Chapter 7 #2
Felicity was ready for him. “He was on his way up to the house to make sure I was unharmed. Mr. Grant had called on Jus—Mr. Weatherall—to repeat his threats, and my betrothed was concerned he might have attacked me.”
The village constable had been listening, and now he spoke up.
“Sounds like her ladyship has the right of it,” he said.
“This Mr. Grant could be worth another look, Mr. Pierce. A right villain to go around frightening ladies and wasting the time of good men such as yourself by accusing our village schoolmaster for his own selfish purposes. And if it is true that he is in league with the smugglers…”
Oh, excellently well played. The constable’s arguments swayed the runner, but he was not quite ready to give up.
“There is the evidence of Miss St… the village female,” he said.
“Miss Stone is a silly child,” Felicity said.
“She has been attempting to seduce Mr. Weatherall in the hopes he would marry her. She took the news of our betrothal very badly. I really must make time to speak with the butcher. He needs to know what a scandal she will make of herself if she keeps up this behavior.”
Once again, the constable supported her, saying, “Milly Stone has feathers for brains, right enough, and she is the apple of her Pa’s eye.” He clinched the matter by adding, “I’d not like to take the case before Sir Peter Somerville on the unsupported word of young Milly, and that’s a fact.”
And within fifteen minutes, Robin and Felicity were taking Justin home in the curricle. “Do not leave the village, Mr. Weatherall,” the runner had warned. “I have my eye on you.”
* * *
“I am in awe,” said Robin, once they were comfortably ensconced in the schoolhouse, sitting around the kitchen table with a cup of tea each. “Felicity, you were magnificent. I know the truth, and I believed you!”
Felicity fixed him with a stern glare. “I lied, Robin. I do not like to lie. If you and Justin had not been playing at highwayman, I would not have had to do so.”
Justin winced at her tone. She was not wrong. “It’s over, Felicity. Robin, I won’t ride out with you again, no matter how deserving the cause.”
“It is time,” Robin acknowledged. “This was too close a shave, and they’ll be watching, now.
We never intended to do so many, but after we fixed things for the Widow Bryant, we kept hearing about new offenses, and I suppose it made me feel useful.
The people we’ve robbed have all deserved it, Felicity. ”
“Except for Lady Corey,” Justin pointed out, “and that was a mistake. We thought it was someone else’s coach. Anyway, we gave her rubies back to Lord Corey.”
Perhaps he should not have mentioned that. Felicity cast her eyes upward as if sending a prayer for patience. “Lady Corey’s rubies,” she muttered, but it was not a question and Justin was not stupid enough to take it as one. Robin, too, kept silent.
“No more highwaymanning, then,” Felicity said, her eyes on Justin.
“Never again,” he vowed.
“It’s a pity we can’t find someone else to be Captain Moonlight,” Robin mused. “The good work could carry on, but also, if he robbed someone on a night when we were both out in public and highly visible, it would eliminate the last of the suspicion.”
Felicity looked as if she was going to eviscerate Robin as soon as she summoned enough calm to maintain her dignity. Justin spoke to save them both. “Robin, no more plots,” he said. “Let’s just allow Captain Moonlight to fade back into legend.”
Justin got up to answer a knock on the door. If it was Milly Stone, he was going to blister her ears.
It wasn’t Milly Stone. Standing on the doorstep with his hand raised to knock again was the consummately elegant Earl of Hythe. Felicity’s brother.
“Ah. Mr. Weatherall,” said Hythe. “I am pleased to see you on your feet after my sister shot you. Is my sister here?”
“Hythe?” said Felicity from behind Justin. He stepped out of her way and she greeted her brother with a decorous kiss to the cheek. “Come in, dear,” she said. “The tea is still hot.”
Hythe followed her into the kitchen. “Somerville. Are you playing chaperone? Rather a change of roles for you. Yes, please Felicity. And congratulations on your betrothal. I heard about your dash to save your betrothed from the constable. Of course, firing off your espignole in a panic is just what I would have expected from you.”
That was Hythe. Every word carrying half a dozen meanings. The man’s thoughts twisted and turned, and zipped from place to place like dragonflies. Justin had played chess with him once. He’d felt good about his chess playing until that game.
Felicity showed she followed the man’s mental gymnastics by saying, “You looked for me at the house and then at the village. Penelope told you that Justin and I were betrothed, and the constable told you I had accidentally shot Justin.”
“Yes,” Hythe commented, his tone dry, “you being such a nervous creature. How fortunate that your mistake inadvertently provided Weatherall with an alibi.”
Felicity ignored the provocation, saying, “Grant visited you in Brighton, I suppose. He said he was going to do so.”
“Grant!” Hythe’s mouth screwed up in distaste.
“He will not bother you again, my dear. I regret to inform you, Felicity, that you were not the primary reason for his visit. He has been meeting Fenian conspirators and is currently explaining his interest in their plots to a couple of friends of mine.”
“Well!” Felicity said. “I knew he was a villain. Hythe, I have just found out that he has been meeting with the leader of a smuggling gang. What do you suppose he was having smuggled? Something in? Or something out?”
“Interesting!” Hythe stood. “The name of this leader?”
“I was not told,” Felicity said.
Justin was able to supply a few more details. “Bert Gladwish. Ostensibly a fisherman. Lives in Lancing-by-Sea. He runs the gang that uses this part of the coast.”
“Excuse me,” said Hythe, with an abbreviated bow.
He strode from the room, and they heard him in urgent conversation with someone outside.
After a moment, he returned and resumed his seat.
“Thompson will see to it that the smuggler is taken up for questioning,” he said.
