"It would be a shame if your sister ended up with a husband who cowered to her," Felix said.
"Cowered is perhaps a strong word," Andrew said with a grimace. "But I think it would be a missed opportunity," he continued. "The best marriages are when both parties are…equal. Or complimentary. I don't know. I am the wrong person to ask. Why does everyone have bad advice when it comes to who you should marry?"
"I think when it comes to marriage, take the advice of the people who have managed to make good ones. Happy ones, I mean." Alright, Felix had no idea what he was talking about, but all he knew was that Lieutenant Simmons was a very happy and settled man with his Marie. Fierce jealousy speared through him, but it took him a moment to recognize what it was.
It had been a night of revelations. Firstly, he wanted a happy marriage. Secondly, and perhaps more telling, was that he had reacted strongly tonight to the idea of Sylvia Bellworth recognizing him on some deeper level—as a man.
"Maybe the prophecy is true," Felix said, and Andrew turned to him.
"That she will marry a man with a limp?"
What Felix meant was more specific—that she would marry this man with a limp. Because he was deeply attracted to her. Could he seriously be contemplating marrying Sylvia Bellworth? He tried to see it—see her sitting in the morning room with a cup of tea. It wasn't… offensive.
But they didn't know each other on some fundamental levels. Was there the energy there between them, the energy that burned and didn't stop? She was both brave and strong, perhaps a tad on the innocent side, but maybe that simply made her lucky.
"You can't believe that dribble," Andrew said.
"Even if it foretells your very happy marriage?" Felix asked and Andrew seemed shocked by the idea. Then he grew silent. They both did. Two men sitting in a gaming hell contemplating marriage.
"Am I too young to get married?" Andrew asked.
"Only you can answer that." Felix knew he wasn't too young. In fact, it was about time he did. In his gut, he knew he wanted to, wanted what Lieutenant Simmons had found. What would he not give up to find that?
"I mean to forego all others, for the rest of your life," Andrew said.
Sounded perfect to Felix. "Perhaps you know you are ready when you wish to do that."
"Or if not, you miss the opportunity and she disappears out of your reach forever. Ester is going to marry soon—if the prophecy is true—and it will either be to me, or someone else. It's so very final."
And Sylvia with this Marquess of Fonterey if she had her way. Forever out of reach. There were some things he needed to establish before he let that happen. "Huh," he said again, realizing for the first and probably only time in his life, he was contemplating seducing a woman. Obviously a plan he couldn't mention to her brother sitting right next to him.
Chapter 19
THE SHARP, FREEZING nights gave way to crisp days. The sun gently shined, but it was too cold to feel it. it was difficult to keep the house sufficiently warm, but they kept the fire well-fed in the drawing room.
"I suspected that after this week, the Thames would be frozen enough to skate on, and I think we need to test the theory." He walked into the drawing room and stood by the fire. "We didn't quite have sufficiently cold days last year, but we're having a good winter now."
"Shame Alexander cannot come," Sylvia said.
"How is poor Alexander?" Mother asked.
"Largely bedridden," Andrew said.
"You've seen him," Sylvia accused.
"Of course I have seen him. And I am not taking you to visit him in his bedchamber."
"Andrew! Why would you suggest such a thing?" Mother chided. "Sylvia would never do that."
Sylvia blushed slightly, because she probably would have—with Andrew present. Although it sounded a bit sordid when he put it that way. "Of course not, Mother."
The last thing she needed was her mother doubting her judgment, so Andrew’s tactic had worked well, ensuring she could not pester him until Alexander was firmly out of his bedchamber. How long would that be?
"So today we skate," Andrew said.
"Well, take your sister."
At times, their mother dealt with them as if they were still children.
"I think we should make a real party of it. An icy picnic, perhaps. Maybe some mulled wine."
"That sounds nice," Mother said. "You should definitely invite Ester."
"Of course," Andrew said. "We'll send a note around."
"Sylvia, why don't you go inform Mr. Wilson of your plans, and he will see a picnic basket is organized."
"Yes, Mother," she said and rose to go find Mr. Wilson. Then proceeded upstairs to dress in her warmest clothes.
They took the carriage as it could accommodate the picnic basket as well as the canvas chairs they sometimes brought with them on excursions. In which Sylvia would probably spend some time. Skating had never really been her favourite activity.
There were indeed skaters on the ice when they arrived. It seemed they weren't the only people with a similar idea.
"Oh," Ester said, sitting forward and looking out the window. "How exciting." They had driven past her house and picked her up.
Andrew jumped out and then turned to help Ester, and finally Sylvia. The chill air swept down the length of the Thames.
"Do you think the whole river is frozen solid?" Ester asked.
"No," Andrew said. "Probably just a crust like on a puddle."
"Of course," Ester said and smiled. Sylvia refrained from rolling her eyes. The way they treated each other was sickly sweet and almost painful to watch.
"Come," Andrew said and urged them down the stairs to the ice. A light coating of snow covered it, revealing their footsteps as they walked out. It was such a strange thing to walk out on the very river. She dreaded to think of the manners of things the water concealed. Her father had, at one point, said that the Thames hid all sorts of misdeeds. Exactly what, she didn't know. Beyond the smell, she probably didn't want to know what the Thames contained.
