An Independent Miss (16 page)

Not only did she look like a
hoyden, she was now sounding like one.

Contrite, she tried to climb the
fence gracefully, remembering her governess’ recitation,
A lady is as a lady does
.
And
,
she amended,
as she says
.

She hoped to God that no one would
see her.

CHAPTER 16 ~ THE
TREE CLIMBER

“I dare say, she had no way of
knowing I would be present this afternoon.” The dowager marchioness guessed, as
Andover passed her up into the carriage.

“No, she did not.”

Felicity did not know he meant for
his mother to join him on the visit. He dared not plan too far in advance with
his mother, although she’d certainly risen to the occasion for this one.

Still, Felicity did know he was expected.

His mother continued speaking. “The
girl has spirit then, gumption. She won’t let you walk all over her.”

Settled on the facing seat, pleased
for the snatch of common conversation, he teased, “I rather thought you would
be embarrassed for me, not that this should please you?”

Or ashamed, that his boorish
behavior scared her away. Except his mother didn’t know about the argument, the
ultimatum, he had made to Felicity on his departure. Or that he had left, when
she expected him to wait.

Remorse would not change his
conviction, but it would alter his actions.

“Of course it pleases me.” She
pulled the shade down. Light bothered her more of late. “Your missives spoke of
a quiet, sensible girl. I feared she would be dull, no challenge to you. You
need to be challenged.” She chafed her arms.

“Do you want a blanket, mother?
There is one under the seat.

“No.”

Restlessness again. He needed to
get her home, for the afternoon tonic but he wanted to get one last question
in, before she was lost to him. “You mentioned Grandmama saw the Redmond women
as peculiar?”

She swept away his concern with a
flick of her wrist. “Silly business, silly nonsense.”

She smiled. He wanted to cry. Not
in sorrow. Those tears dried months ago. No, in stunned disbelief that his mother,
the only person to still have a place in his heart, should smile and laugh and
allow him to tease her. She exceeded all expectations this afternoon, proved
she could function socially in an intimate, friendly group.

He’d not press her for more. Left
her to dive deep inside herself as he mulled over the visit. The changes in his
mother. Could the problem be isolation? Should he orchestrate a return to
normal life? Would that carry her beyond the anguish of mourning?

A flash of skirt at eye level snagged
his attention. Intrigued, he looked out the window and smiled. A young girl, in
a rag of a dress, climbing across a tree limb and over an iron fence. She
managed to display an attractive length of ankle in the process. No doubt
searching for some park owner’s discarded scrap, the poor thing.

About to stop the coachman, to give
him some coins for the unfortunate wretch, his eyes skimmed up the figure. To
his surprise, he saw not a thin rail of a girl, but the ripe full figure of a
young woman. His gaze jerked to her face. Wide brown eyes stared straight at
him, her mouth a perfect O of alarm.

Just as quickly, she ducked her
head and scrambled away, a maid following smartly behind her.

Good
God!

“Is that Mrs. Comfrey?”

“What?” Rigid with shock, Andover
swung around to find his mother looking over his shoulder. “Mrs. Comfrey?” he
asked, confused. “Who is Mrs. Comfrey?”

“You know perfectly well who she
is. The lady who makes my tonics. Sweet woman.”

The day started so well. He’d
forgotten her delusions. “We discussed this mother. Mrs. Comfrey is not a real
person. She did not visit you in the night.”

His mother’s sigh filled the coach
as she pulled back, away from him, lifted the curtain of the opposite window
enough to peer out. “No, dear,” she whispered, a sad lament. “Of course she
didn’t, and that wasn’t her.”

He wanted to help, to make her
better, but all he seemed to do was hurt her. “This Mrs. Comfrey,” he tried,
“why do I not know of her, coming into our household?”

Her hand, frail and thin, patted
his wrist. “Don’t worry, darling. No doubt I imagined it.”

“I don’t mean to doubt you,
Mother,” he admitted.

“I know,” she whispered and changed
the subject, much as she’d done before everything had gone wrong. “I would like
to go shopping on Bond Street,” she announced.

