An Independent Miss (2 page)

“A prank?” He bent enough to look
in her eyes. “This is no jest. Your father and I have been discussing the
details all week.”

And
no one told her? As if she were some silly schoolgirl?

“You are not here to visit Thomas?”

Still clasped, Andover let their
hands fall down between them, his thumb absently caressing her knuckles. It
rippled through her into dark private places.

“I arrived for a small house party
with no particular aim other than friendly amusement.” He looked out toward the
window before returning to her gaze. “Then I found you. Did you not notice my
attention?”

“You’ve been kind and polite.”
And attentive
.

She never dared presume it meant
anything to him, other than friendly camaraderie. He was to marry Lady Jane
Townsend. Lady Jane herself had assured the whole of Easton Academy for Young
Women that one day she would be Lady Andover. With Caro still at Easton, surely
they would have heard the high drama if those expectations failed to reach
fruition.

Then again, there had been no
mention of Lady Jane in the whole of Andover’s visit. Not even from Lord
Upton, Andover’s closest friend and Lady Jane’s brother. He was
visiting, as well, and one would expect him to say something if
a betrothal was on the boards.

“Would you like time to think about
it?” he offered, his smile replaced with a knotted brow.

No, she didn’t need time, not that she
would tell him that. “You have taken me by surprise.”

Marriage. To Lord Andover.

Oh
Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord.

She fought for a serene smile while
her insides rioted. He proposed to her, Felicity, not some vivacious other
girl. Not to some terribly regal miss. He saw beyond her reticence, accepted
her unfashionably educated mind, and chose her rather than a social bully like
Lady Jane.

The flurry of excitement stalled.
Lady Jane’s infamous temper was a very real obstacle. Felicity had been the brunt
of it far too often to dismiss it easily.

“Have I surprised you in a bad
way?”

“No, not at all. I’m just beyond
words.”

“I see.”

Did he? This was no surprise to
him, or to her father or to, well, how many others? Did everybody know, and if
so, how could that be without her the least bit aware?

Yet here he stood, near enough she
felt the starch of his shirt, smelled the intoxicating hint of cologne. As
close as in her dreams.

Baldly, she burst out, “Are you
quite certain?”

Relief billowed on his laugh, reigniting
her excitement. “Yes, Lady Felicity. I am certain. What about you? Could you
see to marrying this poor soul?”

Pour soul indeed. Lord Richard
Henry Albert Carmichael, Marquis of Andover, Earl of Sutton, Viscount St. John.
Good God—he was a Marquis, and a comfortably placed one at that.

Not that such things mattered. She
would marry him if he were a poor parson’s son.

“Will you marry me?”

What mattered was the warmth in his
eyes, the tilt of his chin when they chatted after dinner. The furrow of his
brow during games of chess. The way he chuckled at her younger siblings, rather
than rebuking them for their rudeness.

The way he guided her, however
unknowingly, into normality. She was not a source for what ailed him, but a
woman. A flesh and blood woman whose heart fluttered at the sound of his voice.
Whose breath sighed at the touch of his hand.

She never dreamt this day possible.
Collected the memories instead, little vignettes of his visit, their quiet
talks, silent walks. Secret reminiscences to hold dear after he married Lady
Jane.

“Lady Felicity?”

But it was possible, unless this
moment was the dream.

Too dazed to utter a single word,
she nodded and sighed, as he raised her hands to his lips.

“You will not be sorry, Lady
Felicity, I promise you I will be a good husband.” His words whispered across
her fingers, clear through to her toes, and then his lips pressed against the
bare skin of her wrist.

You
will not be sorry
, but she would be, if his proposal lacked words of love.
If that beat of his heart had not been for her. She did not want a marriage of
convenience. She did not want to wed because they ‘suited one another.’ There
were alternatives to marriage for her, alternatives that were not fashionable,
but would please her, nonetheless.

She had her studies, after all.
Could spend her life immersed in them. Make a living from them.

If she were to marry, she wanted a
love to match the novels hidden under her bed. Novels her mother forbade.
Wonderful, sensational stories of dramatic emotions, wrenching passion and
love. Most important of all, love.