But today was not about dark thoughts. It was about enjoying the delights of winter, as they came so seldom.
Andrew opened the canvas chairs and the footman carried the picnic basket, placing it down where Andrew indicated. In her warm calfskin gloves and her most sensible shoes, Sylvia was quite comfortable as she sat down. Andrew had his skates on first and set off, not going too far until Ester joined him.
"Hello," a deep voice said behind her and to her surprise Sylvia turned to see the person she least expected.
"Lord Britheney, what a surprise."
"Is it?" he said as he sat down—without invitation.
"I would not have taken you for a skating man." She looked down at his knee, which he absently rubbed.
"I suppose I am not. But in his drunken state, your brother had promised I would love to come to a skating excursion. It seems he had not forgotten."
"Andrew invited you."
"Yes," he said and Sylvia frowned. Why would Andrew do that? And why would Lord Britheney come?
"Right?" Sylvia said, trying to reassess the entire day.
"Obviously I cannot skate with my knee, but I thought it might be amusing to watch."
Out on the ice, Ester fell and Andrew rushed to her.
"Would you care for some mulled wine?" Sylvia asked.
"I would be delighted," he said.
Opening the basket, she drew out the padded flask and poured two cups. Andrew must have sent the invitation as she’d gone to prepare. "It seems you had nothing else to do today?"
"On a day like this, the roads are difficult. It is best to stay home, or find some diversion."
"Do you need diversion, then?"
"More often than I would like."
It was a cryptic answer she didn't entirely understand. "And what do you need diversion from? The clambering matrons of London?"
He smiled, and she noted how different he looked when he did. It didn't seem an entirely natural expression
on his face, or perhaps it was simply that she saw a genuine smile so rarely in her dealings with him.
"Simply being here," he said. "Occupying my brother's life."
"Would you rather be out gallivanting around India."
"Honestly, yes."
"Then I am sorry you inherited a title and a significant estate." So many would literally do anything to be in his position, but it was a big shift from the life he had built himself. "We all treasure different things, I suppose."
"And what do you treasure?" he asked.
"Maybe the little freedom that I have."
"Once you marry, you will have more. How are your plans with the Marquess of Monterey going?"
"Fonterey," she corrected. "Not well as my brother has decided to work against me." And now he had invited Lord Britheney to their ice excursion. What was the meaning of this? Frankly, it unnerved her how he paid attention to everything she said. Such close scrutiny wasn't something she was used to.
"Why would he do such a thing?" Britheney asked.
"Often simply just to make things difficult for me."
"Do you think he holds out hope that the prophecy referred to us?"
"Us?" she said, falsely confused while at the same time blushing. Was her brother pushing her and Lord Britheney together in some strange hope they would… develop tenderness. "Well, clearly that is not going to happen."
"As you say," he replied. There was something in his eyes she couldn't read. Was he teasing her?
"It is a shame I didn't know you were coming. I would have invited Araminth." As she watched him, he took a sip of his mulled wine, but didn't say anything. "Splendid girl. Very beautiful."
"I think you are getting a head start on your future role of being a matron of London."
The statement stumped her, but she supposed that was true. "Perhaps I will be a celebrated matchmaker."
"I thought the woman at Vauxhall Garden was the celebrated matchmaker."
"Nonsense," she said tartly.
"I suppose," he started, "that to woo a society lady, like Araminth, one should throw a ball. Unfortunately, I have a dire lack of experience, so I couldn't possibly."
Sylvia bit the inside of her cheek. It was true—with his background, he wouldn't have a clue what would be required. "I can't say that my family is of the league where we throw balls, but they can't be terribly difficult."
"Well, I do have a ballroom, which is the most basic of requirements. No doubt the dust is an inch thick. I don't even think the staff have a recollection of when it was last used."
"Then you must throw a ball. If you are to woo someone like Araminth, it is an excellent way to do so. A true statement of your return to society." The smile he gave her was pained and she laughed.
"But with such lack of experience, even attending balls, I have little chance of doing one right."
"I can advise you if you would like."
"Well, that is very generous of you." She offered because he seemed to need her to, but a ball thrown by Lord Britheney, well, all of society would be curious how such a thing would go. As rare as hen's teeth. Society adored anything that was rare and unusual—and Lord Britheney certainly was that. The unexpected heir no one really knew, a scandalous family name and immense wealth. They would all be falling over themselves to attend. And Araminth, of course—the girl who an entire ball was thrown for, just so she would attend. It would be a tale she would have to keep to herself.
With a tight smile, she looked over at him. He looked pleased. Perhaps he really did like Araminth. She wasn't sure if they had spoken, but he must have seen her and become infatuated. Who could blame him? Araminth was beautiful beyond compare. A beauty which seemed to have overcome his hesitation to marry.
That was what he had in mind, wasn't it? He wasn't doing this in the hope for some debauched opportunity as had been his father's habit? It was something she would have to ensure, or else she would tell Araminth to stay away.