“Shopping? Now?”
To see the imagined Mrs. Comfrey in every stranger’s face? She could
not go shopping.

“We’ve only just arrived in town. I have
things to do,” he argued.

Like chase Felicity down to see
just what she was up to.

“After I’ve had my medicine,” his
mother amended, like a chastised child.

“I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean
to argue. Of course we can go to Bond Street, if that’s what you want.”

“Your Lady Felicity might be
there.” Eyes closed, she managed a small, mischievous smile, so like the mother
he remembered. “Ladies do lose track of time at the shops.”

He patted her knee. “Let’s get your
medicine and see. Does that suit you?”

The medicine put her in a stupor,
and then to sleep. She failed to make it to Bond Street, but he didn’t. Her
theory made sense. What he saw by that park was as much an illusion as Mrs.
Comfrey. He had been thinking of Felicity and conjured her face to that of some
washerwoman. The real Felicity, his Felicity, might be shopping.

Unfortunately, as he walked down
the street, the only people he found were Rupert, Lady Jane, and a footman
loaded with boxes, headed for their carriage.

“Lady Jane.” He tipped his hat.

“Lord Andover!” She directed their
footman to carry on. “How curious we should see you here.”

“Andover.” Rupert stepped up. “So
you made it to town. What brings you to the shops?”

“My mother sent me on an errand.” He
offered a rueful a smile.

Upton frowned. “Doing better then,
is she?”

“Yes.” It was the truth. There were
small changes, but she appeared to improve daily.

“Thoughtful of you, to accompany
her.” Lady Jane smiled. “Have you been in town long? Visited with Lady
Felicity?”

“We only arrived late yesterday,
and have been busy getting Mother settled,” he deflected.

“Ah, well,” Rupert dipped his head
toward his sister. “You gave Jane an errand and she has run it to ground. She
can be a bloodhound to things like that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, well, I’ve called on Lady
Felicity every day…”

“Wait,” Upton frowned. “Just
wondering, your mother really is improving?”

Andover nodded. “Yes, Upton, she
is, thank you for asking.”

“He already told us as much,” Lady
Jane snapped, obviously peeved that she had been cut off. “And I don’t mean to
spread tattles, but I think you should be aware of this.” She didn’t look in
the least reluctant to speak. “Something untoward happened today. Perhaps you
will understand it, but I do not.”

“Jane, if you don’t want to gossip,
then don’t.”

With a glare for her brother, Lady
Jane took Andover’s arm and pulled him close as they walked. “This is not
gossip, it is information. Lord Andover needs support in these matters.”

Pulling away just far enough to
avoid scandal, Andover lifted his hat to Lady Parlimer who walked by, her ear
cocked to hear whatever she could hear of their discussion.

“Shall we keep this private?” He
raised his eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, of course.” They watched
people bustle past until Upton’s coach pulled alongside, the beleaguered
footman, now free of packages, balanced on the back step.

“Let me help you,” Andover offered,
as the footman jumped from his perch to open the door and lower the step.

“You see, Lord Andover,” she rushed
on a hushed whisper. “On our way to the shops, we called on Lady Felicity.”

They navigated a rather nasty mess,
as they stepped down onto the cobblestones. “I thought she might want to join
us.” More stubborn than she looked, she stopped him from helping her up into
the carriage. “So it was most odd to find her abigail at the first shop
purchasing ribbon. Felicity was nowhere to be seen. And I can tell you, the
prices in that shop were not for the likes of an abigail.”

“Might her abigail purchase ribbon
for her while she attended another errand?”

Lady Jane shook her head. “Ribbons
are important business, Lord Andover. A lady does not leave it to an inferior
to make the proper choice.”

“I see.” He did not see, but used
the moment to help Lady Jane into the conveyance. He couldn’t tell if it was a
gleam of wickedness in her eye or one of mysterious intent. “Did you ask the
girl where her mistress was?”