“Well done, Fliss. We think the Fenians were planning to blow up the Pavilion next week when the prince has his brothers visiting. We suspect Grant was to provide the explosives. The smuggler’s leader should be able to help us tie the whole problem up and put a bow on it. ”
“We,” the man said. Justin’s respect for Hythe shot up several steps.
“Oh. So that is why you had to go to Brighton,” Felicity said. “And why you jumped at the chance to leave me here. Really, Nat. When are you going to stop trying to protect me out of all the fun?”
Justin rolled his eyes at Felicity’s idea of fun, and noted with amusement that her brother was doing the same thing.
Hythe gave him a quick conspiratorial smile before saying, “I gather I am expected to pass the duty of protecting you to Weatherall here. All my previous reservations still apply, Weatherall.”
“About that, Nathan Anthony Charles Belvoir,” said Felicity, sternly. “I am a grown woman, and I did not appoint you to act on my behalf. I am very cross about you scaring Justin off.”
“He didn’t scare me,” Justin protested, outraged at the thought that this land-lubbing aristocrat could scare a war-hardened sea dog like himself.
Although apparently there was more to Hythe than he had realized.
“He just pointed out that I don’t deserve you and I am not worthy of you.
Both of which are true. But since you know that, and you want me anyway… ” He shrugged.
Felicity gave him both her hands and leaned across the corner of the table to kiss him, then tossed her brother a saucy smirk. “That for your reservations, Hythe,” she said.
“Hmm,” Hythe said. “I take it you have given up being a highwayman’s accomplice, Weatherall?
With all due respect, Somerville, I can’t have my sister perjuring herself to the law.
Reputation of the Belvoirs, you know.” A faint smile played about his lips.
The sly dog! He’d taken a dig each at Robin, Justin and Felicity with a few carefully chosen sentences.
“We have your blessing, then, Hythe?” Felicity asked, amusement bubbling in her voice. She and Hythe were more alike than Justin had realized.
Even Hythe’s shrug was elegant. “You will marry with or without it. It had better be with it, or I shall miss my last chance to give one of my sisters away at the altar. I don’t want you running off like Sophia.”
As Justin understood it, Felicity’s sister had gone to London to be with her viscount when he was called to his dying grandfather’s bedside. She had done so with her brother’s full knowledge and agreement—hardly running off. “Thank you, Hythe,” he said.
A wintery smile. “You are stealing my hostess and travel companion,” Hythe complained. “But I suppose love will demand its toll.”
“You should try it, Hythe,” Felicity said. “A wife would be a much better hostess and travel companion than a sister.”
Hythe sighed. “Why is it that all people in love wish to inflict the state on those in happy ignorance of its effects? What of you, Somerville? Are you, too, considering the married estate?”
Robin blushed, which was a sight Justin had not seen before, and answer enough.
Hythe chuckled. “I can see I am outnumbered. Are you ready to go back up to the Somervilles’ house, Felicity? If so, I shall do myself the honor of escorting you.”
* * *
Felicity’s brother Hythe announced her betrothal at the ball several days later. Sir Peter proposed a toast to them both, and Penelope glowed with the satisfaction of a job well done, for Justin’s and Felicity’s betrothal was not the only one to come out of the house party.
The Fenians had been rounded up, the smuggling gang had given up the guns and explosives, and the Prince Regent was safe from everything but his own excesses.
And the Bow Street Runner was happy, for he had an arrest. Froppin—his real name was Barbeau—kept protesting his innocence, but any witnesses in his favor were keeping quiet.
Everyone clearly agreed that he was guilty—not, of course, of being Captain Moonlight, but of being a bully, a thief, and a cheat.
Felicity said her farewell to Justin the following morning, before leaving with Hythe for London. Her official farewell, that was. Her unofficial farewell had begun after the ball and lasted a fair part of the night. But Hythe did not need to know about that.
“I will see you soon,” she said.
“Four weeks,” Justin agreed. “It will seem forever, but I suppose it will pass, as time does.” Justin had given Sir Peter four weeks’ notice of his intention to quit, and would come to London after that. And in six weeks, they would be wed, in St George’s with her family in attendance.
And perhaps some of Justin’s, for he had written to invite his father and brothers.
“You do not have to hire somewhere to live while you look for an estate,” Hythe said, and not for the first time. “I have plenty of room at Belvoir Court, and if you do not want to live under my roof, the dower house is kept clean and in good repair. It can easily be readied for you.”
“We love you, Hythe,” Felicity assured him, “but we want to live under our own roof.” She was speaking for Justin on the second part of the statement. As for the love, Hythe and Justin were still circling one another like cats who had only recently met and who were forced to share accommodation.
“We do appreciate it, Hythe,” said Justin. The two men shook hands, but when Felicity gave hers to Justin, he lifted it for a kiss.
As she and her brother drove away in the carriage, she cradled that hand in the other. Four weeks until she saw him again. Six weeks until they were married. They could not pass fast enough!
“I suppose you are going to beggar me buying paper and ink for your letters,” Hythe commented. He was attempting to distract her, dear man.
“Probably,” Felicity replied. A letter a day, they had promised one another. She smiled at the thought. His words would have to do for a few weeks, and then she and he would be joined for their lifetimes.
She had glimpsed the future that lay ahead around the bend in the road, and the vista was wonderful.
THE END
* * *
If you enjoyed Felicity’s story, and want to know more about the Belvoir siblings, I’ve already told Hythe’s and Sophia’s stories. You can get To Wed a Proper Lady, in which James Winderfield crashes a house party to woo Sophia, here:
Another house party matches the very proper Earl of Hythe with the scandalous Amaryllis Fernhill, in The Husband Gamble. Buy links are here: