by Darcy Burke
Felicity was counting on Calder’s being the same—once she cut through the darkness to get there.
By that afternoon, Felicity had listened to her mother apologize dozens of times, and Felicity was more than ready to leave for Buck Manor. The journey was twelve miles, long enough for Felicity to shake off her lingering upset from that morning as well as contemplate her next steps with Calder.
Today, she would speak with Bianca about the St. Stephen’s Day party and Hartwell House. Felicity was committed to bringing Calder around on those issues, at least. And if that went well, she’d convince him to apologize to Bianca and give her the settlement he’d denied her.
Goodness, she didn’t want much, did she?
It occurred to Felicity—constantly, really—that she’d embarked on a fool’s mission. Still, she had to try. Not just for the benefit of the village, the people of the Hartwood estate, and the inhabitants of Hartwell House, but for Calder’s very soul. She could see that he was nearly gone, a shell of a man.
Nearly being the key word.
There were glimmers of hope beneath his shell, and Felicity was clinging to those as if her life depended on it. Or his.
When her coach arrived at Buck Manor, she was teeming with energy and anticipation. She was ready to wipe away the last ten years.
The butler took her outer accessories and showed her to the drawing room. Greenery decorated the mantel and windows, and mistletoe hung near the doorway. Bianca didn’t keep her waiting long.
“Felicity! How lovely to see you so soon.” Bianca strode toward her, a bundle of vivacity wrapped in a forest-green gown. “My goodness, this is quite a journey for you to take by yourself. Your mother didn’t come?”
Felicity shook her head. “She’s still recuperating, though she probably would have liked to. Even so, this is a visit I needed to make on my own.”
Bianca arched a brow, her gaze curious. “I see.” She gestured toward a seating area near the hearth, where a warm fire blazed. “Shall we sit?”
Felicity went to the settee while Bianca took a chair angled nearby. “I visited Calder yesterday.” She used his name and decided not to censor herself. He would always be Calder to her, and frankly, she didn’t care who knew it.
Now both of Bianca’s dark brows climbed her forehead. “You actually went?”
Felicity nodded. “He’s really a mess, isn’t he?”
Bianca laughed. “How lovely to speak with someone about him openly! Besides my sister and Ash, of course. You’re very brave to have gone. How did it go?”
“As well as you can imagine. He said he can’t afford to host the St. Stephen’s Day celebration, but I can’t see how that’s possible.”
“Thank you!” Bianca crowed. “Neither can I.”
“I told him that, but it only made him grumpier. So I suggested he let us—you and whoever else, I mean—host the party at Hartwood without an expense to him.”
“Hell, why didn’t I think of that?” Bianca asked, tapping her finger against her lip.
“Would you be amenable to that arrangement?”
“I would be thrilled with that arrangement. Did he actually agree?” Bianca looked incredulous. “You will have worked a miracle.”
“Don’t give me credit yet. He’s thinking about it.”
“That’s further than I got with him.” Bianca leaned back and crossed her arms. “This is an excellent solution and would be so much easier than transporting everyone to Thornhill.”
“Hopefully, he will agree.” Felicity doubted he would, which meant she had to find a way to convince him. Perhaps she could circumvent him and go straight to Truro for assistance… The butler was a beacon of hope in that household.
Bianca uncrossed her arms and scooted forward, her eyes alight. “He won’t, but perhaps we could trick him.”
Felicity laughed, amused they had come to, more or less, the same conclusion. “How loyal is Truro to him?”
“Not as loyal as he is to me,” Bianca said with devious glee, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, I must think on this. You’re calling on him again tomorrow?” At Felicity’s nod, she went on. “I suppose it wouldn’t be helpful for me to go with you.”
“I don’t think so.” Felicity was counting on having an advantage that only she possessed—their shared history. Which, unfortunately, included heartbreak. Perhaps what she needed to do was give him new memories… “Bianca, will you be able to coordinate moving the party to Hartwood?”
“Certainly. Ash’s mother has been helping me.” Bianca tipped her head to the side. “Did you also say you spoke to him about Hartwell House?”
“I did, briefly. You said at the assembly that it’s in need of repair.”
“Yes, several of the rooms leak, and there really isn’t enough space to accommodate everyone. The new Shield’s End will support the institution in a much better fashion, but that won’t be for some time, so Hartwell House must be fixed. Furthermore, we plan to use Hartwell House as a school for the children who live at Hartwell House and as a day school for anyone else in the area.”
“That’s absolutely marvelous.” Felicity felt a sudden urge to move back to Hartwell so she could be a part of these exciting changes.
Or was it so she could be close to Calder?
She wasn’t ready to answer that question. Wanting to restore him to a place of peace and happiness wasn’t the same as rekindling their relationship. Except she feared she wouldn’t get to decide if she wanted that or not. The passion she’d felt for him in their youth had seemed utterly beyond her control or imagination.
“Poppy and Gabriel already do so much for Hartwell House,” Bianca said. “And now Ash and I are focused on rebuilding Shield’s End. Continuing the support our father gave to Hartwell House is the least Calder can do. Honestly, even if he would just give my dowry settlement to them, I would be grateful.”