“Yes,” Lady Jane leaned out,
keeping Rupert from getting in. “Why yes, of course I know the girl, would love
to steal her away. I have seen what a beautiful job she does with Lady
Felicity’s hair, which is difficult hair to work with.” Rupert shoved past her,
so she leaned out the window instead of the doorway.

“She does an admirable job,”
Andover allowed, picturing Felicity’s thick, lustrous mane that conjured
dreams, much to his discomfort.

“This Jessie—where did she
say Lady Felicity was?”

“At home, which could not be the
truth, as we had just called there and they informed me she was out shopping.”

Not
shopping, but climbing trees, wearing a raggedy dress.

The depths of her were as peculiar
as Thomas implied.

“Will you accompany us home, Lord
Andover?” Lady Jane offered. “For a spot of tea?”

“No, thank you.” He bowed, tipped
his hat. “I still have one more errand to run.”

“You are such a bore.”

“Stop it, Jane.” Upton saluted
Andover. “Glad to hear your mother is improving.” And sat back, signaling for
the driver to carry on.

Now more determined than ever,
Andover headed for that last errand, as abhorrent as it was. He found his
mount, still with the street lad. He flicked him a coin and headed off,
following a course that took him down narrower streets, past storefronts
offering more practical goods than fancy fabrics and expensive bonnets, until
he found the street where many of the stores held similar shingles out front.

He stood, facing the doorway,
bracing to enter. He owed this to his mother, to step into a place such as
this. A bell rang above his head as he stepped inside, his senses assaulted by
the stench of dried herbs.

He moved deep into the dusky room.

“May I help you, sir?” The
apothecary, an older man with half glasses perched on his nose and wild grey
hair that circled a bald spot, stepped from behind the counter.

“Do you have any of Lady Comfrey’s
tonics?”

The man took his glasses off,
cleaned them with the edge of his apron. “Lady Comfrey’s tonics, you say?”

“Yes.”

“How are you familiar with these?”
He shot Andover a sideways glance, his head still tilted to his task.

“My mother takes them.”

“Ah.” The man’s head snapped up,
eyes fixed on Andover. “And just who provides these tonics?”

Andover’s heart froze. “Is there
something wrong with the mixes?”
Of
course there was something wrong with the mixes. There always was.

“I have never heard of an actual
tonic by Lady Comfrey.”

“But you’ve heard of Lady Comfrey.”

“Oh, yes, we all have. Everyone in
the guild is familiar with that name, and we would like to know who, exactly,
he is.”

“He?”

“Definitely a man.”

“The name would imply a woman.”

The apothecary brushed that aside
and strode back behind his counter, in search of something. “Too astute for a
woman. Too learned, too complex, too intelligent.”

“I see.”

He grunted in answer as he shuffled
papers about. “So, you see, I am intrigued by your question. Have been
searching for years, would be delighted to know where your mother obtains these
tonics.” He looked up sharply. “What was it you said she took them for?”

“I don’t see where that is
relevant.”

“But it is, I can assure you.”

Caught by the man’s penetrating
stare, Andover moved closer, lest he seem timid. The man continued. “You see,
Lady Comfrey posts arguments, contradictions to many patent medicines. That’s
how we all know about him. Not at all the thing. No room for discourse when you
don’t know who the bloody person is.”

He rapped his fingers on the glass
case that held jars of herbs and roots. “This is new, though, and not the least
comforting. Lady Comfrey has never produced the medicines before, only
published ideas for mixtures.”

“What do you mean, published
ideas?”

The man sniffed, rummaged through a
pile of papers on the back bureau. “That’s what I was telling you. Lady Comfrey
publishes leaflets… Here!” He brandished a sheet of paper. “Here is one
example.” And he handed it over.

“On the Treatment of Hysteria.”
Andover frowned.

“Do you see? We have all been
treating hysteria for decades and this Lady Comfrey argues against standard
mixes. And just before that, she claimed that childbirth madness was a matter
of physical humors and not a weakness of the brain. Lunatic!”

“May I keep this?”

“No. They are not easy to come by.”

The apothecary snapped it from
Andover’s fingers.

