Alicia (18 page)

“Now, Mother, surely you could not ask me to divulge the secret?”

“I shall ask
her,
”
she retorted stubbornly.

“As you please, ma’am,”
he drawled, and dinner was announced before she could make a move in Felicia’s direction. He offered his arm and led her, proud as could be (even if the chit
had
designed the gown) into the dining parlor.

Dinner was magnificent, as Miss Carnworth had prophesied, and Alicia watched to see that Felicia was enjoying herself. The girl was seated between the general and Rowland, both of whom seemed intent on entertaining her with stories of the day’s activities—the cricket match especially. Alicia was seated to the marquis’s right, with Mr. Jacobs, an elderly gentleman of the cloth whose health had forced him to retire, on her other side. While Stronbert conversed with Lady Gorham, Alicia was treated by Mr. Jacobs to many of the same cricket-match anecdotes as her daughter. When his flattering references to Stronbert’s performance drew the marquis’s attention, Stronbert entered their discussion.

“You must not allow Mr. Jacobs to cozen you into believing that I am above average as a cricketer, Lady Coombs. There is a great deal of revelry in our games which is what makes them amusing, not the sterling performances.”

Mr. Jacobs had turned away to respond to a remark made by Miss Carnworth, and Alicia replied quizzingly, “I trust you would not cozen me yourself, Lord Stronbert.”

He studied her seriously, a faint smile curving his lips. “Never, ma’am. There is that about you which inspires the utmost trustworthiness in me.”
At her helpless gesture of denial, he turned the conversation. “You will see there above the mantel the portrait I mentioned. Although Cuffy is portrayed as a most fierce hunting dog, he was in fact very amiable. My father gave him to me as a puppy to train and I fear I did not succeed to admiration. I think it was rather a joke of Father’s to have him shown as he is, for as I told you he spent the time we were posing destroying my boots.”

Alicia could not repress the gurgle of laughter she felt when she compared his story with the scene in the portrait. The previous Lord Stronbert was a distinguished-looking gentleman, not unlike the present marquis in his facial features, and his hand rested on his son’s shoulder, the dog beside eagerly poised to run. The younger Stronbert’s eyes were excited and mischievous and Alicia could visualize him tumbling into a muddy pond in his effort to rescue his dog from the butcher. Embarrassed by the emotion the portrait and story evoked in her, she remarked formally, “You resemble your father considerably; more so, perhaps, than Matthew does you.”

“Yes, Matthew has more of his mother’s family about him, I would say,”
he conceded easily. “Felicia, on the other hand, is the image of you.”

“Certainly we share some likenesses,”
Alicia admitted, “but Felicia is undoubtedly possessed of a most unique combination. You remarked yourself that she is...attractive,”
she finished proudly.

“Beautiful, I believe I said, Lady Coombs, but without her mother’s maturity of countenance.”

With an attempt at lightness she rejoined shakily, “That is merely another way of saying old, Lord Stronbert.”

“Not at all,”
he retorted. “Innocence is beguiling, amusing, but experience is compelling. You give Felicia an example in courage and resourcefulness which will stand well with her for the future.”

“I give Felicia very little,”
she sighed, as her eyes wandered to her daughter. “She deserves a great deal more than I am able to provide.”

“There is little of use to her the she does not receive from you. I admire what you have done.”

“You are kind to say so, Lord Stronbert, but she should be looking forward to a season in London, to a place in county society. Instead she decorates bonnets and knows the rejection of not being invited to balls.”

“It is hard for her, I know, but no less difficult for you.”

“Nonsense! I am beyond the need for the diversions of the young.”

“Surely not past the need for friendship?”
he asked seriously.

“No,”
she faltered, “I could not bear to be without a friend such as Lady Gorham...or...you, my lord. I do not mean to be presumptuous,”
she flushed, “but you have indeed stood our friend on numerous occasions.”

A slow smile spread over his face. “I am honored that you should consider me your friend, for I mean to be.”
And more, he thought wryly, as he sipped a silent toast to her, which she shyly acknowledged.

“I would never trade on your friendship,”
she assured him earnestly. “That is, I would not speak of it with anyone else, for it could only lower you in another’s eyes to be known to have befriended a shopkeeper and her daughter. But I...feel reassured by your concern.”