"Then we must plan," he said. "I may not have much experience with balls, but I can plan a military campaign."
"That will probably be helpful."
Chapter 20
FELIX WAITED IN THE cavernous salon, waiting for Miss Bellworth and her brother to arrive. The weather had warmed slightly as clouds had rolled in. There was a good chance it would snow later. It did seem to turn even this bustling and dirty city magical. Everyone was excited about impending snow—while forever lamenting the prospect of rain.
The house was quiet but for a clock ticking in the main hall. It felt as though life was about to enter his house, because it had none of its own.
And then he saw them, walking on the opposite side of the road. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowed. How had he not noticed how lovely she was when he'd first met her? It must have been the scowl she'd been wearing at the time—knowing that a fortune teller had identified him as her intended husband.
They crossed the road hurriedly and then approached the door. With the knock, Mr. Croft appeared to attend them. Felix heard their voices. Sylvia was looking up at the main hall when the doors to the salon were opened and the siblings were announced.
"Quite a magnificent house," Andrew said.
"It is large," Felix said.
"And dark," Sylvia added. "We shall definitely need candles."
"There was a time when such dark decor was in fashion."
"The wood is beautiful, of course," she said. "Quite splendid." Then she looked around the salon. It was also not in the latest fashion, which tended towards light colors and bright spaces. The staff had kept the house well-maintained.
"Please, let me offer you some refreshment. Some tea, perhaps?" Internally, he winced at the politeness. It still grated on him. "After, we can inspect the ballroom." This whole dialogue wasn't something he would ever have expected himself saying not long ago.
"Wonderful," Sylvia said and sat down at the seating arrangement near the fire. She wore a sensible dress for winter, with long sleeves and thicker material. At least she wasn't entirely insensible and wore light muslin. It took a great deal to heat a house this size, and doing so wasn't always successful—no matter one's means.
They sat awkwardly for a moment while Croft was bringing the tea, as if no one knew where exactly to start. And granted, this required more charm from him than he normally exhibited. In fact, he had purposefully been charmless most of his life to put as much perceived distance between himself and his father.
"How many persons does your ballroom hold?" Sylvia asked.
"I think perhaps the question should be how few can it accommodate without looking sparse on the night." In truth, he was happy to invite only one, but that was utterly unrealistic. But for him, this wasn't about the ball so much as the preparation of it. This was the main event. Sylvia simply didn't know it.
Her mouth rounded with unspoken words. "I see," she finally said.
"A hundred would be too small. Unfortunately, I don't have a hundred acquaintances. And the ones I do have, no one would ever invite to a ball." Never a truer word had been spoken. There were an assembled group of officers, half of whom he couldn't stand. "The Duke of Wellington might attend if we invited him."
"The Duke of Wellington?" Sylvia said with surprise. "My, this is quite some undertaking, isn't it?"
"I am, of course, very relieved that you have promised to help with this undertaking."
"Yes, of course." Although she sounded more uncertain now. "We will need music, food, candles."
"A gaming room," Andrew added.
"And liquid refreshments," Felix said. That was where the expense was going to be. "I think three hundred guests would be an appropriate number." It sounded daunting even as he said it, but he was right in that the evening would look sparse without sufficient people. It was a large house.
Lady Wenstropp would definitely be on the invitation list. There was still a task he needed to complete there. If he could arrange for the Duke of Wellington to ask her, she could h
ardly refuse. And if he explained that purpose to the duke, he would likely attend. While the duke had largely been at arm's length from the men who served him, he did care about the casualties of the war. A problem neatly solved.
"Obviously there are some people we shouldn't invite," Sylvia said. "Like Lady Thornton."
"Perhaps those are the people we should especially invite," Felix said. Then again, if he started to invite all of his father's detractors, it would fill the guest list entirely. Honestly, he didn't entirely care who came. He had specific purposes for this evening—more so the planning of it. "We will have to consider the guest list and the consistency of it carefully."
"Yes," Sylvia said.
The tea service arrived and Croft poured cups for the master of the house and the guests. It was the one thing from India he could enjoy. This tea wasn't spiced as he had grown accustomed to taking it.
"Do you enjoy balls, Miss Bellworth?" Felix asked.
"Of course. It is a chance to see people you rarely see. Winter would be dreary without them."
He supposed for girls like her, it was all excitement. Young men asking for dances, fine dresses and family jewels. Miss Bellworth was not the kind of girl who's dance card spelled lack of success. She was not pinned down in corners by matrons seeking husbands for their daughters.
It wasn't possible to ask her to serve as hostess for this ball, but that was exactly what he wanted.
"Come, let me show you the ballroom," he said and stood. Placing her teacup down, she stood as well. She didn't take his arm and infer intimacy as some would. Leading them out of the salon they both followed, Sylvia's eyes again drawn by the main hall and the various portraits there.
"Is that you?" she asked and he followed her gaze to the portrait of him on horseback, his sword drawn, ready to charge at Waterloo. It was much too flattering for how the day had actually looked. The mud and blood were tastefully omitted. The bone-chilling fear had also been something the artist had chosen to omit.
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