Chapter 40
Livy
A small smile touched Livy’s lips as she watched Franny and Phi leap from one topic to the next at a dizzying pace. Livy sat on the settee in the Rutledges’ drawing room, softly brushing the velvet brown fur of Rapscallion’s head, which was currently resting in her lap.
They were enjoying a tea-service, granting Phi a much-needed reprieve from the solitude of mourning—and with luck, the beginnings of a plan for raising funds for a certain foundling home, a subject Livy was hoping to broach soon.
Perhaps it was a foolish notion, but she had a feeling these two women were a force to be reckoned with.
Franny leaned against an escritoire in her townhome’s drawing room, arms moving animatedly, gossip column in hand. Phi sat across from Livy on a twin pin-striped settee, matching Franny’s movements with equally lively expressions.
Livy had noticed Franny could never seem to sit still.
She liked that about the woman. Perhaps because it marked her as different—women were supposed to be composed, restrained.
Franny was neither. And she wore it proudly.
She didn’t seem to care in the least what others said about her.
It gave Livy courage, even if she knew her reality was different.
A marchioness could afford to be bold. A poor, dowry-less baron’s daughter had to be more… calculating.
But at that moment, the ever-moving Franny went completely still, her attention locked on the newspaper in front of her. Livy stilled too, like the woman’s lack of movement froze the entire room.
“Franny?” Phi prodded. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh. My. God.”
Livy blinked, her wide gaze darting back and forth between the two women.
“Franny…” Phi’s voice had more alarm and curiosity baked into it now.
“I can’t believe her! That little hellion! And to have not told me.” Franny’s indignation echoed around the room. She met Phi’s gaze. “You will never guess who just got married.”
Phi’s auburn brows drew together. “I’m trying to come up with a single match that could inspire your reaction, but…”
Franny grinned wickedly. “Oh, this is a match no one saw coming. But I have to say, thinking on it now, I’m not nearly as surprised as I should be.”
All right. Now even Livy was curious, and she didn’t follow gossip of the ton.
“Who?” Phi stomped her foot impatiently.
“Felicity. Jennings.”
Phi cocked her head, and she peered at Franny like Franny had lost her wits. “She and Lord Wessex finally married… Remind me, how is marrying your betrothed shocking?”
“Oh, it’s not,” Franny said casually. “It’s shocking when you marry his father instead.”
Phi fell off the settee. Literally. She scrambled back onto it. “I’m going to have to make you say that again. Felicity did what?”
Franny bit her lip and nodded, bouncing where she stood. “She married the bloody duke!”
Phi cackled, fingers pressed to her mouth.
“How terribly Felicity-like of her.” She turned to Livy.
“Felicity—Lady Felicity Jennings, that is—is one of our dear friends. The Jennings family is one of the loveliest families of the ton. They are…what you would consider the perfect family, above reproach. Only a few know the truth.” Phi winked. “That family is secretly scandalous.”
Livy grinned, and Franny and Phi’s chatter faded into the background.
It sounded wonderful. And more than a little like her own life, she realized.
Because wasn’t that what she was doing? Donning the mask of propriety in public, yet in private sneaking to gaming hells with a certain rogue.
Livy traced a finger down the field spaniel’s nose where his fur took on a white and brown marble cast. Seducing said rogue in her parlor at midnight…
Livy thought she’d get along well with this Felicity woman.
She fluffed the dog’s curly brown ears between her fingers.
“Rap seems quite taken with you, Livy,” Franny said.
Livy smiled up at her friend, whose green eyes sparkled back. “He is the sweetest thing.” She looked back at the handsome dog. “Yes. Yes, you are, Rapscallion,” she cooed in a singsong voice. “The sweetest thing.”
“He truly is,” Phi said. “Come here, Rappy, sweet boy.” The pooch scurried over to Phi, tripping over his paws in his haste—and nearly upending the teapot, which Livy caught just in time.