Felicity inclined her head. “That’s very selfless of you.”
“It would be if I were allowed to do it.” She exhaled in frustration. “They need the money more than we do, more than Calder does, I daresay. I honestly don’t know how he became such a miser.”
Felicity thought she knew at least part of the story, but suspected there was more. And she was determined to find out.
Though Calder was expecting Felicity’s call, his heart still pounded when her coach stopped in front of the house. He could see the vehicle from the window of his study, but then, he’d been watching for her the past hour or more.
He stood from his desk and went to the window. He’d dreamed of her again last night, but not in the way he had the night before. That had been a nightmare—because of his father.
Calder shoved thoughts of him away. He’d ruined Calder’s life once—maybe twice—and he refused to allow him to do it again.
He watched her alight from the coach and then disappear from view. Turning to the door, he took a deep breath and waited for Truro to come fetch him.
Isis sat in front of the fire, her gaze fixed on him as if she were waiting expectantly too.
After several long minutes, Calder began to pace. What was taking so long? He kept himself from going in search of her. Meanwhile, Isis followed his movements, her eyes never leaving his form.
At last, Truro rapped on the door.
“Come,” Calder barked, frowning sharply as he stopped and pivoted toward the door.
Truro opened the door and inclined his head. “Mrs. Garland is here. She awaits you in the drawing room.”
“It’s about bloody time,” Calder muttered, striding past Truro on his way to the drawing room. At the threshold, he stopped short and stared at the scene before him.
Felicity sat on a blanket spread across the center of the room, the skirt of her bright blue gown arranged around her like the petals of a flower. A basket sat at the edge of the blanket, and plates of food were arranged, along with two tankards.
“Is that ale?” he asked, a long-ago memory rushing to his mind.
“Yes.”
“And blackberry scones.” His gaze landed on the plate that held the confection.
“Yes.”
He knew everything that was on the blanket—it was a recreation of a picnic they’d had ten years ago. On the very day he’d kissed her beneath the blazing sun. The day he’d dreamed about the other night, before it had become a nightmare.
Wariness crept over him, diluting a shocking rush of pleasure. Even the blanket she sat upon looked the same.
“What are you doing?” The question fell from his mouth, a defense against an onslaught of emotion he didn’t want.
“Having a picnic. I’m afraid it’s too cold outside. I was worried it might snow.”
Calder had been worried about that too. In fact, he’d threatened the sky if it dared prevent Felicity from coming. Which meant he’d looked forward to her visit. Not that he would ever admit it aloud.
“Aren’t you going to sit?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry.” Except he was. For her.
The years had been more than kind to her. She was even more beautiful now than he remembered. Experience gave her features an alluring wisdom. And her stature exuded confidence and grace—things a girl of eighteen didn’t always have in great abundance.
Or a young man of twenty.
God, they’d been young. And naïve. And so foolish. To think they could forge a future—the heir to a dukedom and the daughter of a common farmer…
He went to the blanket, drawn by some invisible thread. Or perhaps the lure of what he’d missed.
He dropped down and reached for the tankard, eager for a fortifying drink of ale. “Did you get this from Tom?”
She nodded. “Of course. Where else would I get it?”
Tom was Hartwell’s only brewer. “I have my own here.”
“Perhaps we should sample it as well,” she suggested brightly as she plucked up her tankard. Holding it toward him, she said, “Let us toast to the future.”
He didn’t want to drink to that. And yet he needed a drink to steady his nerves. He didn’t tap his tankard to hers but lifted it and took a drink.
She did the same, then set it down before reaching for the plate of scones. “Would you like a scone? My maid, Agatha, made them this morning. She’s a magnificent cook.”
“I see what you’re trying to do,” he said.
“And what is that?” she asked innocently.
“This is disturbingly close to a picnic we shared once.”
“Is it disturbing? I should hope not. I have fond memories of that day. In fact, it is among my most favorite recollections.”
His pulse racing, he took a long pull on his ale. “Those aren’t dedicated to your husband?”
“No,” she said softly. “I have lovely memories of our marriage, but they are…not the same.”
Something inside Calder unfurled, like a flower blooming beneath the rays of the sun. “I’d heard you were a widow. How did he die?” Calder busied himself with a bite of scone while he awaited her response.
“He was ill for a long time. He was twenty years older than me.”
Calder hadn’t known that. “You fell in love with him?”
“No. He was kind, and I felt I should marry.”
He’d imagined her falling in love with a dashing young man and then pining sorrowfully after losing him. That he’d been utterly wrong was both relieving and…sad. “Were you happy, at least?”
“Yes. He was an excellent husband. We weren’t blessed with children, but we had a nice life.”
Her description sounded so…pleasant. And while it wasn’t what he’d thought their marriage would have been, a “nice life” was still a far cry better than Calder’s. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She sipped her ale. “Why haven’t you wed?” She eyed him cautiously over the rim of her tankard.
“I’ve been too busy.” He’d completely ignored the Marriage Mart in London. Instead, he’d spent a few years perfecting rakish behavior, conducting liaisons as the mood struck him. The past few years, he’d kept a mistress, but he always terminated the arrangement at the end of the Season. Right now, he couldn’t remember any of their names or faces. All he recalled was Felicity. Her winning smile, her gorgeous eyes, her sparkling laugh.