CHAPTER 17 ~ A
PARENT’S COUNSEL

The tirade began before Felicity
could step into her room.

“Felicity! Where have you been all
day?”

“Mama.” Felicity crossed the
threshold, quietly closed the door behind her. Controlled calm always helped
ease the drama. “I was lost,” she lied. “Not surprising in a city such as
London.”

“Oh, Felicity,” her mother mourned.
“Don’t tell me you walked around London looking like that!”

“I had a wrap,” Felicity defended
herself.

“I just don’t know what to say to
you anymore. We allowed you too many liberties over the years.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Andover was here.”

“Yes, I am sorry. I will
apologize.” She desperately needed to speak to him, wished she’d been able to
before her mother. Too late for that now.

“And the mantua-maker. Lady Jane
was not far off when she questioned your trousseau being ready. It would help
if you were available for fittings.”

“Humphrey did tell me.” Which he
had and then, as now, she refrained from arguing the necessity of a trousseau.
She’d fight that battle after speaking with Andover.

Lady Westhaven sat down on the bed.
“Did Humphrey tell you that Lady Andover accompanied her son?”

Felicity froze, halfway to her
dressing table, and tried to sound calm as she asked. “How did she look?”

“Don’t! Don’t even go there.” Lady
Westhaven lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, on the verge of tears.

“Mother…” Felicity abandoned the
dressing table to sit beside her mother, cocooned in the sweet jasmine she
always wore.

“You don’t tell us where you go and
we have worried, even knowing you are too intelligent, too level-headed and you
always return for tea. Until now. This…”

“I am safe,” she leaned back, her
arms out, “See, nothing to worry about. But please, Andover’s been terribly
worried about his mama. Is she well?”

“No doubt he has doctors enough to
tend to her, you need not worry. She was fine. Not quite herself, but that’s to
be expected.”

“Was she quiet? Talkative?”
Felicity thought for a moment. “Did she have trouble speaking because her mouth
was dry?”

“Stop.” Her mother pulled away,
crossed to the window, before turning to confront her. “You promised me you
would not do this in town. And now, here you are, practicing on his mother.”

“She is not well, Mother. Andover told me
so himself.”

“He has a special license.”

A special license? Oh, dear.

Her mother sniffed, threat of tears
abating. “This will all be over soon.”

“Will it?” Felicity grappled with
what to do, what to say. Time was running out before she was ready.

“Yes, it will. I know you are reluctant,
but the gossip is rampant. Marriage is the only solution.”

“We won’t suit, Mama, not at all.”
Felicity fought for breath, to calm herself even as her heart raced. To be
married to Andover a high, unattainable dream. The reality a nightmare she must
control.

“You will suit, I’m convinced of
it. Your work need not interfere. Just, please, remember time, to be there for
tea, for meals, when a wife is expected to be present. Do not get lost in your
interests, like today. And I know that’s what kept you. You were lost in
something that fascinated you. Men do not like to be forgotten.” Lady Westhaven
slapped that bit of information out, an edict. “Andover will be back to take
you to the ball.”

Felicity pinched a fold in her
skirt, eyes down, as she wildly fought for excuses. “Are you sure that is
wise?”

“Absolutely!” Her mother sat back
down. “No one would dare cut you, not with Andover by your side, and your
father and myself, as well as Thomas.”

“And if I refuse him?”

“You could never go out in society again.”
Her mother sighed, her head now bowed. “I would not want that for you,” she
looked up, “but perhaps you wouldn’t mind at all?”

Felicity watched her mother
closely. “How would my ruin affect the rest of the family?” she asked, but did
not get the reaction she expected.

“We will survive, Felicity. Your
sisters will have to be vigilant about their reputations, but that is no more
than we expect.” She raised an eyebrow.

They sat like that, quietly
watching each other.

“You really are set on refusing him?”
A gentle stroke, her mother’s hand to her face. “Have you formed a tendre for
someone else?”

“No, no, Mother. Nothing like that.”

Her mother dropped her hand. “I
will not fight you on this anymore, though I truly believe you are destroying
your life, your chances at happiness. You are too young to understand.”