Andover could have promised all
those things while she dumbly stared at their hands. She desperately needed to
know if he had.

Oh
Lord, she should have listened…

CHAPTER 2 ~ EN
GARDE

A footman opened the door to a wide
wedge of glorious sunlight. A brilliance far too absent this spring, far too
absent in the past months of his life. With a nod, Andover dismissed the
servant, stood on the doorstep and drew in a delicious breath, carrying the
scent of recent rain that lent a sparkle to the view. An auspicious brightness
for the day.

He was to be married. His mother
would have a daughter-in-law, to rebalance her life, and he would have heirs.
Felicity’s peaceful steadiness would be a calm grounding force within Montfort
Abbey. She would ease his mother’s sorrow, as her friendship had eased his.

In return, she would have a title,
wealth, and her own family. He would be good to her. He would pay attention and
anticipate her needs. He would appreciate her. He would be careful not to
disrupt her life. If he needed a bit of excitement, there was always London.

He would be a good husband.

He stepped off the threshold to
join his friends, Lord Rupert Upton and Felicity’s older brother, Lord Thomas
Redmond, on the south lawn. He had seen the servants carry fencing gear that
way and remembered Thomas’s challenge to Upton the night before. They would be
at it by now.

He was to be married.

A smile carried him down the steps
and across the upper terrace garden. He could see Thomas and Rupert one level
below, and heard delighted cries of the rest of the Redmond brood off on some
other part of the grounds. Soon he would be related by marriage to a pack of
children. He would encourage them to visit, to enliven his household, bring
merriment to his mother.

How many were there in total? He
stopped to think. Seven, with Felicity and Thomas. Next in age would be Caro,
her come-out in another year. Felicity thought to find her when they left the
library, but Caro had already left for school, having been home for Easter.

Edward would be off to Eton in a
day or so. He had spent most of the holiday with his tutor, preparing for
exams. And then there was Annabel and Charles, the twins, still young enough to
be squealing and playing in the gardens with their little sister Beth.

Delightful. Their gaiety added to a
perfect day. A charming day.

“Wish me happy!” he called, as he
strode down the slope.

Upton’s sword lay upon the ground,
his shirtsleeve stained green. Thomas, a regular at Jackson’s and a keen
student of Angelo, still held his foil.

“Grass slip you up?” Andover asked
Upton, as he reached the two men. He noted young Edward standing to the side
with his tutor. Unlike Thomas and his full tilt charge into life, Edward resembled
Felicity, standing straight and focused, hands behind his back. He absorbed
life, as though it seeped through his pores, a budding scholar, as well as a
gentleman. Andover offered a bow. “Learn anything?”

“Yes, sir.” Edward returned his
bow. “I’ve learned it’s best to practice on a dry surface.”

Andover chuckled and held out his
arms, while an attending servant helped him out of his jacket. “Dry surface
would be easiest, but then you would miss the challenge and the glorious
scenery. I, for one, am grateful for the move outdoors.”

His spirits higher than in months,
Andover crossed to a table covered with sabers, foils and protective gear. He
found a padded vest and slipped it on, standing still as a servant fastened the
buttons along the right side. “Treat to get some fresh air without a load of
drizzle.” He looked over his shoulder. Thomas and Upton stared at him.

“Happy?” Upton asked. “You’ve
proposed to some poor lass?”

“You’re getting married, sir?”
Edward asked.

He turned back. “Yes, Edward, I
have offered a proposal and have been accepted, I am getting married.”

“By the post? You proposed by
letter?” Upton marveled.

“No.” Andover smiled, surprised by
his own happiness, especially under the circumstances. He needed to be married,
urgently he owed his family that. He had not expected to feel so joyous about
it.

“There’s been no one here for you
to propose to, except my fam…” Thomas stopped, scowled, looked to Edward’s
tutor and jerked his head toward the house. Edward scowled, as his tutor led him
in the direction of the other children. Stone-faced, he did not argue, no doubt
to prove he could and would behave. Like Felicity, this Redmond was not prone
to the dramatics that characterized so many of their siblings.

