Twice Upon a Time (A Danby Family Novella) (3 page)

Papa had dismissed her concerns and warned her against making a nuisance of herself, but Felicity had followed her heart. How could she hold vigil at the lady’s bedside, acting as her nurse for days, without another thought for her family? Mr. Beckford had certainly remained at the forefront of her mind for weeks after her experience.

She saw little familial similarities between her traveling companions aside from both gentlemen being uncommonly handsome. Lord Penlow’s head was covered in pale blonde curls and he had a soft appearance to his face. Felicity was hard pressed not to compare herself unfavorably to the gentleman. It seemed unfair that a man should be blessed with a beauty she didn’t possess.

Mr. Beckford, on the other hand, was golden blonde and his square jaw lent him a rugged appearance that made her heart race at what could only be considered a dangerous pace. She placed her fingers over her wrist to feel her pulse. It beat strongly.

The corner of Mr. Beckford’s mouth slanted upwards. “Is something wrong, Miss Halliday?”

She dropped her wrist. “No. Just a little discomfort in my joint.”

“You are a bit young to suffer from gout, don’t you think?”

Rolling her wrist, she detected a slight soreness, so she wasn’t lying. “I may have bruised it the other night.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “When Pen tossed you in the carriage?”

“Maybe. Or I might have hit it somewhere in the course of my day.”

“Let me see.” Mr. Beckford leaned across the carriage and captured her wrist, pushed her sleeve up, and gently twisted her arm for a better view. Her heart launched into a flurry of erratic beats.

She wiggled from his grasp and pulled her sleeve to cover her exposed flesh. “It’s nothing serious, sir.”

“But there is a bluish cast to your skin. You were injured the other night.” He sat back against the seat and aimed a glare at his cousin.
 

 
Lord Penlow kept his face turned to the window, his mouth set in a straight line. He appeared oblivious to their presence and exchange.

Felicity didn’t wish to rehash the injuries incurred that evening. Hers was minor in comparison to the ones she had inflicted on the men, so she initiated a change in topic.
 

“What is our history, my lord?” she asked Lord Penlow.

When he didn’t respond, Mr. Beckford elbowed him in the side.
 

He jerked around and blinked across the carriage at her. “Did you say our history, Miss Halliday? Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, we must have a history. No one will believe you found me in an alley and proposed marriage.”

“No, I suppose you are correct.”

“Where did we meet?”

His mouth opened and closed. “I… We met at—Blast! How should I know? I haven’t thought this all through yet.”

“Fancy that,” Mr. Beckford said.

Before the men started arguing again, Felicity intervened. “Allow me to make a suggestion, my lord. We met at church.”

Lord Penlow’s eyes flew open wide. “Church? Does that not seem a bit...disrespectful, seeking a marriage match when I should be paying attention to the sermon?”

Felicity grinned. “If you will recall, I chastised you for your behavior when you called on me the next day. It was unbecoming the way you gaped at me from across the aisle.”

Mr. Beckford chuckled. “He truly couldn’t help himself, Miss Halliday. Never had he seen a lovelier vision. You wore yellow that day and a smart bonnet with daisies.”

“You are mistaken, sir. I was dressed in pink with carnations on my hat.”

“Yes.” He snapped his fingers. “How could I forget? You wore yellow the day he called. Pen thought it the perfect shade for your complexion and rich, brown locks. He likened the color to molasses.”

Felicity made a face at Lord Penlow. “Really, my lord? Molasses? How dull your imagination.”

The baron looked between the two of them as if they’d gone mad. “I would never make such a ridiculous claim. I would compare your hair to luxurious cashmere in which any man would love to become entwined and lose himself.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks in spite of the cold confines of the carriage.

Mr. Beckford narrowed his eyes at his cousin. “You are embarrassing Miss Halliday.”

Lord Penlow inclined his head her direction, a dispassionate expression on his face. “My apologies. I simply intended to make a point. I can be creative when the occasion calls for it.”

“I would hardly call your comparison original.”

“Cashmere, indeed,” she murmured. “I urge you to be more convincing in your grandfather’s presence.”

