A Talent for Trouble (2 page)

A knock on the door provided a welcome reason to avoid answering her mother. She rose from the settee, walked across the room, pulled open the door, and found one of the housemaids, Gladys, on the other side.

Gladys bobbed a curtsy. “There's a gentleman here to see you, Miss Murdock.”

“A gentleman?”

“Yes. Mr. Sumner has come to call.”

Apprehension was immediate. “Are you certain about that?”

Gladys nodded and pressed a calling card into Felicia's hand. She glanced at it, and sure enough, it did appear as if Mr. Grayson Sumner had come to call. She jumped when her mother suddenly peered over her shoulder.

“Ah, how lovely. The card does read
Mr. Sumner
. My, I wonder what he's doing here.”

Felicia turned and quickly recognized that her mother was batting innocent-looking eyes back at her—something she did quite often when she was in the midst of a plot. “I can't help but wonder the same, Mother.”

Ruth ignored her and beamed at Gladys. “Please tell Mr. Sumner that Felicia will be right down.”

“I don't think so. Gladys, please tell him I'm indisposed.”

“She'll be right down,” Ruth repeated.

“I'm indisposed.”

Ruth seemed to grow a little larger even as her face turned red. “You're not indisposed; you're sulking—which is quite unattractive, by the way.” She nodded to Gladys. “Again, you may inform Mr. Sumner that Felicia will be down momentarily.”

Not giving Felicia an opportunity to argue further, Gladys barely bobbed a curtsy before she spun around and beat a hasty retreat.

“Why is Grayson Sumner here, Mother?”

“Because he enjoys your company?”

“Mr. Sumner and I have rarely spent time in each other's company.”

Ruth smiled. “Why, that's it. He saw you today at the wedding, realized he wishes to become better acquainted with you, and here he is, in our house, waiting for you to go greet him.”

“I'm afraid I don't think that's the reason a member of British aristocracy is currently waiting for me to go greet him.”

“I disagree.”

“Out with it, Mother. What have you done now?”

“You're always so suspicious.”

Felicia arched a brow.

Ruth arched one right back at her before she seemed to deflate on the spot. “Oh, very well. If you must know, Mr. Sumner is here to escort you to his sister's house. Eliza's decided to host a late-afternoon tea, and she specifically sought me out in order to extend an invitation to you.” Ruth let out a breath. “She was quite concerned when no one could locate you after the wedding. You'll be relieved to learn that I explained your mad dash from the ceremony with as few words as possible, stating something to the effect that the fabric of your gown had brought on an unfortunate rash.”

“You told everyone I have a rash?”

“Well, not everyone—just Eliza, Grayson, and oh, that delightful Agatha Watson.” Ruth frowned. “The thought did spring to mind, right after the word
rash
escaped my lips, that it probably wasn't the best explanation I could have come up with, considering rashes are hardly desirable. However, ladies have been known to suffer from wearing an excess of tulle, which you
were
wearing today, so it certainly was a believable comment.”

Ruth's frown turned into a smile. “At least now your friends will be considerate of your tender condition instead of recognizing the real reason you fled the wedding was due to your unfortunate infatuation with Reverend Fraser.”

There were no words at Felicia's disposal to respond to that bit of nonsense, and oddly enough, since her mother had mentioned a rash, her skin had begun to itch somewhat dreadfully underneath the swaths of fabric she wore. Scratching her arm, she took a moment to consider her mother. “Tell me, why can't I simply ride over to Eliza's house with you?”

“Ah, well . . . I wasn't invited.”

Her mother was getting more incorrigible with each passing
day. “Eliza would never neglect to extend you an invitation, Mother.”

“I think it's a tea for young people.”

They were getting nowhere fast.

“How did it happen that Mr. Sumner was coerced to come fetch me?”

“I wouldn't say he was
coerced
. It seemed to me he was quite eager to make the offer.” Ruth's eyes began to sparkle. “You should feel extremely honored that a gentleman of Grayson's caliber has come to call. Why, with that delicious accent of his and his all too handsome face, he's a gentleman any lady can appreciate.”

