Chapter Eight
“I thought a treat of ices would be nice and refreshing before our promenade with Lord Wakefield.” Merry led the way to the white wrought-iron chairs at their favorite table in Caruthers Treat Shop.
The quaint confectioner in the center of the village of Binnocksbourne had become the place to see and be seen when the ton retired to the Lake District for the summer. “Which flavor shall you choose today?”
Felicity smiled and idly twitched a shoulder while watching passersby through the wide front window of the shop.
She had no idea what flavor of ice or sorbet she wanted.
It was just as sweet and a great deal more pleasant to drift away into lovely imaginings of another promenade with Drake.
He was so attentive, so enjoyable to be around, so very kind and caring.
That something between them had wiggled into her guarded heart and taken over.
“You choose, Merry,” she said with a contented little sigh. “What did we have last time?”
“Horse manure.”
“Sounds delicious,” Felicity said, before realizing what her sister had suggested. “Merry! How awful of you to say such a thing.”
“Well, what was I to do? You had that glassy-eyed look again, and I knew I had lost you to the imaginings of your handsome suitor.”
“I cannot help it.” Felicity also couldn’t stop smiling.
“He makes me happy.” And that was an understatement of all that he made her feel.
Not only did he steal her breath away with the excitement of his presence, but he was safe.
Comfortable. Perhaps not the most romantic way to describe a man she might someday marry, but it meant more to her than anyone else could ever understand.
Drake cared about her feelings and seeing that she was treated with kindness and care, unlike many of the gentlemen of her acquaintance.
The more she was with him, the more she trusted him, and trust won over her heart more quickly than anything else.
“I shall have the maple ice again,” she finally said in response to Merry rolling her eyes. “And do not be so insufferable. You encouraged this, and just wait until you become smitten. I wager you will be even worse.”
Merry snorted. “I have yet to find suitable material with which to become smitten.”
Ignoring her sister, Felicity waved over her dear friend, Mrs. Caruthers, from where the rosy-cheeked matron hovered nearby, obviously straining to overhear their conversation.
She was a notorious gossip—if the shopkeeper’s wife didn’t know about it, then it was not worth knowing.
“Come and join us, Mrs. Caruthers. I am sure Sarah and Mr. Caruthers can do without you for a little while.”
Mrs. Caruthers glanced around the busy shop, then hurried to take a seat. “Well…perhaps just for a moment.” She went uncharacteristically serious as she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “There was a matter I wished to speak with you about, Lady Felicity. A matter of grave concern.”
“Oh?” Felicity and the shopkeeper’s wife had enjoyed many a chat about recipes, and had even gone so far as to create new and innovative treats together in the shop’s kitchen. “Grave concern, you say? For whom?”
Lips pursed as if the news was fighting to burst free of her, the woman clasped a hand to her generous bosom and glanced around the shop again. “You, Lady Felicity. It pains me to report that the matter concerns you.”
“Do go on, then.” Felicity braced herself. One never knew quite what to expect from the tattle-tongued Mrs. Caruthers. What could the woman possibly have heard?
Flattening both hands on the table in front of her, the matron leaned in even closer, like an oversized cat about to pounce. “It is my understanding that you are courting the Earl of Wakefield. Is that understanding correct, my lady?”
“Yes.” An ominous dread settled like a rock in the pit of Felicity’s stomach. “Lord Wakefield and I are courting. How might that be a grave matter?”
“The poor man, while kind and as good-hearted as can be, inherited nothing with his title but destitution and debt. Why, Mrs. Beatrice told me he even brought in the silver service from his parents’ wedding and used it to pay down the credit they had extended to his uncle.
It is said he has sold everything except his parents’ land.
Even the entailed properties are gone. His uncle gambled those away after convincing the current earl to go through a common recovery to do away with the entailments.
If not for the housekeeper’s brother, they could ill afford something as simple as a sack of flour.
” The matron clucked her tongue, sounding like a frustrated hen.
“He must surely be a dowry hunter, my lady. Pure and simple. Gentle creature that you are, you must find a way to steel yourself against him and his ways.”
Teeth clenched, Felicity fisted her hands in her lap, struggling to tamp down her embarrassment and shame for poor Drake.
How terrible it must have been for him to part with mementos of his parents.
