An Independent Miss (8 page)

“I will not marry him. That’s all
there is to it.” She made to leave but her father stopped her.

“You will marry him, Cissy; you
have no choice.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“That doesn’t matter, young lady,”
her mother added. “You should have thought of that when you left your rooms.”

“Felicity,” Andover appealed, “will
you give me a moment?”

She looked up at him, determined
despite what her parents said. “I won’t marry. I would rather be a dried-up old
spinster than marry you.”

This time, when she made to leave,
no one stopped her. She kept going, keeping her head up, refusing to look
cowed, refusing to look as though this whole scandal had touched her in any
way.

Footman carrying luggage—her
Aunt Vivien’s luggage, she hoped—passed her on the stairs and in the
hallway. Normally friendly with the staff, she refused to look at them, kept
her focus on reaching the door of her room, wanting, needing, the sanctuary.

Sedately, she pushed open the door,
closing it very carefully once inside. If she showed even a touch of what she
felt, it would all come tumbling out. With the snap of the catch, the promise
of solitude, she turned and halted.

There, by her window, stood Aunt
Vivien.

“You are not welcome here,”
Felicity said, sorry for the truth of it, because she had always liked her
aunt, hungered to be just as bold and vibrant.

Felicity suspected that her mother
feared that very same temperament, which was why she lived so religiously by
society’s rules. Mother was not one to break boundaries, or to create scenes
outside of the family.

Vivien was.

“Do you really believe I wanted to
hurt you? Can you believe that of me, Felicity?”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Her second
lie of the day. A terrible thing, when she was not accustomed to lying at all.

“You needed to learn, darling.”
Vivien tried to move close, her hands out, as though she expected to hug and
comfort.

Felicity backed away. “What was so
important for me to learn?”

Vivien put her hands to her breast,
in prayer mode. “No one else would teach you, and words would not suffice.”

“If this was to be some great lesson, how
did you know I would go there?”

“I didn’t.” Vi sighed. “You didn’t
need to go there. The servants would have had their say, and you would have
learned. That’s the way of the world. No man can be trusted, not a one of them.
Better to be hurt now, before you allow yourself an attachment that will never
be returned. Better now.”

Only Felicity didn’t want to know.
She didn’t want the pain. She didn’t want the doubts. All she had wanted was
one kiss.

Without warning, Felicity’s door
opened. Her mother ready to have her say, when she spotted the intruder.

“Vivien!” Lady Westhaven stood,
fierce and furious. “You are not welcome in this house. Do you understand? Do
you understand the repercussions?”

Another sigh, as Vivien looked at
her sister. “It means that dear Lord Westhaven will not help me anymore. Not to
worry, I have found a benefactor, so I don’t need your support.”

“Not a penny.” Lady Westhaven’s
lips pinched tight.

Slowly, Vivien made to leave,
turning as she passed Felicity, pity in her eyes. “Do you see what I sacrificed
for you? So you will know how men are and guard your heart? I am disowned,
refused any resource for my comfort.”

“Go!” Elizabeth Redmond snapped.

Sister faced sister. One, eyes
bright as a zealot on retribution day, faced the fury of a terrier, quivering,
barely leashed by invisible bonds.

The zealot would not stop. “They
betray you, every man, even your husband, will betray you…”

The bonds broke. The
ever-so-sophisticated Lady Westhaven charged and grappled, clumsy in her fury.
She pushed Vi out of the room, slammed the door, clicked the lock and leaned
against it, her body a determined barrier against any trespasser.

Too late.

Vi’s words hung in the room like a
tapestry tale, never to be undone. Tremors swept Felicity, her breath. She
jerked away from the site of her mother’s labored inhalations, neat coiffure
askew, strands curling undone, wild in her protection.

Felicity struggled, jerky staccato
efforts for air. She found strength in a sudden rage that swept up and through
her. Unsteady, she grabbed the bedpost, and suddenly saw her décor for the
statement it made, as though, until this moment, it had been muted.

Her retreat. A young girl’s rooms,
all pink and pale green chintz. Her bed curtains, the bottom of her table
skirts lined with gentle, feminine ruffles. Soft pillows accented the bed, the
chaise, the chairs, and window seats. Pretty little pictures lined the walls,
maids walking arm-in-arm along a lane, bending to pet a dog, leading a pony.