Lord Penlow flicked a speck of lint from his coat. “There is no need for false modesty. Julian chose the most beautiful of the lot. I’m not surprised. He has always had an eye for actresses.”

“Be quiet, Pen.” Mr. Beckford thumped him on the arm.

“Ouch!” The baron rubbed his shoulder where he’d received the blow. “What has gotten into you, Jul?”
 

“Hold your tongue for once,” Mr. Beckford snapped.

“Very well.” With a huff, Lord Penlow turned back to the window.

As silence descended over the carriage, she considered what the baron had said about actresses. He had spotted her as she left the theatre after being summoned to evaluate a sprained ankle. Surely he didn’t think
she
was an actress.
 

Felicity was a midwife by trade, but she had learned medicine by her father’s side. She was just as adept at treating injuries and diagnosing illnesses as she was at catching babies. The women at the theatre and brothels cared very little that her gender prohibited her from calling herself a doctor. They preferred her gentleness and acceptance of their lots in life. Felicity would never judge a woman for surviving by the only means available to her.

“Pardon me, my lord,” she said, but Lord Penlow didn’t look in her direction. “I think we may have a misunderstanding. Do you think I’m an actress?”

The baron groaned. “Don’t tell me you are a whore.”

“Pen!”

“Good heavens, no!” Felicity’s hand rested over her heart.
 

Lord Penlow glared at Mr. Beckford. “Well, there were whores passing through the alley. If she is not an actress...”

“I am neither, sir.”

The baron crossed his arms over his chest. “Yet you exited the theatre after the performance ended.”

“And that makes me an actress? If a man exits the mews, does that make him a donkey?”

Mr. Beckford grinned. “In Penlow’s case, yes.”

“If you are not an actress, then tell me what you are,” Lord Penlow demanded.

She glanced at Mr. Beckford. Would he remember her if she told the truth? Part of her hoped he would, but she feared he might be disappointed in her for stooping to lies in order to support her family. Still, she couldn’t deny Lord Penlow’s request.

“I am a midwife.”

“Egads!” The baron fell against the seatback and slapped his forehead. “Why me? Why must this always happen to
me
?”

Well, one of them was a gifted thespian. “Do you often abduct actresses, my lord?”

He pursed his lips, then returned to staring out the window.

The place between Mr. Beckford’s brows crinkled as he stared at her. For a long time, she waited, holding her breath and hoping recognition would light his eyes.

Eventually, he shrugged. “Miss Halliday carries herself well. I still believe she was the best choice, even if she has no acting experience.”

Felicity sighed. What did it matter if he realized who she was or not? Their situation would be the same. Mr. Beckford would still be a member of the upper echelons, and she would continue to be unworthy of his notice.

~5~

DUSK was settling over the small village when the traveling party arrived at Three Bucks Inn. Julian climbed from the carriage and stretched his arms overhead to release the tightness that had invaded his body during the long hours of confinement. He’d thought the first day of their journey to Danby Castle would never end.
 

Pen had been in a black mood the entire time and rarely spoke unless he had a grievance. The road was too rutted. The carriage was too cold. The journey was too long. Julian had never seen his cousin in such a state. Pen had always been light of heart, but the summons from Danby had transformed him into someone Julian barely recognized.

It was true Julian hadn’t had seen his cousin for some time, but Pen had traveled to India twice during Julian’s appointment and stayed with him for several months. Surely, Pen hadn’t changed so drastically in a year.

Miss Halliday stood awaiting instructions in the coaching yard with her black bag in hand while Pen gave orders to his servants. A pleasant smile graced her lips even though her eyes were cloudy with fatigue. The woman exhibited amazing fortitude. She hadn’t uttered a single complaint on the tiresome journey, for which Julian was grateful. The day might have been unbearable if not for her engaging discourse and easy manner.

“Take Lady Penlow’s trunk to our room,” Pen said to the footman.

“Yes, milord.” The man heaved the trunk onto his shoulder and headed for the inn.

Miss Halliday’s smile faded, as did Julian’s. “
Our
room, my lord?” she said with a tiny squeak to her voice. “And I don’t have a trunk.”
 

Pen adjusted the collar of his great coat. “You do now.”

