Lady Felicity’s eyes widened, but that’s all the indication Abraham received of her emotion. Hopefully she was furious. Because Abraham would have been.
He and Miss Tanning placed their own cards, and Lady Felicity won, as they both knew she would.
She then won all the remaining hands to her growing delight. Abraham chuckled at her incredible competitive urges. Gathering all the cards to her, she glowed. “Would you like to play again?”
Lord Ridgecrest sniffed. “I believe it might be time to switch up the partners.”
Her face fell. “Oh? I would think we make a good team.”
“Perhaps in whist, but there are other reasons to team up, are there not?” He looked at Abraham and Miss Tanning. “Did you know Lady Felicity and I are formerly acquainted?”
She sucked in her breath.
“I did not know that.” Abraham eyed Lady Felicity, but she refused to look at him. She refused to look anywhere but at Lord Ridgecrest. And his eyes were challenging and a bit unkind, if he were to guess.
“Yes. It is difficult to rise from our roots, or to move past embarrassment if one keeps company with those who know enough to keep us where we should never elevate past.”
Lady Felicity’s face went ashen, and Abraham thought she might faint. His ire rose further. He cleared his throat.
“I think just the opposite would be true. Anyone who knew me as a lad was sure to be forever tainted against me. But at the same time, they would hold a special regard as some of the few who can claim a more intimate knowledge of me and my life. A blessing and a curse, I suppose.”
Lady Felicity turned grateful eyes to him, and their depths held his attention for many moments. Such a beautiful color. The blue actually had specks of yellow to give the impression of green in some lighting. And her upper cheeks had a smattering of freckles also, which he hadn’t noticed before. Her cheeks held a hint of rose to them, and her upper lip curled in such a charming indent, he found his gaze tracing the line of her mouth.
Lord Ridgecrest shuffled the cards, the noise pulling Abraham away from such a fascinating perusal. But his sneer reminded Abraham of the reason for his comment.
Lady Felicity reached for the cards. “I think we should warn them about the birds.”
Abraham opened his mouth in amazement. Then he bit his cheek to keep from laughing out right.
Her lips twitched with amusement. Oh, good show, Lady Felicity. “Excellent thought.” He leaned forward and drew the attention of the other four. “There are some dangers on the beach to be aware of.”
“Dangers?” Miss Hastings rested her cards face down to focus completely on him.
Lady Felicity nodded. “Most certainly. We witnessed one ourselves.”
“You should explain, Lady Felicity, for I don’t think I can do the story justice.”
“Well, you see, we happened upon one another quite by accident before the party started.”
“She saved me, outright.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to claim—”
“Do not be modest. I might have suffered tremendously were it not for you.”
“Possibly a cut right to your eye, if not for me.” She snorted. And then covered her mouth.
Which made him shake with the effort not to follow suit. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, attack birds.”
“Pardon me?” Miss Tanning looked immediately skeptical. As she should. He’d chosen an intelligent woman to woo and not just a wealthy one.
At that moment, a strong scent of rose wafted over to him, and he and Lady Felicity exchanged looks and slowly turned to look behind them.
Miss Tittering approached. “Oh my dear, yes. Attack birds. Pooped in his eye, dripping down his face when I saw him.”
All eight people at the tables gasped and looked from Abraham to Lady Felicity and back. Then Abraham scoffed. “Miss Tittering, surely such a tale is far-fetched?”
“Not at all. You were there as my witness, you and Miss Bumbly.”
“Who?”
Lady Felicity stood up. “Oh, Miss Tittering, it’s so fortuitous you have arrived. Would you take my spot?”
Abraham jerked to his feet. He waved across the room. “Lord Bellingham. Would you mind?”
Abraham offered his arm to Lady Felicity as they made their way as sedately as possible back to the needlepoint. It was blessedly empty at the moment.
He meant to leave her to her stitching, but when her body shook and the frailness of her hands and arms hung helplessly at her side, he sat in the closest chair. “Do show me your stitching.”
Chapter 8
Felicity tried to breathe normally. What did Lord Ridgecrest mean, bringing up their childhood and hinting at the lowness of her mother’s station. Why lash out as he had? Did he think she’d given away his secrets to Lord Bolton?
Another thing settled uncomfortably in her gut: his marked attention to Miss Tanning. Did he feel that he, too, was too elevated for the likes of Felicity? She squeezed her eyes tight, hoping to grasp hold of her last chance at a respectable marriage but watching it slip away.
“Oh, now, Lady Felicity. Please don’t.” Lord Bolton handed her his handkerchief.
She took it. “I’m just being silly.”
“Not at all. I’d do the same, only my tears would not fall in such a lovely manner.”
Her eyes lifted to his and the enhanced color struck him again.
“I think Ridgecrest is daft to behave as he is. And you are rightly affected.”
She nodded, dabbing her eyes.
“You’re lovely, you know.” His face was lined with concern, sincerity filling his voice with intensity.
She almost started crying again, only this time in response to his tender regard.
He lifted his hand as though to touch her face but he lowered it before it could. “Now, would you show me a few more of your stitches? Please?”
“I thought you said this was only for the mothers and grandmothers.”