Nothing of the harshness of life.
Nothing of the world. A protected child’s room. Ludicrous to believe a shy,
solemn girl could claim the heart of a man used to meatier fare than her.

So clear, it was all so clear.

She spun on her mother, brittle
movement now fluid. “How dare you!” Felicity hissed, lifting the edge of the
bed curtain as if that explained it all. “How dare you allow me, in my ignorant
na
ï
veté, into the
hands of a man, a man, a…” Her breath shuddered back tears as she spun again,
stalked away only to turn back, confronting her stunned, horrified mother. “You
didn’t warn me, you didn’t help me understand, you did not prepare or protect
me.”

“Felicity, you do not understand.”

“I do, finally I do.”

“No, you don’t,” her mother
regained her composure, advanced.

Felicity refused the approach, held
up her hands, warded her off. “Vi may be cruel in her honesty, but she speaks
the truth. Even your marriage is false. Is that what you want for me? A forced
marriage? No love?” She flapped her hands, as if that would shake off the rage
pouring through her. “I have been so stupid, so horribly foolish.” She swiped
at bothersome tears. “Worst of all, he doesn’t believe in medicine, Mama! He
doesn’t believe…” Wasted words on her mother. Her father would have understood,
but not her mother.

“He
is
right for you, Felicity. Listen to me, I very much doubt…”

Blunt, Felicity stopped any
argument. “He does not love me, Mama. Of course he doesn’t, and you should know
that. Did you expect I would want less than love? Anticipate anything else?
Don’t you understand? I wanted what I thought,” eyes raised to the ceiling a
caustic laugh escaped. “Thought—not knew,
thought
—you had.” She crumpled onto the window seat. “Is
everything a lie? Is nothing the truth?”

Felicity blinked, drained from the surge
of emotion, too tired from a sleepless night to fight, too heartsick to hold
back. Depleted, she looked about, saw nothing, as words looped inside, foolish,
ignorant, naïve, stupid, so, so stupid.

She imagined he loved her. Had
believed, in her fatuous gullibility that he would open his door in the middle
of the night and pull her in, feverish with the passion of his emotions, unable
to restrain himself.

Of course he was beyond such
recklessness. All his words, caresses, the whisper of his breath were
well-practiced actions, lures to ignite a woman. Any woman. Never, not once, in
his efforts to coerce her back into good favor, did he use the word
love
. Not even as a useful fabrication.
She would credit him with that.

Until last night, Felicity did not
have to marry Lord Andover.

Until last night, when she
deliberately went to his room. She never considered it a dangerous thing to do,
risqué perhaps, but not risky. Only he didn’t want her for love.

How convenient for him to step out
of mourning and straight into a house with a daughter of marriageable age, one
who would soothe his mother. What was it Aunt Vi had said?
I can see the wisdom in his choice. You are so undemanding. You will
let him get on with his life. So sensible.
He had found an undemanding
girl, willing to bear him an heir and a spare. A young lady he imagined had
nothing to do, but care for him and his mother.

No need for words of love with a
calm, practical,
malleable
miss.

Oh Lord, he proposed because he did
not know her.

She crumpled to the floor.

“Oh, Cissy.” Her mother hovered,
cautiously came down beside her. “Trust me, Felicity, it will turn out all
right. I promise you.”

“I am not what he thinks.”

“Hush, hush, baby,” her mother crooned,
brushing back her daughter’s hair, cupping her cheek.

Felicity hiccupped. “He doesn’t
know me and I cannot be who he thinks I am.”

The soothing brush of her mother’s
hand stilled for a breath. “He can’t help but love you, sweetheart.”

“No, Mother.” Her eyes dried with
acceptance, Felicity looked up. “Even you have told me not to be who I am.”

“Never.”

“Yes, in the greenhouse. You want
me to give up the biggest part of me and he, he wants me to be a pliable
soothing force. There is no room for who I really am, in any of that. No one
seems to want that.”

“Oh, Felicity,” her mother fretted,
but she had no recourse, no words of encouragement. She could not deny the
truth in the accusations.

Felicity looked at her room again,
the simple innocence of it, light and airy. Her collection of porcelain dolls
on a shelf, with miniature tools for gathering herbs, and a tiny herb book, all
gifts from her grandmother.

In her grandmother’s day, not only
was it permissible for the lady of the house to be prepared with tonics and
salves, it was expected. The world had changed since then.