“You cannot mean to have Miss Halliday share your room.” Julian spoke softly, but anger laced his tone. The source of his ire was unclear to him, but he didn’t devote time to reflecting on his reaction. He simply didn’t care for the idea of Miss Halliday and his cousin sharing a bed.
 

“Mr. Beckford is correct, my lord. My reputation will be ruined.”

Pen lifted a single brow when he regarded her. The sardonic twist of his mouth fueled Julian’s irritation. “If you had a reputation to protect, you wouldn’t be traveling without a chaperone, would you, Miss Halliday?”

The color leeched from her face, her distress making Julian want to punch his cousin in the mouth. Although Pen’s argument was logical, it still stirred up a slow burning fury inside of Julian.

“Apologize to the lady.”

Pen met Julian’s glower and his expression lost its sarcastic edge. “She cannot room alone. Who would protect her? She is traveling as my wife, so her reputation will remain untarnished.”

Julian wanted to claim the responsibility of protecting her, but as Pen pointed out, he had no grounds. She had assumed the role of Lady Penlow and Julian could do nothing about it.

Pen addressed Miss Halliday. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but it is only for two nights. I will sleep in a chair or on the floor. You may have the bed.”

She nodded her understanding and pulled her bag closer to her body as if erecting a wall between her and Pen. Miss Halliday’s reaction, coupled with Pen’s promise, eased Julian’s temper.
 

“What is in the trunk, my lord?”
 

“Gowns, a travel dress, unmentionables.”
 

The rosy pink glow returned to Miss Halliday’s cheeks.

“And a pelisse.” Pen wrinkled his nose as his gaze roamed over her from head to toe. “Julian noted your cloak was beyond its prime the other night. We cannot have you catching your death, now, can we?”

She shook her head slowly. “Thank you, Lord Penlow.”

They started toward the inn’s entrance. “If everything fits, you may thank Julian. He provided the measurements to the modiste and selected what you will need.”

Julian cleared his throat and looked away when Miss Halliday regarded him with curiosity. “I took a guess. Perhaps nothing will fit properly.”

He doubted it. Miss Halliday felt roughly the same size as his last mistress in Calcutta. Julian had received a handful of Miss Halliday when she had sprawled atop him the other night. A satisfying handful. Under different circumstances, he imagined he would have greatly enjoyed her lush curves pressed against him. And his imagination was vivid, indeed.

Desire whipped around him like a sudden strong wind, and he sucked in a quick breath.
Fabulous
!
Miss Halliday hadn’t broken him after all, but now was a bloody fine time to make the discovery.

He quickened his step, walking ahead of his traveling companions. “I will meet you inside.”
 

~*~

Felicity thanked the young maid Lord Penlow had secured to assist her with dressing for dinner then dismissed the girl.
 

“I will inform his lordship you are ready,” the girl said.

“Thank you.” Felicity turned to view her reflection in the looking glass. Mr. Beckford must be some manner of peculiar genius when it came to lady’s attire. The gown skimmed her body with the exact precision of a tailor-made garment. Never had she worn anything as fine.

She had chosen the yellow frock on a whim, recalling the lovely banter with Mr. Beckford in the carriage. Perhaps there was something to be said for the color yellow, as it did compliment her skin and made her eyes into luminous pools of golden brown. She almost looked as pretty as her sister.

A sharp knock tore her attention away from her reflection. What an empty-headed twit she was being, loitering at the looking glass and admiring her fine attire. Soon enough she would be wearing her own dresses again. She shouldn’t become accustomed to such luxury.

“Lee, grant me entrance,” a male voice called out in a hushed voice. “You cannot do this.”

Good heavens
. Felicity vacillated between answering the door and pretending no one was in the room.
 

“I’m coming in,” the man declared. The door handle jiggled.

Felicity jumped; her eyes darted around the room in search of a hiding place. The furnishings were sparse, save for a chair and the bed. She dropped to her hands and knees beside the bed and crouched low, prepared to wiggle underneath.

“Oh!”

The man’s surprised exclamation made Felicity cringe. With her bottom still in the air, she must make for a pretty picture. She slowly rocked back on her haunches and dared to take a peek over her shoulder.