To Marry the Duke's Daughter (After the Masquerade) (3 page)

It was obvious she had no desire to
step away from him, so he took the initiative. “Good afternoon, Lady
Felicity.”

Felicity twirled a loose strand of hair
around her fingers, her elbows propped against her windowsill and her knees
trapped between the back and cushion of an old armchair. The night air felt
pleasant against her skin, gently cooling her cheeks as a teasing breeze snuck
through the open window. Stars blinked down at her from the endless stretch of
dark sky, but though she tried to name the constellations, tears blurred her
vision. She scrubbed the salt from her cheeks.

It was his fault.

She did not understand the painful
longing in her chest, or the melancholy sigh that escaped her lips as she tried
to utilize her favourite pastime to improve her mood. The stars had been
cruelly stolen from her when he told her the dream was over, and she did not
know how to return to the land of slumber. Even if she could, would he be
there?

Mr. Jonathon White.

His name should not send a soothing
balm through her veins. His name should not lift the corners of her lips into
a faint smile, nor make her heart flutter inside her chest. She had no reason
to believe herself in love, not when she had been angry with him until that
afternoon, but she could think of no other ailment to cause such peculiar
sensations in her body. Perhaps it was simply a passing fancy. He was
handsome, and polite, and liked her better when she acted the way she wanted
instead of the way she had always been told. Those traits were enough to make
any woman fancy any man.

She had never fallen into a fit of
fancy before and so was uncertain how to proceed. If her mother were alive she
could seek guidance from a fellow woman, but the duchess had died when Felicity
was a babe and Felicity had always been forced to question her father, which was
unacceptable in the current situation. She had no choice but to sort out her
feelings on her own.

If it was merely fancy, it would pass
and the stars would soon enough be hers. If it was something more…

Her father would stand in the way. The
Duke of Avondale did not tolerate upstarts, and he would view Mr. White with
disdain even if Jonathon were the richest man in all of England. He wanted a
title for his daughter, and would be satisfied with nothing less.

Felicity did not think she cared one
whit for a title, or a plethora of money. She had lived twenty-four years with
both and had never been remarkably happy; at least not as happy as she had felt
while in Jonathon’s arms. There was no one in London she truly considered a
friend. It was tempting to use her pin money to buy fare to America, where she
could escape the pressures her father placed on her, and be herself. However,
a woman on her own was not respectable. Though she desired freedom she was
terrified of being seen as anything less than respectable.

If she travelled with Jonathon, and
they were married…but he seemed determined to be alone. His words and actions
aroused her curiosity. He spoke like he viewed her as a dream he could never
achieve, but he held her in his arms and made her feel the most wonderful
sensations of safety and joy. He acted like a gentleman, but spoke like a man
on the verge of destitution.

There was something—or
someone—standing between them, but should she see that as a sign that
Jonathon was not right for her? Or should she see it as a challenge, a search
for truth like in a play? She did not want to end up like many of the women in
Greek tragedies, but if it was her only chance at finding true happiness she
had no choice but to take the risk.

She needed to know if Jonathon was the
one.

Chapter
Three

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“Our
situation is finally improving,” Jonathon informed his reflection with a grin.
“Pranks proved that gambling is not a lecherous disease in the family.
Although I will not be surprised if Gregory lost even more of my money,” he
added, his expression turning grim. “It is a good thing I deposited most of my
winnings with my investor.”

Weeks
of being deprived of every odd penny he earned had instilled a thorough distrust
in the safety of his pocketbook. Gregory was certain to find any money
Jonathon carried on his person or stored in his rooms, so he was taking every
precaution to protect his dwindling funds. He carried only what he needed for
the day, and left the rest in the hands of Toby, an old cavalry friend turned
investor and banking expert. It made it dreadfully difficult to carry on a
decent living, but Jonathon would do whatever it took to keep his brother’s
hands off his money.

“If
only I could explain that to Lady Felicity,” he muttered, straightening his
cravat.

The
past few days he had acted against his reason and casually pretended to have
chance encounters with her in Hyde Park. It saved him the trivial money for
flowers—and the social homicide of his brother discovering he was fond of
a duke’s daughter—while preserving his pride and providing him the
opportunity to continue their acquaintance without pressure of courtship. He
hoped she understood that he could not court her, but he had seen the glimmer
of a smile in her eyes when she first sighted him in the park. She was
thrilled to see him every day, thrilled to speak with someone who did not force
her to act out a social charade, and thrilled to laugh at his witty remarks
about their fellow park-goers. Perhaps it was wrong of him to pretend that
their moments together were anything less than an attempt to secretly impress
her, but he would be lost forever if he admitted to himself that her laugh
warmed his heart.

