Epilogue
Felicity sat at the small writing desk near the window, sipping a lukewarm cup of tea, the late morning sunlight creeping across the floor of her modest sitting room. She was halfway through a novel when the butler knocked.
“A letter for you, Miss Doherty,” he said, stepping in with a silver tray. His tone held a curious note, though his expression was unreadable.
Felicity raised an eyebrow. “From whom?”
“The seal is Scottish, miss. A noble house. I believe it may be from your guardian.”
That jolted her. “My guardian?”
Why would he have sent her a letter?
She took the envelope with fingers that had gone suddenly cold.
She’d never received any communication directly from him.
Not once. Her stipend had always arrived regularly, the house remained hers to use as she pleased, and no one had ever intervened in her affairs.
She’d rather assumed that the mysterious earl preferred to pretend she didn’t exist.
She broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper with growing unease.
To Miss Felicity Doherty,
I hope this letter finds you well. I regret the length of time during which you have been left to manage without guidance. Circumstances beyond my control prevented my involvement, but I am now in a position to resume my duties.
I will be arriving in London within the fortnight and request the pleasure of a meeting to discuss your future and, I hope, ensure your well-being is seen to properly.
With sincere regards,
Finlay Gordon, Earl of Kinross
Felicity read the letter twice before letting it fall to the desk. “Thank you, Carson,” she murmured, her voice faint. “That will be all.”
The butler bowed and left her alone with her thoughts.
So. He was coming. After all this time.
She stared down at the crisp black ink as though it might rearrange itself into something less alarming. Discuss your future. What did he mean by that? It could be any number of things, and none of them boded well.
She’d had so much freedom since her aunt had passed—freedom to wander London, to form friendships, to meddle shamelessly in the romantic affairs of others. She had no longer been paraded in front of ancient bachelors with liver spots and political aspirations.
But now?
If he was coming here, in person, that meant he believed something had to change. He likely intended to find her a husband. Quickly.
She stood abruptly and crossed to the window, where she pressed her fingertips to the glass. The street outside was quiet. Ordinary. But her world was shifting, and she didn’t like the uncertainty of it.
She had enjoyed her independence. Too much, probably. But if she had only a matter of weeks—or less—before her fate was decided for her, then perhaps she ought to seize the reins now.
She turned back to the desk, her jaw set with determination. “Carson!”
The butler reappeared with admirable speed. “Miss?”
“Bring me paper and a quill, please. I have letters to write.”
His expression remained neutral, but she caught the flicker of interest in his eyes. “Right away, miss.”
When he returned, she was already seated, sleeves rolled up, ink well at the ready.
The first letter she addressed to Charlotte.
My Dearest Charlotte,
Summon the girls. We have urgent business. My mysterious guardian has emerged at last, and I believe he intends to see me married off before I have a chance to protest.
Naturally, that means the time has come for us to deploy our considerable matchmaking skills on behalf of one of our own. I refuse to cede control of my future to a man I’ve never met.
Yours in desperate need,
Felicity.
She penned similar, slightly more composed versions to Miranda, Helena, Adeline, and Genevieve. By the time she was done, her wrist ached, and a giddy sort of panic had begun to settle in her chest.
Not fear, precisely. Not yet. But the anticipation of change hung heavy in the air.
When Carson returned to collect the letters, she handed them over with a tight smile.
“Have them delivered at once, if you please.”
“Of course, miss.”
When the door shut behind him, Felicity allowed herself a long, slow exhale. If she was about to lose her freedom, then she’d make certain that whatever came next happened on her terms—and with the help of her dearest friends.
After all, they had worked wonders for Charlotte. Surely they could do the same for her.
THE END