“It is not unheard of for a gentleman to consider a lady’s dowry when he begins his search for a wife.
” She cleared her throat and sat taller. “In fact, it is quite common.”
Mrs. Caruthers sat back in her chair. “But it becomes a serious matter when that search endangers a lady whom I consider a dearest friend.” She sadly shook her head and resumed her infernal tongue clucking.
“None in Binnocksbourne will extend him any additional credit. We will do business with the man only if he is able to pay up front.” She perked up like a hound on the scent as the bell on the shop door jangled.
“There is Mrs. Beatrice. She will tell you the same.” She waved a hand, flagging down the half-owner of the village’s mercantile. “Mrs. Beatrice! Do join us!”
Felicity suppressed a groan and looked to Merry for help. Merry’s pained expression said it all. She had no idea how to escape this either.
As soon as the portly Mrs. Beatrice settled into a chair, Mrs. Caruthers caught hold of her arm and leaned her closer. “I was just informing our dear Lady Felicity that she must steel herself against the wiles of the Earl of Wakefield.”
“Oh yes, do,” Mrs. Beatrice agreed, her adamancy unmistakable.
She patted the tabletop in time with her words.
“The poor man has nothing, Lady Felicity, absolutely nothing. I know he might seem ardent enough, but I fear it’s all an act to win you over and gain your dowry.
Mr. Herbert and I would have warned you the other day, but we did not realize the situation had become so dire.
Courting the man?” The matron of the mercantile shook her head so hard her bonnet nearly went askew.
“You must break it off, Lady Felicity. Guard the tenderness of your dear heart with everything possible and send that dowry-hunting earl on his merry way.”
“While I appreciate the warning,” Felicity said, “I truly believe—”
“There!” Mrs. Caruthers interrupted. “Lady Nedia! Do come over and join us, my dear. Our beloved Lady Felicity so needs to hear the sordid tale you shared with me just the other day.”
Again, Felicity stifled a groan and nudged Merry under the table.
They needed to escape this well-meaning attack of Mrs. Caruthers and Mrs. Beatrice, especially before the loathsome Nedia joined them.
That vain little chit prided herself on being the cruelest debutante of the ton, even though her debut was two Seasons ago.
She was a spiteful, backbiting liar, and none of the Broadmere sisters liked her.
The ostentatious young woman swept toward them after pointing for her maid to wait outside the shop.
“Lady Felicity. Lady Merry.” She suffered a bored nod their way, then turned to Mrs. Caruthers and Mrs. Beatrice.
“Sitting with your patrons now? How quaint, but I believe I shall refrain from joining you.”
Mrs. Caruthers rose from her seat and offered it to the haughty girl. “It is about Lady Felicity courting Lord Wakefield. We felt she needed to be warned, and providence sent you in here at the exact moment we were speaking with her.”
Felicity started to rise but found her escape blocked by the oversized bows and puffy sleeves of Nedia’s pretentious gown. She glared at Merry, willing her usually quite forward sister to come up with a means of escape.
Merry jerked a slight nod at the portly Mrs. Beatrice, who had boxed her into the corner beside the window.
“So the rumors are true?” Nedia said to Felicity, sounding entirely too pleased by the news. “Lord Wakefield finally worked his way down to you, did he?”
“Dare I remind you our brother is a duke while your father is but a viscount?” Merry replied with such cutting bluntness that Felicity wanted to cheer. “I daresay Lord Wakefield has not worked his way down to my sister.”
Nedia snickered, hissing like a snake in the grass.
“Oh, that is not what I meant at all, Lady Merry.” She flounced down into Mrs. Caruthers’s vacated seat and coyly drummed her fingers on the table.
Her smile chilled Felicity to the bone. “What I meant,” she said, “is that he has already exhausted his field of possible heiresses and dowries. One by one, he has gone down through the line and summarily asked each of us to marry him.” She flicked a hand in the air and laughed, revealing a mouth crowded with entirely too many teeth.
“Of course, we refused him. A husband who brings nothing to the marriage but a title? Ridiculous!” She hissed her insulting snicker again.
“I feel certain you were the last on his list because after all…” She laughed.
“You are… For lack of a better way of saying it, you are you.” She shrugged and offered a simpering grin.
“Of course, with the Broadmere money, one would have expected him to choose you first. Odd, is it not?”