At
first he believed her eyes were a chameleon shade of grey, but now he was
convinced they were the colour of the stars that twinkled as soon as the sun
slipped beneath the horizon. While he was pleased by his ability to describe
her eyes, he was having a difficult time falling asleep; he thought of her
every time he glanced out his window to watch the stars.

He
recognized that he was turning into a melancholy romantic, but he was unsure
how else to proceed. Having never been exposed to honest emotions in male
figures during his childhood, he had no basis for how he should react to the
emotions Lady Felicity Ryans incurred. He admired her patience, he envied her
sharp wit, and he appreciated her blunt honesty. Though he enjoyed the few
conversations they had shared in Hyde Park, his greatest pleasure came from
watching her interact with society. Now that he knew her true personality, it
was entertaining to watch the way she politely shied from those she found
repulsive. She struggled to interact with those outside her usual acquaintance—an
effort he suspected was for his gratification—but society feared the
duke’s daughter, even when she smiled so becomingly with her full, soft lips.

The
only similarity between Felicity and Lady Felicity Ryans was her raven black
hair and starry eyes. Lady Felicity Ryans’s overwhelming beauty faded away
when she simply became Felicity. She was still beautiful, of course, but
Felicity’s beauty radiated from her smile and eyes, from her laugh and the shy
tilt of her chin when she caught him watching her from across the room. They
were careful not to stray too close to one another in the ballroom, but that
did not stop Jonathon from experiencing the curious sensation of falling every
time their eyes met.

He
let out a sigh and turned away from his reflection, reminding himself that he
needed to remain in control of his emotions. It was simple enough to
believe
oneself in love—or even
simply smitten—and another thing entirely to actually
be
in love. He did not think he was in
love, but he certainly harboured more interest for her than he had ever felt
for any other woman. He feared she would make him forget his resolve to wait
for his investments to grow if she continued to impress him during their
clandestine meetings in Hyde Park.

“I
should at least buy her a single rose,” he decided, placing his black beaver
hat on his head. “She deserves that much as a sign of my interest.”

He
paused in the process of donning his black leather gloves when the front door
of his apartment burst open.

“You
look too proper for a man on the verge of bankruptcy, brother.”

Jonathon
grimaced as his older brother sauntered through the door. Gregory’s broad
shoulders blocked much of the light from the clear London sky outside, but
Jonathon still had to blink several times while he waited for his brother to
close the door.

Gregory’s
thin lips twisted into a sneering smile as he raked his eyes over Jonathon.
“You do not look pleased to see me, John.”

“I
am headed out, Gregory,” Jonathon stated bluntly. “We can socialize at another
time.”

“Socialize?”
Gregory tilted his head to the right, and then to the left, as if stretching
the long tendons of his thick neck. “I do pity you, John. You never learn
from your mistakes. Or, perhaps, you are simply oblivious to the truth.”

“I
do not have time for you, Gregory.” Jonathon did not like the sudden gleam in
his brother’s dark brown eyes. He had never thought he shared any traits with
his older brother beyond their colouring, and that was reinforced by Gregory’s
ever-expanding waistline. Gregory stood a few inches shorter, though his
shoulders were a few inches wider, but his form revealed the true difference in
their lifestyles. Jonathon had always been athletic; Gregory had always been
fond of rich meals and bountiful wine cellars, to which he somehow retained
access despite the fact he could no longer afford either.

“You
will always have time for me, John,” Gregory murmured, his fingers playing
against the emerald that capped his hawthorn cane. His left hand slipped
inside his bulging coat to retrieve his fob watch, and he studied the time
languidly, as if determined to do everything he could to annoy his sibling.
After replacing the watch he gifted his brother with a smirk. “After all, I
own you. Everything you have is mine.”

“The
courts might see that differently.”

“The
courts?” Gregory chuckled and shook his head in amusement. “You do not have
the money to take me to the courts, John. Although…”

Although
Jonathon’s chest tightened he kept his breathing even, unwilling to let his
brother see him so unnerved. He had been wise to dispose of his winnings, but
he had no ready answer for why his apartments and bank account were devoid of
said winnings. Gregory would suspect foul play and would, like a hound, sniff
until he found his prey.

“I’ve
heard that Pranks treated you well, brother.”

Jonathon
remained obstinately silent.

“How
much did you win?”

“Not
enough to satisfy your taste for Watier’s,” Jonathon retorted. “How did you
lose my money this time,
brother
?
Macao or hazard? Or did you simply overindulge in the edible delights?”

Gregory
bowed in recognition of his brother’s blunt accusations. “You know me well,
John, but you forget our debt.”

“
I
am not in debt to anyone,” Jonathon
contradicted, shoving his hands into his gloves. “It is not my fault that you
gambled away the family fortune while I fought for England.”

