Chapter Seventeen
Felicity had tied the ribbons of her bonnet in knots by the time they reached Lady Amelia’s home. The hour was late, but a messenger had been sent ahead. Lady Amelia knew she was coming, and yet Felicity felt an unwelcome surge of anxiety at the prospect of arriving at such an inappropriate hour.
She was back at Alston House where this odd journey had begun, Tristan beside her.
He was quiet. Not distant, but rather introspective.
She wanted to ask if he knew she’d received an offer of marriage from Hugstead but was afraid of the answer.
She was terrified, really, that despite their confessions this afternoon, he’d encourage her to marry another man, and she could not bear to hear it.
The carriage stopped. He reached for the door and then hesitated, looking back at her.
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to do this again,” he said. Then he kissed her, cupping the back of her head, sealing his mouth to hers and stealing her breath and wits. It only lasted a moment, then he pulled away.
Tristan got out and handed her down. A footman waited at the top of the steps. The house was dark, shuttered for the evening. A light mist fell, and the streets were dark with streaks of gold and silver. Tristan took her small trunk, and the footman unloaded the larger case.
She bit her tongue. She didn’t want him to leave.
Not yet. Not ever. They hadn’t been sharing a roof at the Den, but he’d felt nearer there.
Now they would be miles apart. She didn’t know how to get to the Den from here.
Would he check on her daily? Would he be allowed?
He wasn’t on the friendliest terms with Lord Alston.
“Is Lord Alston in residence?” he asked.
“Not at the moment, sir.”
Felicity blinked in surprise. Wasn’t he still recovering? Where could he be at this time of night?”
Tristan met Felicity’s gaze. “I’ll see you inside, and then I’ll go.”
His hesitation made her heart soar. He didn’t want to leave her. She nodded and he followed her up the stairs. The footman led her to a maid. The maid introduced herself as Matilda and said she would show her upstairs. Lady Amelia appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Miss . . . Brandon?” She smiled awkwardly and descended. “I’m sorry. This is strange, but we are happy to have you.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Felicity said.
Lady Amelia nodded. “And Mr. Chase, is that you? This is not a surprise, seeing you guarding Miss Brandon like the crown jewels.”
He winked at her. “I couldn’t bear to stay away.”
Lady Amelia smirked. “Just as I suspected, it would seem. I do love to be right.”
His expression blanked and then he blushed. “Well, I should be going. Goodnight, Miss Brandon, Lady Amelia.” He tipped his hat and turned, the footman closing the door behind him and locking it.
Lady Amelia snickered. “I don’t think that will keep him out. Come to the drawing room and we can chat.”
Felicity did not know what was going on, but she followed anyhow—she didn’t really have a choice.
She didn’t know what to expect from Lady Amelia.
She only knew her in a professional way as her brother’s nurse.
They’d conversed very little, and this whole matter was altogether odd.
Did she know the past circumstances between Felicity and her brother?
“Come sit. I’ll pour you a sherry if you like. Mrs. Dove-Lyon was abrupt in her communication, but I believe I have the whole of it.”
“I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning.” Felicity shook her head when Lady Amelia held up the bottle.
“You were intended for my brother, cheeky thing,” she said with a teasing smile. “Now you are once again being offered to another man.”
“He’s being offered to me. I must make a decision.”
“Hmm.” Lady Amelia tapped a fingernail on the wood top of the drink cabinet then she turned and came to sit beside Felicity.
“But you’d rather marry Mr. Chase, correct? Has he made his intentions clear?”
Felicity coughed. She’d meant to gasp, but her spit went into her lung.
“I beg your pardon, was that too brash of me? Apologies.” She didn’t look the least apologetic, more amused.
“I don’t know why you would think that.”
“He was rather obvious when he was bringing you back and forth. Always checking on you, asking after you when you weren’t where he left you.”
“That was his job,” Felicity argued.
“I was his job, and yet he was never under my skirts like he is yours.”
Felicity covered her flaming cheeks and looked away.