She reached for a fig. “It’s good that we’re indoors. Do you remember what happened at the picnic?” The edge of her mouth ticked up in a half smile.
For the first time in Calder didn’t know how long, he felt his lips tug. How would it feel to smile? To laugh? “You’re referring to the bird who defecated on the blanket? Is this the same blanket, by the way?”
She nodded. “You remember.” Her tone vibrated with happiness. The sound shot through him like a thousand fireworks exploding in the sky.
He remembered every moment—the bird, their laughter, his scolding of the fowl who had long since disappeared into the beyond. The taste of berries on his tongue, the rush of desire as he’d watched her lick her fingers, the softness of her lips against his.
That she’d kept the blanket and had brought it today stirred a rush of pleasure inside him. He took another drink of ale, completely at odds with himself. This was at once strange and unwanted while feeling utterly familiar and…wonderful.
“I did try to recreate that day,” Felicity said softly. “However, I don’t have a dog.”
Now Calder did laugh. The sensation was odd and surprising, so much so that Calder transformed it into a cough. The sparkle in Felicity’s eyes told him she wasn’t convinced he was coughing, that she knew he’d laughed. “You remember the dog?” she asked.
He nodded, then whistled. A moment later, Isis trotted into the drawing room. She came and sat down next to Calder.
Felicity smiled warmly at the greyhound. “Who is this beautiful creature?”
“This is Isis.” Calder petted her head, and she nuzzled his hand. “Unlike the dog who interrupted us that afternoon, Isis belongs to me.”
That dog, belonging to the owners of a cottage nearby, had prevented their kisses from becoming something more. At the time, he’d thanked the dog to keep him from losing his head. In hindsight, he wished the dog had never found them.
Felicity scooted toward Isis and held out her hand so Isis could sniff her. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” Isis cocked her head, and Felicity stroked her soft, short fur. “Calder, she’s lovely.” Felicity met his gaze, and he was immediately overcome with a wave of longing—followed by discomfort.
After shunning emotions, particularly pleasant ones, for so long, it was overwhelming to feel so much at once.
“I imagine she must make you happy,” Felicity said, continuing to pet Isis as she looked between the greyhound and Calder.
He didn’t respond. He never felt happy. Isis did, however, make him feel…lighter.
Felicity moved closer to him, her hand resting on the back of Isis’s neck. “Calder, why are you like this? What happened? Is this all because of what your father did?”
She was referring to his interference in their relationship, but it was so much more than that. Again, he ignored her. He reached for a slice of cheese and took a bite.
“I wish you would talk to me,” she said. “I could help.”
He swallowed and fixed her with a frigid stare. “I don’t need help. And I don’t need to talk to you or anyone else.” He ought to toss her out, but damn if he could bring himself to end the nicest afternoon he’d had in years.
He also realized he wasn’t helping it stay nice. He was such a beast.
She narrowed her eyes at him before turning her focus to Isis. “I think your master wants me to leave him alone. I don’t really want to because I would love to find the Calder I knew before. However, I realize that was a long time ago. So perhaps I should focus on the present.” She tipped her head to the side and looked back to Calder. “I’ll stop bothering you if you agree to allow Bianca to hold the St. Stephen’s Day party here.”
“That’s extortion.”
“Not really. You are in complete control of the situation. You can throw me out at any moment and never speak to me again. I’m merely trying to use any method of persuasion I can. I’ll continue to harangue you about your ghastly behavior unless you agree to my terms.”
“And how will you do that if I throw you out and never speak to you again?”
She was quiet a moment, then her eyes lit with inspiration. “I’ll make signs and post them outside your house and in Hartwell. Their purpose will be to make you laugh—or at least smile.”
He nearly did both right then. He had to credit her ingenuity. “So you really aren’t going to stop bothering me, despite the deal you offered?”
“I suppose not. However, if you allow the party to be held here, I won’t make any signs. Not yet. I do still have other demands, but we can discuss those another time.”
“What demands are those?” Why was he asking? It was as if he might consider them.
“Fixing Hartwell House—it’s in dire need of repair, and the new Shield’s End won’t be ready for quite some time. Besides, Hartwell House is to be used as a school, so it must be refurbished.”
“Hartwell House is not my responsibility, whatever it’s to be used for.”
“I would argue it is—you’re the leader of this community. Or you should be. And leaders should use their resources to help those less fortunate.” She—and Isis—stared at him.
Calder felt rather defensive in the face of both of them. He didn’t appreciate his dog siding with the woman who’d broken his heart. Except had she, if his father had orchestrated the entire scheme?
No, but it was far easier for him to continue believing it was her fault. If he didn’t…
“You’re correct in that I’m the leader in this community. Hartwell House should be a workhouse, not a free boardinghouse as it is now. I plan to change that.”
Felicity looked at him with affront. “You can’t dictate what Mrs. Armstrong does with her property.”
Calder ignored her outrage. “You said demands, plural. What’s the other one?”
She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing briefly before she answered, “Giving Bianca her settlement.”