“If you’ll recall, I also mentioned how much I enjoyed your stitches.”
She eyed him with no small amount of skepticism. But she began again, pulling the needle up and through her stitches.
He watched over her back, attentive, the gentle puffs of his breath every now and then tickling her neck. “Would you teach me?”
“What!” She looked around. Everyone else in the room seemed distracted with their own activities. “You can’t really want to learn.”
“I most certainly do.” He moved closer. “The first thing I must know: how you know where to poke the needle so that it comes up precisely where you want it to?”
She shook her head. “Oh, but it doesn’t. See. You must play with it a little, like so.” She poked the needle through to the front a few times to show it moving closer.
“Ah, but you don’t usually have so many attempts, surely.”
“Well, no.” She tilted her head. “Once you’ve done it for as many hours, as most of us have, you become more accurate on your first guess.”
“That’s quite impressive to me. Please. I’d love to watch you for a time. Show me how you manage it.”
Charmed, she made several stitches in the greenery of the flowers, showing him smaller and larger designs. She couldn’t imagine he cared, but he seemed as interested as she’d ever seen him. And she was so grateful for the distraction.
“See that bit there. When you add the darker color, it makes the leaves stand out.”
She smiled. “It’s an art, really. Few appreciate the work involved, but all enjoy the end result.”
“May I try?” His boyish expression made her smile.
“If you’d like.”
“You don’t think I’ll mess it up, do you?”
“I won’t let you. We do plan to leave this with the Garveys, you know.”
“I should like to think I will have contributed.”
She did not believe a word of it, but she was grateful for his efforts to entertain her.
He held the tiny needle in his large hands and nearly dropped it twice before he brought it back behind the stitches and poked it forward.
“Oh, not quite.” She reached underneath to help guide his hand. As her fingers wrapped around his, she had an absurd desire to take off her gloves. Their closeness felt intimate; an overwhelming urge to rest her cheek on his shoulder filled her. How nice it would be to sit thus, with him, for many an afternoon in the quiet of their own home. She gulped down the shocking direction of her thoughts. And yet, she could never imagine Lord Ridgecrest and she doing anything similar.
While she continued to guide Lord Bolton’s hand, his voice murmured softly. “Tell me.”
“What?”
“Tell me why Ridgecrest behaved as he did.”
She sighed and considered how to respond. “I imagine he might be embarrassed by some of the memories associated with our family.”
“With good reason?”
She tipped her head. “Perhaps.”
“But why lash out?”
“One time, when he was a lad, my mother saved him from an awful moment with his father. I was playing the piano forte. I remember it so clearly still for I’d never seen such violence acted upon another person.” She shook her head and refused to look away from their needlepoint. “My mother went out there, full of thunder and soon he was in the parlor with a plate of biscuits, listening to me play.”
He was quiet for so long she turned to search his face. His kind eyes warmed her toes.
She had not seen young Lord Ridgecrest again after that day. She’d heard he’d gone straight to school and was rarely home for holiday. She’d been glad for him and secretly a little disappointed for herself.
Lord Bolton paused and then poked a needle up through the fabric. He was getting better. Felicity smiled.
He seemed to consider carefully his next words. “And have you reason to be embarrassed?”
She shook her head. “Not by a particular memory, no.”
“But general association?”
“I suppose you could say that.” Did she dare share her plight with him? What if the lower station of her mother’s family were to get out amongst the party attendees? She knew it wouldn’t be a secret long kept, but if she could but find marriage before it was widely known, she would be forgiven. Perhaps.
“I cannot abide the man for what he said to you. But if you must persist in hoping for his hand, I will tell you a happy secret.”
“What? What is it?”
“He has looked over here no less than five times since we began talking.”
“What?”
“It’s true. Perhaps he is wondering why you and I are so close?”
She almost jerked away, but he said. “No, stay close. I do believe we might succeed in making the pair of them jealous.”
“Can I look?”
“Better not.”
Perhaps he was correct. If an obvious show of her choice was not being perceived in the most accurate manner, perhaps she would win Lord Ridgecrest by design. She shook her head. Never did she ever see herself as those conniving women described in Fordyce’s sermons, and yet here she was. “I believe you are a bad influence on me, Lord Bolton.”
“You’re smiling while you say such awful things.”
“Because I do believe I like it.”
His grin was all the reward she needed.
Her slow rise of one brow fascinated him. “It’s not entirely improper, you see.”
“Decidedly not. We are well within the grey area between proper and improper.”
She laughed. Then pointed to the needlework. “And your stitches. You’re a natural.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain you’ve never done this before?”
“Quite.” He coughed.
She was enjoying his attention much more than she thought she ever would. “Are you finished?”
He handed her the needle. “I am. Tell me what you think. Will you have to pick out what I’ve done?” His insecurity was endearing. She leaned closer so she could see, even though she’d already had a perfectly clear view. His smell of spices filled the air around them.
She shifted, aware of every movement, feeling sensations in the air between them. She pretended to study his stitches, the feel of his breath on her face and she leaned closer. Her arm brushed his as she pointed. “Oh dear.”