“Oh,” Lady Amelia said with surprise. “I was using metaphor, but I see this is much more serious. Oh dear, that rascal. He better have proposed to you.”
Felicity shook her head. “It is not like that. He can’t marry me. He has . . . reasons.”
“Reasons mean nothing to love. If he doesn’t claim to love you, he’s a lying fool trying to be noble and whatnot.”
Felicity faced her, blushing be damned. “He does love me, but he has valid reasons for not marrying. I will not stand in the way of his goals.”
Lady Amelia folded her hands as she studied Felicity. “Very well. What is your plan?”
“I have to think about whether I can stand to marry Lord Hugstead. Do you know him?”
“No, but my brother might. Does he frequent the Den?”
“From what I am told, no. He’s a serious fellow who involves himself in charity and politics.”
Lady Amelia wrinkled her nose. “He sounds dull. Can I ask you something?”
Felicity shrugged. “Why not? All my secrets are out.”
“Why didn’t you want to marry my brother?”
Felicity blinked in surprise. “He was in love with Miss Blakewood.”
“Yes, but that happened weeks after you arrived.”
Felicity chewed her lip. “He’s a nice fellow, but I did not feel anything for him accept sympathy for his injury. When it became obvious that he and Miss Blakewood were falling in love, it was the only right thing to do.”
“So, you think love is important?”
Felicity wanted to sag into the sofa as the exhaustion of the day caught up to her. “Isn’t it? Some of us are not lucky enough to have it, but if we can protect it for others . . .”
Lady Amelia patted her knee. “That’s enough interrogation for now. Off to bed with you.”
She stood and Felicity followed. The maid waited by the door.
“Don’t feel like you have to breakfast with us in the morning,” Lady Amelia said. “Rest, think about what is important to you, and feel free to summon me if you need anything.”
Felicity paused at the door. “How is your brother?”
“Virile and stubborn, as usual. He is escorting Daisy to the theater tonight with her parents.”
Felicity smiled. “I’m glad he’s better.”
“I am, too. Thank you, by the way. You played an integral role in his healing, even if your true identity was concealed. You played the part well.”
“My mother is our village midwife and healer, though we had a doctor who made monthly visits. I was trained by my mother to tend wounds and illness from a young age.”
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“A small village named Winter’s Well. My father is the vicar.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Brandon,” Lady Amelia said softly. “I know you have a good reason to hide. I don’t know that exact reason, but we will protect you. Go rest now.”
Felicity gave her a tired smile. “Goodnight.”
She followed Matilda upstairs, who recognized her and was clearly bubbling with questions by her excited glances but refrained from asking to Felicity’s relief.
In her room, a guest room nicer than any room she’d ever been in, Felicity sat on the edge of the immaculate and comfy bed while Matilda pointed out the amenities like fresh water, the chamber pot, writing desk, where her clothing would reside and how to ring for her.
Felicity refused help to change, and once Matilda had gone, she washed and dressed in her nightgown.
A tray was delivered to her room, a light supper of soup and warm bread.
Felicity ate swiftly, her eyes heavy and her feet sore.
Other parts were sore, too, but they only reminded her of Tristan and how much she wished he were here.
How swiftly her world had changed. She’d gone from sheltered spinster to secret guest of the Lyon’s Den, then to a nurse, and now this.
She wasn’t sure who or what she was anymore.
The world kept moving, the days flipping like pages, and somehow she’d come out on the other side of a nightmare she thought might never end.
Felicity turned down the lamps in the room until they winked out, leaving the last candle by the bedside lit.
Something rattled against the glass on her window and Felicity turned in surprise. Was that rain?
Tap, tap.
A bird?
Felicity walked slowly to the window, pushing back the cream curtain. She was on the third floor. She saw nothing but darkness. Drops of rain clung to the glass and distorted the view beyond, but even so it was pitch black.
A small pebble struck the glass, and she leaped back.
Shaking her head, she approached the window and looked down.
