Chapter 3 #2
Uncle Benjamin’s placating smile went brittle at the edges, showcasing his yellowing teeth. He looked at Celia, his expression attempting to become fond.
It was not a good attempt, Anne thought.
“My dear,” he said, in the voice he used when he was restraining himself in public. “Children ought not to involve themselves in adult conversations. We have talked about this.”
“I asked them to take me with them to Scotland,” Felicity announced.
“Felicity,” the Duke said in a warning tone.
“To live with their aunt. She sounds very kind.”
“Lady Felicity,” the Duke repeated more sharply.
Felicity fell quiet then. But she shot Celia a wink that communicated that the conversation was merely paused.
The Duke turned to Anne and Celia. “My daughter and I have imposed on your evening long enough. Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Barnet.” He looked at Celia. “Miss Celia.”
“You’re most welcome, Your Grace,” Celia replied. “You can come back whenever you like.”
Felicity brightened. “We could come back tomor—”
“We are leaving,” the Duke cut her off. “Now.”
“As are we,” Uncle Benjamin echoed.
Felicity moved to Celia. She took her hands in both of hers with the somberness of a child conducting serious business. “I will not forget you,” she said.
“Neither will I,” Celia promised. “You must write to me.”
“I’ll write you every week.”
“From London—”
“From wherever I am—”
“Lady Felicity,” the Duke warned.
With a sigh, Felicity released Celia’s hands and followed him toward the gate.
Anne found herself following them before she even realized she’d moved. She froze in place.
At the gate, the Duke paused and turned, his gaze catching hers for a fleeting second. His face had shed its blankness, and the sharp edge of their banter was gone, replaced by an expression she couldn’t name. It was something entirely new and unsettling.
“Good evening, Miss Barnet,” he called out.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she replied with a curtsy.
The Duke departed with Felicity in tow, who waved over her shoulder at Celia until the gate swung shut.
As the sound of footsteps faded down the gravel, the three were left in a silence that lasted barely four seconds.
Uncle Benjamin’s hand closed around Anne’s arm, careful and firm. Even as he steered her toward the house, he maintained the mask of propriety for the servants lingering at the garden’s edge, his grip communicating an unmistakable intent.
“Inside,” he said, very quietly.
“Uncle. Please, if I could just explain!”
“Now, girl.”
They went inside and entered the drawing room. Celia was already waiting, watching them with the wary stillness of a child who knew a storm was coming.
In the privacy of the room, Uncle Benjamin let go of Anne’s arm. The heat hadn’t left his face, but the loud bluster from the garden had turned into something much colder and foreboding.
“Footman!”
“Yes, My Lord?”
“The carriage,” Uncle Benjamin ordered. “We’re leaving within the hour.”
“Oh, Uncle, please,” Anne begged, keeping her voice low. “Let us stay the night, as we planned. Tomorrow, when it is a new day, we can discuss—”
“There is nothing to discuss.” Uncle Benjamin was very controlled as he walked toward her, which was in some ways worse than his bluster with the Duke.
“You made your intentions quite clear when you crept out of London like a pair of thieves in the night. Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think I wouldn’t follow?”
“I thought,” Anne said, “that you would be glad to be rid of us.”
“I would be glad,” he bit out, “to see you married to Lambridge, which is what I have arranged, which is what will happen, because I have worked too long and sacrificed too much to have two ungrateful girls throw it away. And on a romantic notion about Scotland of all the bloody places.” He looked at Celia, who had moved to Anne’s side.
“And you,” he said, then stopped. “Get your things.”
“I won’t go back. I will not marry Lambridge,” Anne protested.
“Yes, you will.”
“He is a cruel man. He is—”
“A marquess.” The word fell like a stone. “And you are the daughter of a dead viscount, with no money and no prospects, and a ten-year-old sister to provide for. You will be grateful for what I have arranged. That is final.”
“He is horrible,” Celia complained. “He called me stupid.”
“Be quiet, Celia,” Uncle Benjamin reprimanded.
“He did! He said—” the girl continued protesting.
“Be. Quiet.” Uncle Benjamin’s voice did not rise, but it landed, and Celia went still. “The carriage will be ready within the hour. You will both be in it, and you can sleep during the journey. That is the end of this conversation. We will ride in silence.”
