Chapter Six
“Those Banbury sisters are rather stunning,” Leonard said two evenings later at the theater as they awaited the arrival of the Banbury family.
“They were darling as little girls.” How well William remembered. “I confess, until seeing them here in Town, I generally thought of them as they were all those years ago. It has been a little jarring coming face-to-face with them so grown.”
“The elder Miss Banbury appeared quite content seated beside you in Hyde Park the other day.” Leonard wiggled his brows. “A fellow could grow accustomed to that, I’d imagine.”
“I think you mean a lady could grow accustomed to being cozily situated beside me.” Again, he assumed his feigned mien of arrogance.
“Have you considered hiring out your Hyde Park accompaniment services?” Leonard asked dryly.
“Should I amass overwhelming gambling debts, I will consider that as a solution to my financial woes.” He pretended to ponder deeply. “Do you suppose Miss Banbury would be willing to serve as a reference?”
“I suspect she would, though that Miss Felicity is more likely to laughingly dissuade people. She seemed to rather enjoy needling you.”
It was true. “Felicity and I are good friends. We have been all our lives.”
“She wasn’t as sweet toward you as her sister, though. Either the two are very different people or they have very different views of you.”
He hadn’t really thought of that before.
The sisters weren’t actually so very different.
Both had clever senses of humor; both liked to tease and jest. Angelina’s poor health had rendered her quieter and more subdued than her sister, but not fundamentally different.
Was Leonard correct, then? Did Felicity think poorly of him?
The possibility struck him with greater force and disappointment than he’d expected.
Hers was a friendly teasing, a fondness. Wasn’t it?
He hadn’t time for answering that unexpected question. The Banburys arrived. Even Mr. Banbury had joined them that evening—something he’d not yet done. All the expected bows and curtsies were exchanged.
“I have so missed the theater.” Mrs. Banbury pressed a gloved hand to her heart as her eyes cast about the expanse of the house. “What a treat.”
An idea formed on the instant in his mind, and he seized it. “Why do not you, Mr. Banbury, and Miss Banbury sit at the front of the box,” he suggested. “Your view will be so much better.”
“Oh, how generous of you.” Mrs. Banbury then turned to her husband, eyes wide. “What an evening this will be for us and Angelina.” She dropped her voice. “Were we wrong to bring Felicity, do you suppose? We will be judged poorly for a young lady not yet out coming to the theater?”
“No, dear,” Mr. Banbury assured her. “Families attend the theater and opera quite regularly, even the daughters who’ve not yet made their bows.”
She looked at William, clearly still worried.
“I concur with your husband, ma’am.”
“As do I,” Leonard added. “You needn’t fear being judged poorly.”
That set her mind at ease. She slipped her hand through her husband’s arm and, with a hand at Angelina’s back to guide her forward, moved to the front of the box.
William turned to look at Felicity, fully expecting her usual laughing smile or at least a look of relief at seeing her sister and parents happily situated. Her expression, however, was filled with heartache. An answering pang sounded in his heart.
“Felicity?” He spoke in little more than a whisper as he stepped to her. “What is the matter?”
She took a shaky breath. “She is so ill, William. She grows worse every day.”
Angelina had seemed paler. She also hadn’t spoken since arriving.
“I am afraid for her,” Felicity added in a pained whisper. “I do not know how much more she can endure, but we’ve not finished her list. How can she bear to return home with wishes left unrealized?”
There was something more in her voice than disappointment on her sister’s behalf, though William couldn’t put a name to it. He knew only that his heart went out to her.
He took her hand in his, gently, kindly. “I am sorry for all you and your family are enduring. I do wish there was more I could do.”
“You have helped so very much, William. What would we have done without you? We would have managed hardly any of her wishes.”
Had he offered nothing more than that? A resource to accomplish their list of undertakings? A one-time chum to tease?
He, Felicity, and Leonard sat in the second row of seats as the performance began below.
William struggled to focus. His thoughts spun over Felicity and Angelina and the contradictory things he thought and felt.
He had, at first, happily agreed to help the sisters tick items off their list, finding it a welcome diversion from the boredom of yet another Season in Town, but that didn’t ring true any longer.
Not ten minutes into the program, he heard the tiniest, almost imperceptible sound of trembling breaths. He required only a moment to realize the sound, that of quiet crying, came from beside him.
He reached over and wrapped his hand around Felicity’s.
She held fast to him. Her breathing did not grow calmer.
Though she was neither sobbing nor wracked with emotion, her continued upheaval was apparent to him at such close distance.
He dared not say anything, suspecting she worked very hard to hide her struggles from her parents and sisters.
All he could think to do was raise her hand to his lips and press a quiet, gentle kiss there, before joining his other hand to his first, enveloping her hand in both of his.
As the performance continued on the stage below and the other Banburys were distracted, William sat holding Felicity’s hand. He hoped he was offering her comfort. He hoped she didn’t pull her hand away, as he was finding in the simple touch a reassurance he didn’t even know he’d been longing for.
Felicity shifted to the side of her chair nearest him and rested her arm against his. He tipped his head enough to nearly rest it against the top of hers.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered.
They sat that way as the first act continued on. William hadn’t the first idea what occurred below. His every thought was for his dear friend, her sister and her struggling family, and the almost-forgotten feeling of home he experienced with Felicity nearby.
The curtain fell, marking a brief intermission. Felicity sat up straight on the instant and, though he thought he sensed reluctance, slipped her hand free. Angelina turned back, looking at her sister over her shoulder.
William took a sharp breath when he saw Angelina’s face. She looked beyond exhausted. She looked more than ill; she looked nearly desperate.
“You must get her home,” he said to Felicity.
In a flurry of activity, the family gathered their wraps and overcoats and made a mad rush from the box. Felicity looked back at William in the moment before stepping out. A single tear dropped from her eye.
“I fear it is growing all too apparent what that family is shortly facing,” Leonard said.
“I ache for them.”
“And for yourself?” Leonard pressed. “You care about them. Losing Miss Banbury will be painful for you as well.”
“I fear home will only ever be a place of mourning,” he said. How could he ever return there, knowing even more grief awaited him? Yet how could he sever the growing connection he felt to Felicity? Without her, he feared his grief would forever be attached to this heavy, heartrending loneliness.