Tristan stood in a small vegetable garden, miming actions she couldn’t understand.
He kept flinging out his arm and then clutching his chest. Laughter bubbled in her chest and Felicity opened the window.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
He shook his head and then, while she watched in horror, he started to climb.
Felicity covered her eyes, peeking at every scuff and grunt. She stepped back as he reached the window ledge and pulled himself in with catlike agility.
“You’re mad!”
“I’m your Romeo,” he said in return, panting. “Didn’t you see? I couldn’t yell like that blasted fool, Sir Elliot. Anyway, to be honest, I don’t remember reading Shakespeare at all.”
Felicity just shook her head at him, scared of the way her heart clamored for him and too tired and weary to scold him for this ridiculous stunt.
He approached her slowly. “I couldn’t stay away. Do you want me to go?”
She shook her head.
“Good. I wasn’t going to. Look at his room!” He turned toward the bed, and his shoulders slumped. “Now that’s a proper bed. I bet it’s soft.”
“It is.”
He started to remove his jacket.
“Tristan, you can’t stay.”
He smirked as he strode to the door and turned the lock. Then he continued to strip his clothing until he was left in only his breeches.
“My room is miserable now that the fire has died down. I could catch my death.” He pulled back the coverlet, whistling as he ran a hand over the crisp white sheet.
“Not silk, but just as soft.” He patted it. “Come to bed, Flick. You look dead on your feet, but still lovely.”
Felicity shuffled closer. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“To let me hold you all night? It’s a fantastic idea. The best I’ve ever had.”
Her heart swelled in her chest as she walked to him and sat, sliding her feet under the coverlet. She scooted over and he joined her. He rolled to his side facing her and Felicity did the same. He reached back to snuff the candle, and darkness cocooned them.
“This weather reminds me of home,” he said. His voice had a light burr, like he was letting a bit of his true self slip out now that they were alone in darkness, the whole world sleeping.
“It does?”
His arm came around her, tucking her to his chest. His chin rested on her head.
“Misty and cold, damp seeping into everything. But inside is always warm and cozy. Thick wool blankets on the beds, whisky tea to warm the belly.”
Felicity closed her eyes and tried to put them back in the imaginary house she’d built in her mind of Lark Hall.
“Tell me what your house looks like on the outside.”
“It’s all stone and moss. There are only two floors.
When my great-grandfather built it, there were only two bedrooms, a kitchen and parlor.
Then it was built out by each generation, adding to the back and the side.
Those two bedrooms became four, then six, then eight.
The ground floor now has the parlor, the kitchen, the study, and a proper dining room. ”
“Your house sounds incredibly large.”
“Compared to what we’re in now? No.”
“Compared to the small cottage I lived in my entire life.”
“Oh, I suppose that makes sense.”
“What is your room like?”
“My room is always messy. As a boy I got in the habit of collecting bones and trying to put skeletons back together. Sometimes I made new animals.”
“That’s rather morbid.”
He chuckled. “Mostly bird bones, rabbits. Colin said he’d throw them away when I left. I didn’t have time to look when I went back.”
“What are your siblings like?”
He took a deep breath and sighed. “You need to go to sleep.”
“You don’t want to tell me?”
“It hurts to talk about them. I let them down.”
Felicity wrapped an arm around him. “You’re doing the best you can. They know that.”
“I should have been there for them. I should have never left Colin in charge of anything. I knew he hated the responsibility, but he’d been running the household for years already.
He seemed to accept his role, and he did it reasonably well.
But I was wrong. I only learned after his death that his frequent trips to London were not to establish new business for the farm, but to gamble and drink away the profits. ”
“You are there for them now. You’re still doing whatever you can for them. That means everything, Tristan.”
He cleared his throat. “Go to sleep.”
“I just want to picture it,” she said sleepily.
“Picture what?”
“You, them, your home, I want to be there.”
“You will be,” he said. But it sounded far off, and her body was heavy and warm. Sleep tugged at her, and she let it take her.