Here it was—clear proof that her mother was indeed plotting.

“Are you sure your name isn't Ruthless instead of Ruth?”

“Pardon me?”

“You're scheming, Mother, and not very subtly. You've set your sights on Grayson Sumner as a prospect for me.”

“My goodness, Felicia, I never realized you have such an overactive imagination. All I did was point out that he's a fine candidate, er, suitable escort for you today.”

“Grayson Sumner is out of my reach. He's an aristocrat, as in a real-life earl.”

Ruth began inspecting the sleeve of her gown. “You'd make a lovely countess, and just think how adorable any children you might have would be. When you're not downplaying your looks, you're beautiful, and Grayson . . . Well, need I say more?” Ruth looked up. “Would they be little lords and ladies, your children, or do children of earls not get honorary titles?”

“Mr. Sumner abandoned his title.”

“He can always resume the use of it with a bit of prodding.”

The conversation was quickly going downhill. “I've never aspired to become a member of the aristocracy.”

“That's not entirely true. When you were ten, you declared to me you wished to become a princess.”

“All little girls wish to become princesses.”

“Now you can contemplate becoming a countess. They're almost the same thing.”

Felicia sucked in a deep breath of air, the action causing her corset to brush against skin that, strangely enough, was still itching. “You're going to have to tell him I'm not feeling well. In fact, I do feel as if I might be coming down with a rash.”

“You're not, and I'll do no such thing.”

“Then tell him I have nothing suitable to wear.”

“Your wardrobe is stuffed to the gills with clothing.”

“That's exactly what my gowns resemble, gills.”

“You're determined to be difficult, aren't you.”

“Yes.”

Ruth reached out and patted Felicia's cheek. “Darling, I understand that you suffered a great disappointment today, but the last thing you should do is hide away in your room. You need to reclaim your life and pursue a future that will allow you to embrace who you truly are, not who you've been pretending to be of late.”

“May I assume you believe I should do all of those things while in the company of Grayson Sumner?”

“He's a charming gentleman, Felicia, and the times I've seen the two of you together, both of you have always been smiling.”

“I'm quite certain the only reason I smile while in his company is to mask the fact he makes me incredibly nervous.”

“Hmm . . .” Ruth's eyes began to sparkle once again.

Chaos normally followed that particular sparkle, which meant Felicia was going to have to nip this subject in the bud before her mother got any truly crazy ideas.

“Grayson Sumner clearly has a mysterious past, and I think that past has caused him to be a rather dangerous man.”

“I've always found dangerous gentlemen to be very intriguing.”

There was going to be no reasoning with her mother. Felicia's
hope of extended wallowing was rapidly slipping away. “Fine, I'll find something to wear.”

“That's the spirit, dear.” Ruth patted Felicia's cheek once again as her eagle eyes skimmed over Felicia's hair. “You might want to do something different with your hair, darling. I'm afraid it looks quite disastrous.” With that, Ruth hurried through the door and disappeared from view.

Felicia's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, knowing there was no option but to change and then travel to Eliza's tea. She stiffened her spine and headed for her dressing room, striding through it before she yanked the door to her wardrobe open. She refused to allow herself the luxury of a good sigh when the sight of pinks, yellows, pale greens, and far too many bows, ribbons, and, more alarmingly yet, feathers met her gaze.

Temper took her by surprise. She moved into the wardrobe and began rummaging through the garments, anxiety quickly replacing the temper as realization finally began to sink in over what she'd actually done over the past four years.

She'd changed who she was in the hope of attracting the attention of a gentleman.

She'd spent hour upon hour at the church, volunteering for everything from feeding the needy to distributing used clothing, and, occasionally, even scrubbing down the pews.

She'd prided herself on never missing a church service, when in actuality she'd gone to every single one only to gaze at Reverend Fraser.

