the face of Calder’s refusal to hold the party.”
“What of the people at Hartwood?” Felicity hated thinking of the estate’s tenants and retainers not being able to celebrate a day that had always been specifically about them and their families.