The men fell silent as they watched
Edward leave, until Thomas could wait no longer and confronted Andover. “You
have been speaking to my father about farming, correct? Taking his counsel
during all that time in his study? Riding out on the farm?”

It was not going to go well. He
should have anticipated that. In respect, Andover offered another bow, this one
for Thomas. “I have taken your father’s wise counsel.”

“On farming?” Thomas’s nostrils
flared.

Smile gone, Andover nodded. “On
farming. As well as other things.”

“Oh Lord!” Upton swallowed. “You’ve
been spending considerable time with Lady Felicity.”

Both men had figured it out and
Thomas, for one, was not about to wish him happy.

“You’ve proposed to my sister?”
Thomas exploded.

“No!” Upton whispered. “Right under
our noses.”

“Damn you!” Thomas took a swing.
Andover blocked it.

“Hold on, Redmond!” Andover wanted
to defend his proposal, but he knew and understood Thomas’s position. They had
drunk and gambled and chased petticoats together from Eton through Cambridge
and beyond. A life Andover would still be living if his father and brother had
not died last winter, and if his brother’s wife and unborn child had not
perished with them. If they had not all been lost in one gruesome, interminable
night that upended his life, victims of an ignorant woman’s misguided use of
anything that grew in the woods.

He was the eldest now, an only
child who had not grown up as such.

Eldest sons themselves, Thomas and
Upton should understand, commiserate. They both knew just how badly he needed
to marry, to produce issue, bring new life into his diminished family, distract
his mother from the pain of loss. He vowed to provide at least one heir, though
he hoped to produce a number of spares, anything rather than put this weight of
the title on a child of his.

“You’re marrying for your mother.”

“I didn’t come here with that
intention. I did not anticipate caring for Lady Felicity.”

“That’s my sister we’re speaking
about, and no damned hums about love. I know you better than that.”

He did, Andover thought. Love was
not the idea. He had a title to carry on, sooner than he had expected with his
father’s death. He didn’t have the comfort of a spare with his brother William
gone.

All these months he had been
desperate to secure the title for the future, but there had been no real chance
between mourning and taking over the business of his title and lands. This was
his first step into society. An informal step.

The Redmonds offered a chance to
break his solitary existence, a respite from his mother’s deepening melancholy.
A small family party, that was all that was offered, but it proved the answer
to his worries. Lady Felicity was exactly what he needed, sweet and gentle and
intelligent. She thrived in country life, knew how to run a manor, and did not
browbeat a man with trivialities. She would suit, they would rub on quite well.

She would not be sorry. He had
promised.

“I didn’t invite you to seduce my
sister.”

Upton put a hand on Thomas’s
shoulder and was shrugged off. That didn’t stop his counsel. “Come on, Redmond,
leave it. Andover will be a good husband.” He defended his childhood friend.
“And your sister’s a sweet girl.”

“Too good for him,” Thomas snapped.
“She doesn’t need the mess he is in.”

Andover looked up at that. “I will
be good to her. I promise you that.” He wished he could think of something else
to say, but nothing else came to mind. He frowned.

Thomas studied him from beneath his
brow, his head down as though about to charge. “You had better be. She’s the
best of the lot of us.”

“Do you think I don’t know how
special she is? How fortunate I was to meet her before either of us found
someone else?”

“No. I don’t think you know that.
You haven’t had time to learn the depth of her, or to give her time to know
about you.”

The
depth of her.
Something in that worried Andover. He pushed it away. “What
is it you really don’t like?” he asked, doubting Redmond knew just how bad
things were at Montfort Abbey. A situation that would reverse as soon as he
married. A positive focus was all his mother needed to pull her from the spiral
of malaise.

Thomas snorted, looked away at the
distant horizon. “You said you were going to marry quickly for your mother.” He
swiped away a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Thomas…” Upton broke in, but
again, Thomas pulled away.

“As intelligent as she is, as
practical…” he bent, picked up the foil that Upton had dropped, tossed it to
Andover.“Felicity is a romantic. It is part of her beauty.” He lifted his
own foil, tested its flex, then looked at Andover. “You admitted there was no
room for emotion in your goal.”

“Look here, Thomas,” Upton
interrupted. “Men never think of such things.”