“I doubt my consequence will suffer from my concern for a ‘shopkeeper,’
!" he remarked exasperatedly, “and you have my permission to use my name in vain on any occasion where it will assist you.”

He regarded her so fixedly that she dropped her eyes before his gaze. “You are gammoning me, my lord,”
she replied stiffly.

“No, Lady Coombs, I am not. I am granting you and Felicia the same privilege that each member of my household has, and as with them, I trust you not to abuse it.”

“Well, of course we would not abuse it,”
she protested, “but we are not members of your household and do not deserve such notice.”

“As your friend, I could do no less. You would do the same for me, would you not?”
he asked searchingly.

“Why...yes, of course I would,”
she asserted breathlessly, conscious of the people all about them. With an effort at self-composure she laughed uncertainly. “I cannot imagine your ever needing
my
assistance.”

“It is enough to know that you would offer it if I did,”
he replied gently. His brown eyes, warm with affection, held hers for a moment that was exhilarating yet frightening. She suspected that her own betrayed more than the friendship she professed, for he gave a satisfied nod and allowed Mr. Jacobs to claim her attention.

When the ladies withdrew, Lady Stronbert immediately approached Felicia and drew her aside. “Miss Coombs, I can get no straight answer from my son, to say nothing of Cousin Susan. I wish you will tell me if you designed the gown I am wearing.”

“Why, yes, ma’am, I did,”
Felicia admitted nervously.

“Then I should like to tell you, young woman,”
the dowager said sternly, “that I have never owned such a fashionable costume.”

“And you are not happy to do so?”
Felicia asked, puzzled.

“Of course I am happy. Can you not tell?”
the old woman asked with a most unflattering leer. Then she chuckled and said, “Everyone thinks I am going to clapperclaw about it. I just wanted to thank you and to ask...if you would consider designing some day dresses for me.”

Felicia uttered a little laugh of relief. “I should be happy to do so, ma’am. I enjoy nothing more.”

“Good. You are a clever little puss and if I am jealous you must put it down to my advanced age. We shall discuss it further another day. This is not the time.”
The dowager kissed her cheek a trifle awkwardly and walked away.

When the gentlemen joined them there was music, each of the young ladies performing in turn on the harpsichord. The men joined in the singing of glees, catches, and madrigals until Rowland suggested that they all join the dancing which was underfoot in the barn. Stronbert always attended the dancing for some period during the evening, and a number of the household decided to accompany him. Those who remained settled down at the card tables.

Alicia found Stronbert at her side, presenting his arm. “If you will allow me?”
he asked politely.

“I...yes, very well,”
she mumbled and placed her fingertips gingerly on the bottle-green sleeve of his handsome coat. Alicia was silent for a while as they traversed the lawns to the strains of music issuing forth from the barn. Stronbert kept up a gentle flow of small talk the while. When they arrived there was a general cheer for the marquis and he was urged to take part in the Slingby’s Reel just forming. He turned questioning eyes on Alicia but she shook her head mutely. He led Dorothy into the set. Alicia saw her daughter refuse Rowland and stepped up to her to promote her participation. “It is not a formal dance, love, and I am sure no one would take exception to your participating.”

Felicia turned alarmed eyes to her mother, but Alicia smiled encouragingly. Rowland waited patiently for her decision. They both watched her swallow nervously and turn to the young man, her lip trembling so slightly as to be hardly noticeable. “If you please, then, I should like to dance,”
she whispered, though it was obviously not completely true.

Rowland led her to the set in which Dorothy and his uncle, as well as Cassandra and Mr. Cooper, were positioned. The fiddler struck up his tune and Felicia soon found herself caught up in the swirling movement, her hands lightly touching those of the men about her as she went through the dance. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling when the tune ended. Stronbert solicited her for the Tristram Shandy and Mr. Cooper for the Macaroni. Breathless then, she returned to her mother’s side to confess that she had not enjoyed herself so well for months. Alicia blinked back the stupid tears which threatened and pressed her daughter’s hand. “Yes, my love, there is nothing like music and dancing to pick up one’s spirits.”