Her gaze shifted to the skirt of
her bed, which hid the books her mother forbade and the maids ignored. Novels
of tragedy and heartbreak, of terrible wrongdoings and love, with love
gallantly winning in the end. Gothic tales of romance for ingénues with
impossible dreams.

Her mother had been right all
along. For an intelligent, pragmatic young lady, she had been a fool, and a
stubborn one at that.

CHAPTER 8 ~
SEEKING CALM

Andover charged through the fields,
pushing his mount to outpace, outdistance, the plague of problems. He failed.

Dreams, needs were realized and
then, in one ill-fated night, tumbled out of control. He needed Felicity. She
listened to a man without chattering on endlessly. She was thoughtful in her
words, displaying circumspection rare in a woman.

In truth, it was more than that.
There were other girls of a quieter nature he had vaguely considered, then
turned away from. There were lively girls who made him laugh. None of them drew
him like Felicity.

The calmness, the quiet, the
ability to listen and understand, her practical nature. She neither swooned nor
shrieked when she caught sight of him after his fight with Thomas. Even when
she recommended potions, she didn’t fuss or push. A paragon, that’s what she
was, conveying in a few words what others babbled a mountain to express.

All lush curves and sweet smiles.

His
Felicity.
The idea wafted over him as he turned his horse back toward
Ansley House and his problems. He had been away from Montfort too long already,
had planned to propose, announce the betrothal and head back to his mother.
Despite the nagging urgency to be gone, he now had to find a way to regain
Felicity’s favor.

He needed her.

Thomas came out of the barn, as he
rode into the stable yard.

“Andover.” The lack of hostility
failed to ease the tension.

Andover nodded back. “Redmond.”

He debated staying atop his horse.
He didn’t need any more schoolboy scuffles to add to his problems.

“My aunt went to your rooms.”

“Interesting you should say that.”
He kept a close eye on Thomas as he dismounted, handing the reins to a stable
lad. “She did show up in my rooms.”

“Uninvited, I dare say.” Thomas’s
grimace gave hope.

“As a gentleman…”

“As I said, uninvited. I didn’t ask
you, but I also know she would be the last person you would invite to your
rooms, no matter how randy you were. And certainly not here, in our home,
after…” Thomas looked toward the house, “…after proposing to my sister.”

“I’m sorry I kept my hand so close
to my chest.”

“You knew how I would react.”

“She’s your sister.”

“She is that.” Thomas looked down,
chuckled. Andover didn’t know if that was prelude to a charge or a thought
until Thomas looked up, wearing a smirking half smile. “And you need her,
though I don’t think you know how very much you need her, and the changes she
will wreak on your household.”

There it was again:
The depths of her
.

Thomas hit his target, unnerving
him. Andover didn’t need or want any more turmoil. That was precisely why he
had chosen Lady Felicity.

Worry quickly turned to anger.
“What are you trying to say, Redmond? Not to marry her for my sake? Not to
marry her for hers? Or that I will deserve everything that is coming to me?”

“Stop!” Thomas raised a hand, “Calm
yourself. After last night, there is no option
but
marriage. Why the bloody hell Felicity went to your rooms is
beyond me. I tried to ask her, but she’s closed herself in her rooms and won’t
speak to me. There’s no question that she brought this on herself, unless you
invited her.”

“I did not.”

“I had already ruled that out. You
are not such a cad as to invite my aunt to your rooms. Neither would you expect
Felicity to go traipsing around the house in the middle of the night. You would
go to her.” He paced in front of Andover. “So I’ve been thinking, and I realize
Felicity is perfect for you.”

Andover shook his head, as the
ramifications settled. “You are no longer angry with me?”

Thomas’s head shot up. “I wouldn’t
go that far. That was callous of you to discuss marriage with my father and not
let anyone know.”

“And have her the victim of your
relentless teasing?”

“Precisely. You robbed me of an
opportunity!” He slapped Andover on the back.

“Do you mind telling me what you
mean by ‘the depth of her’?”

“Are you daft? I am going to sit
back and let this unravel right in front of you.”

“Don’t.” Andover fought the panic
Thomas inspired. “The last thing I need is any more chaos. Forewarn me if there
is going to be drama.”

“Nothing you can’t cope with, my
friend. And remember, the medicine that doesn’t kill you will save you.”