He walked away.
Anne put her arm around Celia’s shoulders. She could feel her sister trembling. Not with fear; she knew better than that. It was with the frustrated fury of a girl who had been told to be quiet when she had been perfectly right.
She pressed her lips to Celia’s hair.
“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get our things, love.”
William had lit the desk lamp and sat down, though for twenty minutes, he’d done nothing but stare at the same letter without reading a single word.
Across from him sat Felicity. She had washed her face and changed into her nightdress, her hair neatly braided again. She watched him with those eyes that were, as people so often remarked, very much his own.
“You must never wander off alone again,” he warned. “Not in the dark. Not in the woods. Not without telling me or Miss Grantham precisely where you are going and when you intend to return.”
“I know, Papa,” she mumbled.
“I mean it, Felicity. Not as a suggestion.”
“I know.” A pause. “I’m sorry. Truly.” She looked at her hands, folded in her lap. “I didn’t plan to go so far. I just… Well, I needed to walk for a bit. I didn’t realize how far the woods went.”
He looked at her. She was not making excuses. He could tell the difference after eleven years together. She was explaining, which was a different thing.
“You frightened me,” he said plainly.
She looked up. Whatever she had expected, it was not that.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, and this time he knew that she meant it more.
He nodded and then looked at the fireplace, the flames casting a pleasant light that warmed the study.
I am not good at saying the things that need saying, nor in a way that doesn’t come out as too much or not enough.
He had spent years learning to be precise with his words, and it had served him well in business and in difficult situations. But it was a different kind of precision that fatherhood seemed to require. After eleven years, he had never been entirely certain he possessed it.
“You asked before,” he said, “about London.”
“Yes…” Felicity went very still.
“You said you were lonely.” He looked at the fire. “That you are lonely. That you want a friend.”
“I didn’t mean… I wasn’t trying to make you feel—”
“No,” he interrupted. “You were honest. I do appreciate that.” He paused. “It is not a skill everyone has.”
She waited.
“What you did with the note,” he continued. “The wandering off. Both of those things were unacceptable. You understand that.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“You are not in a position to ask for things right now.”
“I know.”
“However.” He set the letter down. “I have been thinking…” He looked at her. “We will go to London.”
“Did I hear you correctly, Papa?” she asked, her eyes as bright as the sky.
“You and Miss Grantham. Under clear terms. Miss Grantham always accompanies you. You go nowhere without my knowledge. And…” He paused. “Miss Celia will be in London, from what her uncle said. If you wish to spend time with her, it will be under my supervision.”
Felicity was out of her chair and across the room in a flash. She had her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest, and was saying something that he could not quite make out because her voice was muffled.
He thought she may have even been slightly tearful.
He sat for a moment, frozen like a man who had been embraced unexpectedly. Then, carefully, he put one hand on her back and held her close. She was so small. He always forgot how small she was.
“Thank you,” she said, drawing back and looking up at him. Her eyes were impossibly bright. “Thank you, Papa. This means the world to me!”
“Go upstairs,” he instructed. “Tell Mrs. Alderton to have your things packed. We leave in the morning.”
“Right away, Papa!”
She left beaming, and the door closed behind her, leaving him alone.
He sat for a moment in the comfortable silence. Then his thoughts wandered back across the garden wall and the woman who had stood on the other side of it.
She was of average height and lean, with long chestnut locks pinned up.
She was very composed, with a voice like cool water and green eyes like emeralds.
They had held his with a steadiness that most people did not attempt.
She had a way of speaking that was neither deferential nor aggressive, but simply direct.
He thought of the way she had stepped in front of her sister. He thought of the angle of her chin when she’d said, But she is safe, Your Grace, and she is here.
He thought of her face, her high cheekbones, and the subtle freckles that went up them and to her eyes.
He shut the thought down. He picked up the letter, read the first line, then set it down again.
I will see Miss Barnet again in London. Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t irritate me. Regardless, I have no time to waste on such distractions.
He made himself feel nothing instead. He was very good at that.
He picked up the letter a second time, and this time he read it.