“Oh no, what did I do?”
She smiled and turned to him, her face closer than she realized it would be. “I tease you. They’re wonderful. My mother and my governess would be proud.” She studied him, his handsome face, the twinkle in his eyes, and was suddenly very glad she had met him.
“You know me, the love of every governess and grandmother.”
She imagined a great deal many more women loved or would love him, and they were most assuredly not the governesses. She remembered Miss Hastings talking about him being penniless and thought that a great shame. “I imagine a great deal many more women would love you.” She sucked in her breath and turned away, her face flaming.
But he just laughed. “Oh, the things you say. I don’t have much to recommend me.”
She wondered about that. “What are we going to do about Miss Tittering? She just told everyone she thinks I’m Miss Bumbly.”
He laughed. “I quite enjoy the confusion, I must admit.”
“Did you see the faces of the others? I confess I wasn’t looking.”
“I confess I was more concerned about other matters.” He poked his finger. “Ow.” He stuck a finger in his mouth. “But I will clear that up right now.” He stood.
“Wait, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” He waited for her to stand and join him, then they walked back toward their group, who were in the middle of a new game of whist, Lord Ridgecrest not looking pleased. “I believe our Lord Ridgecrest does not enjoy his present company?”
He looked like he enjoyed Miss Tanning’s company plenty. “Or perhaps he doesn’t enjoy losing?”
He held a finger to his nose. “I believe you’ve hit upon it.”
They watched for a moment, and then Lord Bolton moved to stand behind Miss Tittering. “I believe I was mistaken about something earlier on the beach.”
They continued in hushed conversation that Felicity longed to hear until Lord Ridgecrest addressed her. He stood and joined her at her side. “I wonder if you would like to walk with me tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”
“After your piano forte playing, perhaps?”
She looked down, remembering his strange behavior. “I’m unsure why Lord Bolton brought up the piano forte. I did not tell him. About . . . anything.”
“I know. Just the mention of you on a piano brought such a rush of memories that I felt unsettled. Forgive me.”
“Of course.” Perhaps she would still have a chance at winning his heart? She lifted her lashes to see into his face and for a moment saw a flash of something—interest? Her attention was drawn to Lord Bolton’s conversation with Miss Tittering. And everything suddenly felt less clear than it had ever been.
Later that night, she couldn’t sleep. The house was unaccountably cold. They had had little wood and a short stub of a candle. Remembering Mrs. Daw and her promise of food in the kitchen, she went in search of the woman, her candle flickering precariously with what might be her last flame.
Conversation in the kitchen sounded warm, friendly. Mrs. Daw’s cheerful laugh lit a friendly path through Felicity, and she hurried down the hall toward the sound. When she entered, the flickering light from the fireplace lit the corner of the room where Mrs. Daw and the married woman she’d seen earlier sat together.
“Come in, Lady Felicity. I hoped you’d come.”
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Daw.”
“This is Lady Anslowe, wife of Lord Anslowe. Both are guests at the party.”
Lady Anslowe’s soft smile matched the room, and Felicity liked her immediately. “Please, my
friends call me Emmeline.”
“Oh, I could never.” Felicity rested a hand at her heart. “Oh, I mean, of course we must be friends, but I think I would feel more comfortable using titles.”
“If you must. But really, Emmeline would be lovely. I quite like my first name.”
Felicity considered her. “I prefer my second. No one knows it. Honora. My first name’s Felicity, which of course no one else uses either. Everyone calls me Lady Felicity.”
Lady Anslowe, her dark hair coming loose from its pins, was holding the most glorious thing Felicity had seen since she arrived at Havencrest.
“I’m so pleased to meet you, um Emmeline. May I ask, how did you get such a beautiful candle?”
She laughed. “Oh, Mrs. Garvey is my husband’s aunt, and he knew what to expect. He packed accordingly.”
What an odd thing to do.
“We have far more than we need. I'll see that we share.”
“Oh, you are a friend indeed.”
Mrs. Daw patted the chair beside her. “Come in, come in.” She moved the plate of biscuits closer to Felicity. “Have some tea, and I’ve made extra biscuits.”
Felicity joined them, and already her confusion felt less.
Mrs. Daw handed her a cup of tea. “You’ve having quite a quandary, aren’t you?”
She replaced her cup. “I am?”
“Well certainly. Do you choose your heart or your head?”
Felicity’s feelings of happy expectation fizzled somewhat. “I’m sure I don’t understand.”
Mrs. Daw patted her hand. “Of course you don’t, but don’t you worry. Everything will work out.”
Felicity bit a biscuit, savoring the nourishment. Their dinner had been sparse. She looked pointedly at the woman sitting across from her and back at Mrs. Daw.
Mrs. Daw followed her gaze. “You are in excellent company. Lady Anslowe here, she’s in a quandary herself.”
“Pardon me?” Emmeline widened her eyes. “Am I?”
Mrs. Daw continued as if the woman hadn’t spoken. “But her husband is handsome. I remember talk of him when he was single. Just about every young lady had her eye on that one.” She clucked. “You’re a lucky one, but then he is too, I’d say.”
Charmed by His Lordship Page 6