They both looked at him and
scowled. “Shut up, Upton.” Thomas flared. “I don’t like this, not one bit.” He
faced Andover, signaled for the servant to hand him a mask, then pulled his own
down. “You have not been forthright in your suit.” He waited as Andover put on
the meager protection. “You better not have touched her. There had best be room
for her to change her mind.”

Andover flicked his mask down. “You
know me better than that.”

“Do I?” Thomas snapped. “You
managed to tie yourself to her right under my nose.” He lifted his foil before
his face. “Prepare yourself.”

Even as Andover raised his foil,
Thomas shouted, “En gard
e
!”
and lunged.

Andover countered and attacked.
Furious himself that Thomas would question his morals, his respect for gently
bred women. “I’ve never so much as kissed her!” he promised, dismissing his
lips to her wrist.

The response was lost in the chill
of blade hitting blade, soles sliding across grass still damp with the earlier
rains, the heat of exertion overriding the sweet scent from that rain.

Thomas came at him with wild
aggression.

So what if he married for an heir,
so what if he didn’t believe in hearts and flowers. He provided a title,
unencumbered land, and comfortable living. Her dowry would be saved for their
children.
Theirs
. He would be a good
husband, a fond and caring father. He would be good to her.

Damn Thomas for expecting more of
him, for inspiring doubt.

The
depth of her
. The thought lodged. Andover shook it away.

Thomas lunged deep. With a swift,
hard sideswipe, Andover parried, disarming the man. And just as he had
anticipated earlier, Thomas charged like a bull, head down, his shoulder
hitting Andover in the gut, stopping his breath.

A solid shove pushed Redmond away
long enough for Andover to tear off his mask. As he sucked in breath, he
watched, warily. Thomas pulled off his own mask, revealing eyes dark with
anger.

The respite was short. Thomas came
at him again. Wild as two schoolboys, they rolled down the slope to the next
terrace. A mass of limbs, each fought to pin the other, as punches flew both
wide and to the mark. Hindered by the padding they wore, they struck at faces
and arms, kicked shins, aimed for the weakest points. It was not a gentlemen’s
fight.

****

Felicity pushed the trowel into the
dirt, twisted and exposed a spiral root. “This,” she explained to her mother,
“helps a woman feel more…well…more balanced, in herself, after childbirth.”

They were in the conservatory,
gathering ingredients to prepare a tonic for a tenant who had just had a baby.

“What is it?”

The hot, heavy scent, the shades of
green, so much a part of her life wrapped about Felicity. Its comfort helped to
settle the whirlwind of emotions beating in her heart.

“I call it dongkwi, but I doubt
that’s its actual name. The family has been propagating it for centuries. A
traveling monk gave it to Lady Veri Montgomery.”

Lady Veri was the first in a long
line of ancestors interested in healing. Felicity’s paternal grandmother
introduced her to the science.

“Whatever are we going to do,” Lady
Westhaven worried, “when you are gone, miles away? There is no one in the
neighborhood who knows as much as you do.”

Felicity pinched back a leggy
plant, taking a moment to savor the rare compliment. A small measure against
years of discouragement.

She understood her mother’s woes.
She, after all, cared not one wit for society’s rules, while her mother adhered
to them with such fierce determination she couldn’t help but be caught between
pride in her daughter’s achievements and fear for the societal lines that must
be crossed in order to accomplish them. To her mother, there was nothing worse
than social condemnation.

“When I am gone,” Felicity finally
acknowledged, “call for Samuel Henry. He’s a very good physician.” She picked
up a handful of soil, and sniffed it.

“Don’t do that.” Her mother swatted
her hand, the soil arcing out. “It’s so…so…animalistic.”

Felicity brushed her hands.
“Actually, Mother, Jack Marshall taught me to smell and taste the soil. It’s a
common farmer’s test.”

“ Be that as it may, he has grown
beyond putting his nose in the dirt and so should you.”

“He’s a soldier, Mother, that
doesn’t change his nature, his love for the land.” She raised her hand to stop
the argument. “I know, he’s the younger son and the farm will go to his
brother, but it is Robbie who always played at battles, not Jack.”