“Mother?”

Lady Westhaven stood, shook her
skirts, headed for the outer door. Hand on the handle, Lady Westhaven turned
and said, “You are the marrying kind, Felicity. You will lose yourself in this
healing business. A husband would ground you.”

“Am I?” Felicity rose up on her
elbow. “The marrying kind? Like all other girls?” With all she had been about
lately, she was coming to question that fact.

“Not like all other girls. They
marry because they know of no other way. But you? You would be a splendid
mother, and you are so much more sensible than I. Your husband will be able to
rely on you. I’m afraid I have been an emotional challenge for your father.”

True, in a fashion, but Felicity
suspected her father and mother balanced each other nicely. “He loves you,
Mother.”

“Yes, foolish man.”

“Mama, you know it is not a common,
easily found thing.”

“It is something that comes with
time. Which is why I am so torn. In so many ways, Andover is perfect for you.”

“Perhaps,” Felicity touched her
lips, remembering the brush of his, the kiss. “Perhaps not.” She pictured him
riding away.

Lady Westhaven put her head against
the door, then pushed away with determination. “Do you know, Felicity, I may
have loved your father when we married, only I didn’t know it.” She paced. “I
could be contrary that way. There was no choice, you see, and a part of me
rebelled. Fortunately, your father is a patient man. He helped me to see what I
refused to believe.”

“Did Father love you?”

Her mother stopped, in thought,
tilted her head in thought. “I don’t really think so, not in the way he does
now. But he fancied me something wicked, so perhaps he was on the way. ” Lady
Westhaven admitted, “and perhaps it’s time you know of how your father and I
came to be married.” She stood in the alcove, looking out into the darkening
night.

“You loved your grandfather.
Everyone did. He was a charmer, but charm can be a curse. He got his way too
easily, never took anything seriously, especially at the card table. Debts
mounted, he ignored them, and threats were made.” She looked back at Felicity.
“To kidnap…hurt…Vi, me. Your father picked that day to discuss marriage to me.”

Stunned, Felicity asked, “Father
promised to pay those debts in exchange for your hand?”

“A good part of them, yes. A risky
thing for him to do. Looking back, I’m baffled he did so. He’s an intelligent
man, knew the risks of marrying into a profligate’s family. It put him in line
to honor my father’s debts again and again.” And then she smiled. “But as I
told you, he fancied me rotten and was smart enough to get the word out that he
had married the daughter, not the father.”

“Aunt Vi, did she have to marry
that quickly?” For the first time in her life, reality matched the melodrama of
her favorite novels.

Lady Westhaven sat back down, took
Felicity’s hands in hers. “She was not so fortunate. The man she loved, a
wonderful man, was out of town. No doubt Father’s creditor knew this, for he
put forth an offer that could not be refused.

“It was awful, Felicity, awful. He
was an old lecherous man and very cruel. He is one of the reasons I find it
impossible to say no to my sister. All her goodness knotted up inside when she
married that man. I was helpless and, God forgive me, grateful that he chose
her and not me.”

Felicity sat, still unable,
unwilling, to fully comprehend the horror her mother described. What might have
happened if her own father had not arrived when he did?

“Do you love Andover?”

How did one think of such things
now? Felicity looked at their clasped hands, realized how feeble and shallow
her own worries were. “I would rather not love him. It would be better if I did
not.”

“Don’t stifle yourself, Felicity.
You are so reserved. You mustn’t marry if it means burying who you really are.”

“No,” she agreed, trying hard to
remember the convalescent home, to see caring for such people as her future.

Lady Westhaven patted Felicity’s
hands and rose, “I have made up my mind. You do not need to marry him. We will
see that a portion is put aside for you. Your dowry will go a long way toward
that.”

Felicity fell back onto the bed,
staring up into the canopy. It was over. No more fighting, she’d gotten her
way.

She wanted to cry.

****

Andover tried to focus on the
morrow’s meeting of the Lords, as Jones fussed about dressing him.