“Good God, Redmond, that’s a poor
choice of phrase.”

“Not so poor as you might think.”

****

After a warm bath and a cup of
chamomile tea, Felicity tossed about in a fitful sleep. The edge of waking
filled with images of Andover surrounded by beautiful women and her aunt
chiding, “What did you expect? It is the way of the world, Cissy, you best get
used to it.”

Worse, pages flew from her
journals, only to be caught in the maws of a great device that chewed them up
and spit them out in millions of pieces.

“Enough!” She jolted awake,
blinked, then blinked again. On the pillow, next to her head, was a single
rose, its heady perfume a calming scent after the fright of her dreams.

She didn’t move to pick it up or to
look more closely, just blinked and studied it, as though that single bloom was
just another aspect of her dream.

It was from him, of course. He
would know just how to disarm a lady. To get his own way. She had enough
brothers to understand that.

There was a small card. She rolled
onto her back and pulled the note from the envelope. His handwriting, strong
and secure, wielded the same seductive power as his voice.

Felicity, my dearest,
tell me what you want.

Tell me your dreams.

I will reach the stars
to give them to you. Yours, Andover.

Make yesterday today. That was her
dream.

She moved to the window seat and
remained standing there, the note still in her hands. Considerate it was of the
weather to be cranky and dismal this afternoon. Too miserable for anyone to
walk in the garden. She could sit by the window, all alone, and lick her wounds
without the risk of someone watching her from below.

She should be working on her
journals, adding in the mix she made for Adele Smith, but the burden of
disappointment weighed her down. She needed to map out a future for herself, a
future as foreign as the other side of the world.

Perhaps not just yet.

Later, tomorrow, or the next day.
Just not now.

The door creaked, announcing a
sneaky intruder. Too bad for them, it was privacy Felicity craved. She turned
away, more fully facing the window, hiding in plain sight.

“Cissy,” a quiet voice prodded.

“Beatrice?” Felicity whipped
around, stumbled in her rush to her cousin. Their embrace brought the tears
right back to Felicity’s eyes. Drat it, she did not want to cry.

“Oh, Cissy! Whatever has happened?
Everyone was so glum.”

“Never mind that.” Felicity swiped
at her eyes. “I’m just so excited to see you. It has been a worry, your delay.
Thank goodness you have arrived!”

“We tried desperately to get here
for Easter, but lost a wheel and then no one would fix it because it was
Saturday, and then Sunday and Easter and all and—” she stopped to catch
her breath. “Oh Cissy, you must tell me. Something terrible has happened, I can
tell. Aunt Elizabeth had tears in her eyes, you have as well, please don’t say
nothing is wrong. I shan’t believe it, I refuse!”

“It is awful, Bea, truly awful, and
I don’t know where to start.”

In the process of untying her
bonnet strings, Bea stilled. “Someone died?”

It felt as if she had, Felicity
thought. “No. That might have been better. But that is not the case.”

“Oh Cis,” Bea tossed her bonnet on
a chair, grabbed Felicity’s arm and plunked her back in the window seat, as she
worked the buttons of her spencer. “I will ring for tea, for I am positively
parched.”

Ever practical, she moved over to
the bell pull, rang it, and struggled so hard to get out of her spencer
Felicity got up to help her.

“You don’t mind, do you, Cis, if I
use one of your shawls? My spencer has grown a tad tight. I’ve a new one being
made in town, but of course, we haven’t been there because of the Easter
holidays,” she explained. “I didn’t dare let a footman help me out of it in
front of everyone!”

Bea, still speaking, looked through
Felicity’s shawl drawer to find something lighter than the jacket. She
flourished a paisley wrap. “Ah, yes, this will do.” She settled it over her
shoulders. “It is so good to be here, even with everyone so unhappy.” And she
settled down on the seat beside Felicity, and patted the cushion between them.
“Don’t keep me in suspense now.”

There was a rap at the door and
Jesse, Felicity’s abigail, poked her head into the room. “Did you want
something, miss?”

“Yes,” Bea answered. “Please bring
us a tea tray, and see if Cook can rummage up something scrumptious.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Felicity smiled at Jesse, as though
all was right with the world, crushingly aware of looks shot her way. She was
not fragile china, would not shatter. It was a relief when the girl bobbed her
head and withdrew.