“Don’t
throw your patriotism in my face, John,” Gregory snapped. The end of his cane
sharply prodded Jonathon’s chest before Jonathon could move. “It does not
impress me.”

“Nothing
impresses you unless it is doused in oyster sauce.”

Gregory
patted his stomach and regarded his younger brother with amused curiosity.
“Your wit is improved, but not your temper. As much as I would love to stay
and banter, I have an engagement to keep. The money, if you do not mind,
John.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Jonathon
squared his shoulders. “I have ten quid in my pocketbook, Gregory, no more.”

“I
doubt that.” He snapped his fingers. “Give it over. Now.”

“No.”

“Oh,
John,” Gregory sighed, retracting his hand and shoving it under his coat. “We
must work on your stubbornness. I do not have time for it.”

Jonathon
grimaced as his brother drew a pistol and levelled it against his forehead.
“Will you really shoot me, Gregory?” He did not believe his brother capable of
murder, but an unfamiliar glint in Gregory’s dark eyes made Jonathon nervous.

“Neither
you nor I wish to know the answer to that, John,” Gregory warned. “This is my
favourite coat, and I have no doubt your blood will stubbornly cling to me.”
He cocked the pistol. “Do not try my patience, John.”

Jonathon
tossed his pocketbook against his brother’s stomach. “Take it, then, but you
will be disappointed. In paying off your debts I have given you everything I
have, Gregory. I cannot afford future gambling losses.”

Gregory
returned his pistol to his coat as he frowned at his brother’s pocketbook,
which did include only ten quid. “This is not enough, John. You must have
more than this tucked away.” He narrowed his eyes and again lifted his cane to
rest against John’s chest. “Are you lying to me, John? Trying to reform my
ways? Mama could not accomplish that, and nor will you.”

Jonathon
acknowledged his brother’s words with a frown. “I have nothing left to give,
unless you wish to sell me to Thompson as a slave?”

“Not
a bad idea,” Gregory muttered. “If I find out that you have not been honest
with me, I will squeeze you for every last half farthing. Keep that in mind
for our next discussion, eh, John?

“You
are lucky you have these apartments through the year,” he added. “I suppose
you will have no choice but to live with me or with Mama, unless you procure a
job.”

“If
I procure a job you will still take every penny I earn.”

Gregory
grinned and tipped his hat. “So I will. Good day, John. We shall speak again
soon.”

Jonathon
scowled as he watched Gregory depart, but before he could slam the door behind
his brother he spotted a familiar figure walking past.

“Miss
Catherine!” He hastened down the steps to join her and her friend.

“Mr.
White!” Miss Catherine Burnel’s eyes widened at his sudden appearance. “You
do look dreadful, Mr. White.”

“I
should,” he muttered. “I need your help, Miss Catherine. I do not know who
else to turn to for this.”

She
took his arm and motioned for him to escort her friend as well. “Walk with us,
then, and tell me what you need. You can trust Miss Emily to be discreet.”

“I
will walk as far as the Ravenwoods’ townhouse. The marquis has been gracious
enough to permit me to ride Beth in Hyde Park every afternoon.” He was
grateful for Lord Ravenwood’s continued generosity when it came to his mare,
especially considering it furthered his ability to discreetly converse with
Lady Felicity.

“The
Ravenwoods are always gracious,” Miss Catherine agreed. “Now, what do you
require?”

Felicity
nodded briskly at one of her acquaintances, her hands fiddling impatiently with
the reins of her palfrey. Jonathon was late; if she made another circuit
through the
Route de Roi
her actions
would be considered suspicious.

“Lady
Felicity,” a soft voice greeted.

She
turned in her saddle to see Jonathon seated comfortably atop his high-spirited
mare, and she offered him a wide smile.

“Mr.
White.”

He
rode up beside her and they continued together, careful not to show any further
sign of a purposeful meeting.

“I
was afraid you would not be able to ride today,” she murmured, holding the
reins in one hand while she smoothed out her pale green skirts. “Perhaps we
should have a more specific time.”

“I
cannot meet you here again,” he apologized.

She
glanced across at him in surprise. “But—”

“If
my brother discovers us together he will make both our lives a living hell,”
Jonathon explained, not meeting her eyes. He had been able to tell Miss
Catherine most of the details, and she had urged him to keep his feelings for
Lady Felicity a secret from everyone but Lady Felicity.

Felicity
frowned, and he saw her gloved hands tighten around the reins. “I do not
understand why your brother should have any say in our lives.”

“Do
you believe your father will approve of me as a matrimonial candidate?”
Jonathon queried, arching a brow. “I see the answer in your expression. My
brother is very much like your father; he enjoys controlling others. If
Gregory thinks I have even an iota of interest in a woman, he will do
everything in his power to take her away from me. I
want
to court you, Lady Felicity. But for your own safety, I
cannot.
Yet
.”