“We have to enjoy his presence while we can. As soon as Rutledge returns, this one won’t give us the time of day. ”
Franny chuckled. “Those two, inseparable. Rupert gifted me Rapscallion. Yet somehow, he ended up being Rupert’s dog.”
Livy tilted her head, studying the pooch’s curly ears. “I see it. They both have unruly brown hair.”
Phi snorted. “It’s as though owner and dog have started to look like one another.” Phi’s blue eyes glinted with mischief, and she looked over at Franny. “Does Rutledge like being told he’s a good boy, too, Franny?”
Where Livy was expecting Franny to blush, the woman’s grin turned sly. “Good boy is the last thing I’d ever call Rupert.”
Livy’s eyebrows disappeared in her hairline, and Phi squealed, her red curls bouncing with the force of her gleeful clapping. “Heavens, how I’ve always envied you, Fran.”
Franny’s smile faded, and she plopped down onto the settee next to Phi. Her brows puckered as she gave her friend a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Phi. Call me morbid, but I’ve never been happier to hear of a man’s passing.”
“If it makes you morbid, I’m not sure what it makes me.
I am bloody elated. Yet, I have six months of black.
” Phi glared at the crepe veil sitting next to her.
The one she’d ripped off as soon as she’d set foot in the drawing room.
Her eyes slid shut as if pained, and she let out a small whimper.
“Not allowed to do anything fun. Especially when all I want to do is run through the streets of Mayfair shouting to the heavens that I’m free.
” Her blue eyes turned glassy. “I’m finally free,” she whispered hoarsely.
“New beginnings,” Franny said softly.
Phi’s eyes cleared, and she glanced from Franny to Livy, chin held high.
“New beginnings. Things are finally looking up. Especially now that Livy has assisted me in reviewing the family ledgers. I had feared that Pennington had squandered our entire fortune, leaving me with nothing for my widow’s share. ”
Livy stiffened at the mention of Pennington’s name, her gaze darting away to the land on the floor.
There was something about hearing the man’s name that instantly turned her blood cold.
It was as though if he were discussed but never directly named, she could separate the discussion from the actual man.
But his name only had visions of that night flooding her mind.
“It’s meager, but it’s enough. For now,” Phi was saying. “And you better believe I’ll be parking my bottom in that townhouse as long as I’m able until the new Earl claims it.”
What had the woman endured, being married to a man like that?
“Livy? Are you well? You’re stiff as a board.” Franny’s concerned voice filled the drawing room.
Livy’s gaze clashed with Phi’s, and the woman’s blue eyes narrowed. “It has something to do with Pennington, doesn’t it?”
Livy flinched. Should she say anything? Did she want to say anything?
“My late husband”—Phi paused, grimaced, like having to admit that man had been her husband made her physically ill—“he preyed on women, Livy. I’m not unaware of the kind of person he was. Did he…make you uncomfortable in some way? Attempt to force his attentions on you?”
Glancing between the two women, Livy hesitated. Franny studied her silently, and Livy fidgeted. It was as though the woman knew.
“The night of the dinner party,” Franny started slowly. “You went missing.”
“What?” Phi’s gaze pinged between Franny and Livy. “What happened? Why didn’t you tell me, Franny?”
“You and Pennington had already left,” Franny said, eyes never leaving Livy’s. “And the next day you were preoccupied with other things… Considering Pennington turned up dead.”
Livy nodded slowly, answering Franny’s unspoken question.
Franny’s eyes widened. “Dear Lord. They said Mr. Drake had you. I assumed… Well, I assumed it was some sort of ploy to get money out of Dunmore. Or perhaps a twisted jest on Mr. Drake’s part.
I never can get a good read on the man. He’s the kind of cove who would think a bit of light kidnapping was all in good fun. ”
“Mr. Drake is the one who saved me,” Livy said quietly, then met Phi’s gaze. “Before your…”—she cleared her throat—“before he could carry out his plans.”