She was a fraud, and it was past time she did something to rectify that.

Her hands stilled when a flash of dark met her gaze. She reached into the farthest recesses of her wardrobe and snatched at it, pulling out the black gown she'd worn to her grandfather's funeral.

She tore the pink tulle from her body, not bothering to ring
for a maid, and slipped into the black dress, buttoning up the front before she strode back to the mirror. She eyed her reflection and then began to pull pins as rapidly as she could from her hair. Her fingers flew faster and faster as something that felt very much like panic settled over her.

She'd wasted years of her life.

She'd become someone she didn't know and really didn't care for in the least.

Her mother was right. It was time for her to reclaim her life, but she had no idea how to go about that.

An image of Grayson Sumner sprang to mind.

Her mother was not mistaken—he was a handsome gentleman, wealthy too, and he did possess a title, as well as a compelling British accent—but . . . he really was dangerous. She'd realized that the first time she'd made his acquaintance.

She pulled out another pin, tilted her head, and then nodded. Perhaps a tiny slice of danger was exactly what was needed to get her life back on track.

G
rayson Sumner picked up the china teacup the housemaid had so thoughtfully provided for him, taking a sip of the pleasant brew before he glanced around the tastefully decorated drawing room. He'd never been in this part of the Murdock residence before, and quite frankly, he was surprised to find his surroundings so understated, without a single bold color in sight.

He'd been expecting fussy, given the eccentric manner Miss Felicia Murdock chose to dress, and was slightly disappointed to discover everything so normal.

Amusement replaced disappointment when the thought came to him that Felicia could never be mistaken for normal, no matter the conventional state of her home. She garbed herself in highly unusual fashions, her gowns always dripping with bows and ribbons, but he'd realized shortly after making her acquaintance that underneath the yards and yards of fabric draping her form, there resided a lady who possessed the spirit of a hoyden.

How he'd come to that realization, he really couldn't say. It
wasn't as if he'd ever seen her behave in an untoward manner. Felicia presented herself to the world as a demure young lady, but there was just something about the way her eyes twinkled with mischief every so often that lent credence to his impression regarding her true nature.

For the life of him, he hadn't been able to understand why she'd assumed such a retiring manner—well, retiring except for her peculiar taste in clothing—until just a few hours ago. He'd watched her as she'd perched on the very edge of the pew throughout the wedding ceremony, looking for all intents and purposes as if she were about to take flight. When he'd remarked on Felicia's odd behavior to his sister, Eliza, she'd leaned closer to him and whispered that she'd come to believe Felicia held Reverend Fraser in affection, affection of the romantic kind.

That had explained much, at least in regard to her demure attitude. He wasn't certain anything could explain her taste in fashion. What had taken him aback though, once he'd had a moment to think about it, was that a clear feeling of disgruntlement had settled over him right after Eliza whispered her thoughts into his ear.

What had caused the disgruntlement, he really couldn't say, but he'd been downright grumpy for the rest of the ceremony, which had been rather odd, since weddings normally left him in a pleasant frame of mind.

Grayson took another sip of tea, set the cup aside on a table next to the chair, and pulled out his pocket watch, wondering when, or even if, Felicia would appear.

Perhaps her rash had gotten worse.

If she did appear, was he expected to inquire about the rash, or should he simply pretend Mrs. Murdock hadn't divulged that rather personal information?

Deciding pretending ignorance would be for the best in this situation, he leaned back and stretched out his legs, rising to
his feet a mere moment later when Mrs. Murdock charged into the room, her face wreathed in its customary smile. He stepped forward and took the hand she offered him, bringing it to his lips, which caused her smile to widen and her cheeks to turn pink.

“I do beg your pardon for keeping you waiting so long,” Ruth Murdock exclaimed when he let go of her hand. “Felicia will be down in a moment.”

“I hope she's been able to address to satisfaction that, er, little problem you mentioned.”