“Interesting,” Bea smoothed her
skirts. “Where were we?”

“Welcoming you here.”

The seat was wide enough, and deep
enough that the girls sat legs tucked to the side, backs against the open
shutters. From this comfortable position, Bea tipped her head. “No, I do not
believe that was where we were.” Nose scrunched, she looked so hard, Felicity
turned away. “I was asking you not to keep me in suspense. You are avoiding
answering, so the great upset has to do with you.”

Felicity slumped back. Impossible
to keep a secret from Beatrice. Not that she wanted to, not that the rest of
the world wouldn’t tell her. Voicing it was just so hard. She was not ready to
do that, but do it she would. Better to have it come from her than some other
source.

“He proposed,” she admitted. “I
didn’t even know he was courting me, had only known him a matter of weeks, and
he proposed.”

At the start of Felicity’s
admission, Bea jackknifed, leaned close. “Who proposed?”

“The Marquis of Andover, Lord
Andover.” The hollowness of her feelings lingered in his name.

Bea patted Felicity’s knees. “But
that is good news, isn’t it? Aren’t you thrilled? You’ve bested Lady Jane!” Bea
crowed. “That alone makes it worth it. Doesn’t it?” On a swallowed whimper,
Felicity shook her head. “It isn’t.” Beatrice scooted around, pushed Felicity
over and wrapped her arms around her. “What is it? Did your father turn him
down? Did someone do something to turn him away? What? What could be so
difficult?”

“He…” Felicity pulled away,
straightened. She had to fight this emotion and sympathy didn’t help. “He had
Aunt Vi in his room last night.”

“What!” Bea gasped. “The cad, the
downright, horrible, terrible cad!”

“I think Mother is right.” Felicity
offered. “I think Aunt Vi set it all up, only I don’t know how she would know
that I would go to his room…” She looked at Bea, realizing her admission, only
to see her cousin’s pure delight.

“You saucy girl, you!”

“No! It wasn’t like that. I…”

“It doesn’t matter what it was
like, you broke the rules! You!” Bea laughed. “This is just too delightful! And
you were betrothed, so it wasn’t such a bad thing. You must tell me all!”

“Bea, my Aunt Vi was there in
dishabille! And she confessed that they had been lovers.”

“Oh.” That dampened Bea’s reaction.
“That’s not a comfortable thing at all.”

“And the servants knew that I went
to his room.”

“So you have to get married.”

“I refuse, Bea. I absolutely refuse
to marry him!”

Bea continued to study her. “Do you
think that’s wise?”

“I don’t care if it is wise or not.
I will not marry him.” If only she felt as smug as she sounded. Although she
had an inheritance coming, it would be ages before she had access to it. And,
even then, she had no idea what it cost to keep a household, even a small one.

“Would you at least tell me about
it?” Bea pushed, for they had shared dreams of courtship and proposals, had
shared sensational novels absolutely forbidden by their mothers. “This is our
first proposal. Was it anything like we imagined? Did he get down on one knee
and profess his undying love for you?”

“It wasn’t exactly like that.”
Felicity scooted past Bea and off the window seat, crossing to the desk,
startled by the rose and note she had tossed in the lacquered Chinese waste bin
there. She reached down, lifted the flower, turned it in her hand. The thorns
had been snipped. If only he could snip the barbs of life.

“Well, did he kiss you? He must
have kissed you.”

Tears threatened. “No.” Felicity
sniffed. “At least, he did not kiss my lips.”

“But he kissed you?” Bea tilted her
head.

“My fingers, my wrist. I should
have known then. Actually, I had wondered about that, one of the reasons I went
to his rooms. A man must want to kiss a woman for the marriage to be a good
one, don’t you think?”

“Is it a business arrangement,
then?” Bea fiddled with the hem of her skirt, her disappointment clear. “I
didn’t think your parents would pressure you that way.”

“They didn’t. It was a proper
proposal only, well…” Felicity was at a loss how to explain. “Do you remember
the mesmerist, at the fair a few summers ago?”

“Of course. How could I forget?
Your abigail lay like a board with nothing holding her up but the back of a
chair at her ankles and neck. It was wonderful. But what has that got to do
with anything?”

“Have you ever heard Andover’s
voice?” Bea shook her head. “When he speaks, you can feel it, like a warm bath
in a chilly room, it washes over you.”