Phi gave a sharp nod, lips pressed tightly together. What reflected back at Livy nearly broke her heart. There was no surprise in her friend’s gaze, only a grim, resigned understanding—proof that this had been all too common from her late husband.
“And the next day he ends up dead,” Franny said into the quiet. “Not a coincidence.”
“Definitely not. I suppose Mr. Drake killed him, then?” Phi asked to the room.
Livy couldn’t be sure…but she had a very strong feeling it hadn’t been Mr. Drake. She met Franny’s green stare, saw the same assumption glittering back at her.
“Given Dunmore’s behavior that night, and the way he tore out of here once your whereabouts had been found out…”
Phi leaned forward, glancing between the two women. “No! You both think it was him? Dunmore?”
Franny lifted a shoulder. “Is it that surprising? He and Ironcrest are known for their propensity for violence. It’s not as though he’s strait-laced like my Rupert. And when I’d been attacked, Rupert almost—” Her mouth snapped shut.
“What?” Phi screeched again. “You never mentioned that! Are you telling me Rupert, of all people, almost harmed someone on your behalf?”
Franny’s face was completely solemn. “Phi, darling, if another man so much as touched a hair on my head, Rupert would carve out their innards.”
Phi flopped backward. “Bloody hell. This is quite a lot to take in. So, stick-in-the-mud Rupert apparently occasionally wields said stick as a weapon to avenge his fair lady. And Dunmore shares this sentiment for Livy. Do I have this correct?”
“That sounds about right,” Franny confirmed.
Phi’s gaze landed back on Livy. “Which means he cares for you. Which means Franny and I were correct. There’s something between you two.”
“If you saw how cozy they were at the theater, Phi, you’d have all the confirmation you need on that front.”
Heat spread over Livy’s cheeks, but she nodded in confirmation. “He’ll also be escorting me to Almack’s,” she said quietly.
Phi grinned. “Oh, he will, will he? Goodness, murder and Almack’s. I think I hear wedding bells.”
That sobered Livy. If she wanted to be the one standing with Derek when those bells rang, they needed to see if there was any merit to the idea she’d been pondering.
Convincing Derek to let down his walls, convincing him to take a chance on love with her, was a challenge all in itself.
But the foundling home? This was a wall, taller so, that stood just behind the first. She sometimes feared that with every wall of his she broke down, she would be destined to find another.
Wasn’t it ironic? The man reputed to have no principles seemed out of reach…precisely because he possessed them, after all.
“You look much less happy about that fact than I would have thought,” Franny said, her brows drawing together. “It had seemed as though you felt the same, Livy?”
“I do.” Livy released a breath. Oh, that felt good. To tell her friends. Her chest warmed, heartbeat fluttering. Friends. “I hold a very strong affection for Lord Dunmore.” She cleared her throat delicately. “But there is the issue of the foundling home’s funding.”
Understanding dawned in Franny’s hazel eyes.
“I see I’ve arrived just in time.”
The three women’s gazes flew to the doorway. Livy jumped to her feet and immediately sank into a curtsy.
Franny, on the other hand, flew across the room. “Dorothea!” The two women clasped hands, and Franny bussed the woman’s cheek. “Oh, what a delightful surprise! What are you doing here? Perty should be home soon. I hope you’ll stay until then.”
The dowager, completely unfazed by the whirlwind of a woman, smiled back fondly. “I have a feeling this will be a long visit.” Her calculating stare fell on Livy, and she arched a brow. “Isn’t that right, Miss Forester?”
Livy met the dowager’s gaze and nodded. “Yes, we have much to discuss.” She glanced between a bewildered Franny and Phi. “I had an idea about how to raise funds. But I haven’t the means to bring it to fruition. I thought, perhaps, if we all put our heads together, we might find a way.”
The dowager settled herself on the settee and patted the spot next to her. “All right, Miss Forester. Let’s hear this idea of yours.”