Ruth winced but then smiled. “Indeed she has, but it might be for the best if you don't bring that up around her. Ladies are extremely sensitive about such matters.” She waltzed over to a settee done up in watered silk and motioned him forward. “We might as well get comfortable while we wait.” She sat down and gestured to the space beside her.

Grayson smiled and took a seat, his smile widening when she reached over and patted his knee in a motherly gesture.

“I must thank you again for coming to fetch Felicia this afternoon. I know she would have been quite bereft if she'd missed having tea with her friends.”

“I was more than happy to offer my services.”

Leaning closer to him, Ruth lowered her voice. “Come now, Mr. Sumner. I know full well that you only offered so quickly because Eliza was treading on your foot.”

“You saw that?”

“I'm a mother. I see everything.” She patted his knee again. “Don't fret about it though. You are a gentleman, and gentlemen don't always see the opportunities that present themselves as well as we ladies do.”

“Opportunities?”

“Exactly. Which is why it's so fortunate your sister is such an observant sort. It's clear she only has your best interests at
heart, so do be certain to thank her when you see her next for stepping on your foot.”

He no longer possessed any idea regarding what the conversation was about, or where it was leading.

Ruth charged ahead. “You're very indulgent with Eliza, aren't you?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she continued on as if she hadn't just asked a question. “Tell me, dear, do you think that indulgence was brought on because you abandoned her for far too many years?”

There was no denying that.

He had abandoned his sister for years, and the guilt he suffered over that abandonment was the motivation behind his granting Eliza her every whim.

He'd left her and his father without a single word, without thought for that matter, turning his back on his responsibilities as he'd set out on an adventure of a lifetime after he graduated from Oxford. He'd never considered the possibility that his father might die, their man of affairs would steal all of the family money, and Eliza would be left to fend for herself.

She'd believed him dead.

His sister had mourned him while he'd been off in China securing a fortune for himself through reprehensible means. For that reason alone, Grayson would forever be plagued with remorse.

Regret was his constant companion, because what had eventually happened in China had been entirely his fault. His actions had caused his wife and the rest of her family to suffer the most brutal of deaths.

Only he and Ming, the child he was raising as his daughter, had managed to escape that horrifying end.

Ruth suddenly let out a cough, causing him to remember he was supposed to be in the midst of a conversation with the lady. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Murdock. What were you saying?”

“I was inquiring about that adorable daughter of yours. I missed seeing her at the wedding.”

Mrs. Murdock's ability to change the subject at the drop of a hat was truly amazing.

“Ming's fine—thank you for asking—but since she has just turned three, I felt it unwise for her to attend today. She's at that age where you can never tell what she may do.”

“I well remember those years. Felicia was a terror.”

Silence settled over the room, most likely because Mrs. Murdock had snapped her lips together and was perusing the carpet as if something had captured her interest.

Resisting the urge to laugh, Grayson placed his hand on her arm. “I'm certain Miss Murdock was completely precious in her youth.”

Ruth's head snapped up, and she began nodding, vigorously. “But of course she was. Why, whenever she found herself in the midst of a bit of trouble—not that she got into trouble often, mind you—she'd turn those big eyes on me and I was helpless to resist her.” She smiled. “I'm sure Eliza must have used the same tactics with you in her younger years.”

Eliza
had
been precious in her youth, with her flyaway red hair and large blue eyes. She'd adored him, had followed him everywhere, which made it all the more disturbing that he'd so carelessly turned from her.

“You need a mother for little Ming.”

This was what happened when one let down one's guard while in the presence of a matchmaking mother. They were relentless in their determination to see their daughters well married and pounced when a man least expected it.

He considered Mrs. Murdock for a moment, unable to attribute the gleam in her eyes to anything other than speculation.

He'd come to truly enjoy Mrs. Murdock and her manipulating ways, even though that manipulation was currently directed
toward him. She was obviously a lady who loved her family, especially her daughter. He appreciated that about her, even though he had no intention of going along with whatever diabolical plan she currently had prowling around her mind.