“Then may I hope that you will honor me for this next?”
Stronbert queried at her side as the Spaw Stag Chase was announced.

“Oh, do, Mama. You will enjoy it excessively,”
Felicia urged, her eyes pleading with her mother.

Stronbert kept his eyes on Alicia’s and nodded. Although he did not say a word, it was one of his commands and she silently obeyed. Felicia giggled and said mischievously, “You see, he can do it even without speaking.”

“It is lamentable,”
her mother agreed as she walked off with his lordship.

But she, too, felt relief in the rhythm and swing of the dance and forgot for a while the cares that pressed on her. Rowland and Felicia had joined the set as well, for it was to be the last of the evening. Stronbert shared a hopeful glance with his nephew when the dance ended. Then the party returned to the terrace of the Court to watch a display of Roman candles, gillockes, and girandoles light the night sky. Felicia was struck dumb in her awe, and her mother, who had never seen fireworks before either, was amazed at the sight.

Alicia spent a moment speaking with Lady Gorham and Cassandra before she announced that they must be leaving. Lady Gorham walked aside with her a bit to ask, “May we come to see you tomorrow, my dear? We must leave the next day.”

“So soon? I shall be sorry to see you go. Yes, do come to us for tea tomorrow, just you and Cassandra and the Clintons.”

“Felicia seems easier. I cannot tell about you,”
the older woman complained, her sharp eyes scanning Alicia’s face.

“I try not to think on it. Do not be concerned for me,”
Alicia replied with a faint smile.

“You would not, I suppose, consider giving up your shop and coming to live with me permanently?”
Lady Gorham asked diffidently.

“No, my dear, I could not do that,”
the younger woman said gently.

“I thought not. Well, we shall see you tomorrow.”

Stronbert came then to tell Alicia that the carriage was ready. She and Felicia expressed their thanks to the dowager marchioness and to him for the lovely evening and were escorted by Stronbert to the front steps. “I shall be away for a few days,”
he remarked lazily. “I hope, Felicia, that you will feel free to ride Dancer whenever you choose. The gown was a great success and I thank you. I do not believe, Lady Coombs, that I have received a reckoning for the service.”
He made a languid gesture while his eyes laughingly mocked her.

“I must have overlooked it, sir. Have no fear that it shall be sent.”

“Oh, Mama, I do not wish to be paid for such a thing,”
Felicia cried, her face flushed.

“It is a matter of principle,”
Stronbert said gravely.

“Indeed,”
Alicia agreed, but her lips twitched slightly. “Come, my love, we must not keep the horses standing.”

Stronbert returned to the house amused and exasperated. He had counseled his nephew in patience, but he wondered if patience would be enough with Lady Coombs.

Jane Newton was in the morning parlor when she was brought a letter from her sister-in-law. Alicia had written that the shop was prospering and that she and Felicia were comfortable in their cottage. Felicia, she wrote, had made friends with some young people at Stronbert Court and rode with them almost daily. They were both invited to dinner there the next day, when the gown Felicia had designed for the dowager marchioness was to be displayed.

Alicia wrote in a humorous vein about her more obstreperous customers and neighbors. There was one special note to her brother which his wife did not understand. It read: There has been a little trouble with Mr. T, but that is now taken care of. Jane was sure that the name of the man from whom Alicia had purchased the shop was Dean, so she could not mean him. She puzzled over the note for a while, and as she was finally setting it aside the maid came to announce a visitor.

“The Marquis of Stronbert,”
the girl repeated nervously.

Jane knew a moment’s fear but managed to say in a level voice, “Send him in, Flora. And try to find Mr. Newton. He will wish to see our visitor.”
Stronbert, that was the name of the Court Alicia had mentioned. She rose as the door opened again and curtsied as the handsome, lanky man entered. Somehow she had expected him to be older; he could not be forty. She moistened her lips to utter some polite inanity, but what came out was far otherwise. “Lady Coombs and her daughter? There is nothing wrong, is there?”

“No, no. Do not be alarmed. When last I saw them they were leaving the Court in good spirits.”
His gaze wandered curiously about the small, cheerful room, its furnishings old but well polished.

Jane, relieved, remembered her duty as hostess and asked the marquis to seat himself. “I have sent for my husband.”