Solutions were needed to avert
disaster, as the spring’s foul weather rotted seeds already planted. Issues of
state, issues of the economy, issues of a larger world. He failed to grapple
with them.

Instead, he pictured the shabby
girl with the nice ankles climbing over the tree, her sudden surprise at being
caught. And the book he’d seen, when he tried to visit Felicity that afternoon.

The same book he’d seen in the
stillroom, or so he thought. Opened, this time, to a plant called valerian and
notes on its affect on the brain.

Beautiful intricate pictures
recreating various stages of growth. The plant dissected lengthwise, crosswise,
every-which-way-wise, and notes in the same neat, precise hand as the letters
from Felicity.

He shuddered.

“My lord!” Jones warned.

“What?”

“Please try to stay still, sir. I
am trying to tie your cravat.”

“Yes, of course. My apologies.”

The
hidden depths of her
?

Oh, God, his betrothed, the woman
locked to him by scandal, was a… Oh God, a woman had died by her hand.

And then there was Lady Jane and
her calculated interest, encouraging him to break off the match, encouraging
him to believe Lady Felicity brought the shame on herself by going to his room.

What
man wants a wife who would go to his rooms without invitation?

She’d shocked him by asking. Were
young ladies taught such things? Lessons to prepare them for marriage? And just
how did he feel about that?

About a wife so enraptured with her
husband she’d sneak into his rooms? Desired him beyond his lineage? What sort
of woman would be like that?

One with hidden depths he yearned
to explore.

No. He did not need depth in his
marriage. A young woman of Lady Jane’s ilk had no hidden depths, or stars in
her eyes.

Felicity had stars in her eyes,
before that fateful night, before wariness, watchfulness crept between them.

Jones turned him to the mirror, to
see the splendid artistry of his cravat.

“Very nice,” he allowed, though his
mind remained on the contrast between Lady Felicity and Lady Jane. The latter
understood the game of marriage and would play it. She wouldn’t expect a love
he couldn’t give.

And he couldn’t, couldn’t risk the
loss, the hurt. Life so fragile one illness, a simple meal, could wipe it out.
Even childbirth, God forbid, threatened death. His heart could not bear another
loss. He craved a calm, serene wife. What, who he thought Felicity was.

The
depths of her.

Pah! He turned away from the
mirror. Jones tsked.

He knew too many men miserable
because of their choice of bride. He knew other men, settled so deeply into
their married life you rarely saw them apart. Andover couldn’t quite see
himself in either role.

Perhaps someone like Lady Jane
would be more practical. Expensive, perhaps, but he could afford the expense.
She would not expect a husband to dote on her.

All well and good, but honor
forbade him to marry any other than Lady Felicity. There was no way out.

“There you are, my lord.” Jones
stood back, having brushed his jacket clean of even the smallest speck of dust.

“Thank you, Jones.”

“Lady Andover said she would meet
you in the blue room, my lord.”

“Mother is up and about?” Twice in
one day. This was good news.

“She appears better, sir, with you
in attendance.”

“Yes.” He studied his reflection,
not so different from his father’s. “She does seem different, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. Much recovered.”

“Do you know anything of her
medicine, Jones? Any talk below stairs of this Lady Comfrey?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir.” A smidgen
of stillness. Andover noted the reaction.

“Well, then. I won’t bother to ask
the others.”

He found her in the blue room,
waiting.

“Andover.” From her place on the
settee, she held out her hands to him.

“Mama.” He kissed her knuckles.
“May I pour you a sherry?” And immediately wondered if that was appropriate.
Rituals were so very hard to break.

“Thank you, dear boy.” She nodded
to her empty glass.

“Two tonight?” he asked lightly.
She never had two sherries. He didn’t know how they reacted with her medicine.

“Yes, two.” She eyed him. “It shan’t
harm me.”

“Of course not.” He took her glass
over to the drinks trolley. “Just out of character.”

“The times justify a change.”

“Ah, yes.” He rolled the glass
between his palms, wondering just what she meant by
times justify a change
. That she was becoming more normal? He
prayed it was true.