He was going to have to be honest with her, firm as well, and make her understand that he was not the gentleman for Felicia, or for any other lady for that matter. He'd vowed to never marry again, and he intended to keep that vow. He was too damaged, too filthy, if the truth were known. He would never be good enough to become someone's husband, let alone a husband to a lady like Felicia, who was entirely too captivating for her own good.

He felt a bead of sweat pop out on his forehead and begin to dribble down his face as trepidation rolled through him. It was a bit concerning even thinking the word
captivating
and Felicia in the same breath. Granted, it lent a bit of an explanation as to why he'd been grumpy at the wedding, but . . . he needed to make a hasty retreat before other words such as
alluring
,
enchanting
, and
compelling
started swirling around his mind, but . . . apparently, they already were.

Searching for an excuse that would allow him to take an immediate leave, he casually pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, wondering if he could hope Felicia's rash had been a contagious thing and was even now rapidly spreading through the wedding guests. He leaned closer and peered at his skin, unable to detect a single blemish. He scratched it just to be sure.

“Good gracious, Mr. Sumner, are you itching?”

Itching to get out of there, but he couldn't very well make that proclamation without giving Mrs. Murdock a perfect reason to speculate, and that wasn't something he was willing to do, not given her devious mind.

The sound of an uneven stomping gait right outside the drawing room broke through his panicked thoughts. He turned
toward the door and felt the breath leave him in one single whoosh when Felicia stormed into the room, the sight of her causing his mouth to drop open even as he belatedly remembered to get to his feet.

“Oh . . . dear,” Ruth whispered as she got up from the settee as well.

Mrs. Murdock's exclamation summed it up nicely. The lady standing in front of him in no way resembled the Felicia he'd come to know. Instead, he was faced with a lady gowned all in black, the cut of the garment emphasizing curves he'd never noticed and certainly never imagined. Her hair was unbound and tumbled to a waist that was incredibly small and accented her . . . charms.

His mouth ran dry as another bead of sweat formed on his forehead and trickled down his face.

Who would have ever thought such an enticing figure was lurking under the vast amount of fabric Felicia normally wore?

Realizing he was gawking, and with a mother bent on matchmaking standing only feet away from him, he pulled his gaze from Felicia's surprising attributes and decided a safe part of her to concentrate on would be her hair. Unfortunately, random pins sticking haphazardly out of her tresses captured his attention, causing his mouth to curve up in a grin, something he quickly strove to control when Felicia's eyes began to shoot sparks in his direction.

Ruth took that moment to clear her throat, loudly. “Felicia, what could you be thinking wearing that particular gown, and where are your manners? You've neglected to greet Mr. Sumner.”

“Mr. Sumner,” Felicia all but purred in a husky voice, the huskiness causing his mouth to feel as if it were suddenly full of sand.

“Miss Murdock,” he managed to say, wincing when he realized his voice sounded unnaturally high. He swallowed, drew in
a deep breath, and tried again, pitching his tone a few octaves lower. “Don't you look . . . delightful.”

Felicia frowned, narrowed her eyes, and folded her arms over her chest.

Oddly enough, it seemed as if she took offense at the term
delightful
. He tried again. “Charming?”

Her eyes narrowed to mere slits.

“Different?”

Felicia's frown disappeared as her lips curved into an enchanting smile, causing all rational thought to flee from his mind.

She was stunning when she smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Sumner.”

“Really, Felicia, I'm not certain he was extending you a compliment,” Ruth muttered before she waved a hand at Felicia's dress. “Would you care to explain why you've garbed yourself all in black? It's not as if anyone has died recently.”

Felicia lifted her chin. “I had nothing else to wear. And there has been a death recently, very recently—the death of the old me. I've decided to assume a new identity, at least for today. Today . . . I'm going to be Clara.”

Grayson exchanged a glance with Ruth, who was looking decidedly worried, before he returned his attention to Felicia. Curiosity stole over him. “Why Clara?”