Part of the reason Cole befriended everyone he met was because some gentleman out there was the right one for Felicity… and she showed no signs of hunting him down herself.
His sister was no wallflower—Felicity had several close friends and no shortage of names on her dance card—but if the Season were to abruptly end the day after tomorrow, she would not weep at the loss. She was just as content milling in some poet’s drawing room or losing an entire afternoon in a library as she was standing up for a waltz with an earl.
“Don’t meddle,” she said as if she could read his mind. “I will dance if I want to, and it’s no business of yours.”
“I’msupposedto meddle,” he reminded her cheerfully. “‘God-given right to meddle’ came with the title. I participate in making laws that govern all of England. Perhaps the next will be called The Great Felicity Sutton Betrothal Act of 1817.”
“God help us all,” Felicity muttered, but she could not repress a fond smile. “What year will The Great Duchess of Colehaven Act take place?”
“Shh,” he whispered urgently. “Don’t make such jests with matchmaking mamas within earshot. I’ll be beset by so many fresh-faced debutantes, I won’t even be able to move my arms.”
“That only happened once,” she scolded him, then thought it over.
“Twice,” they said in unison.
“The Lyndon soirée,” she agreed with a wry shake of her head. “I thought they were going to leap upon you like kittens. You could’ve taken the whole pack home, if you’d wanted.”
He shuddered. “I did not want.”
There would eventually be a Duchess of Colehaven, but she wouldnotbe some giggly seventeen-year-old chit fresh out of the schoolroom. The future Her Grace would be a decorous, intelligent woman, beloved and respected by their peers. A friendly, dignified lady with impeccable manners and a sweet soul, capable of commanding her household and her husband’s heart with the crook of her finger. A proper duchess by any measure.
Cole was not at all ready for such a woman. He needed to earn the privilege. Become a respected peer not just in title, but in truth. Perhaps once he’d been chosen to lead a committee, once it was finallyhisideas changing the world for the better—
“Is there a library somewhere?” Felicity asked.
“Don’t you dare.” He trapped her hand about his elbow and dragged her in the direction of the orchestra. “No books until you’ve stood for at least five sets. And try the cakes. If you don’t try the lemon drizzle cakes because you’re hiding in the library, I’ll eat every last tasty morsel, and then you’ll be sad.”
“You’re the worst brother. The very worst. You know lemon tarts are my weakness.”
The one thing she liked more than libraries, in fact. Both of which were Cole’s fault.
When they were poor, fine confections were the one treat he scrimped and saved for twice a year. Felicity’s birthday, and Christmas Eve. With the tart, delicious sweetness melting in their mouths, they could forget the weight of poverty for a moment and enjoy a small slice of heaven.
The title had brought a tidal wave of money and privilege. Suddenly Cole was off to Oxford and no longer needed to sweat all day before the smithy’s fire in order to spoil his sister with a sugary treat.
After sharing every joy and despair of their lives together, it hadn’t been fair for only Cole to gain the advantage of higher education. He couldn’t send his sister to Eton, but there was no reason for her to be ignorant. He sent home every book he could find that could improve her mind or provide an hour’s entertainment. Every day after lessons, he penned long letters summarizing the key points of everything he’d learned.
Although many long miles separated them, it was as though they attended Oxford together. From the day Felicity had held her first book in her hands, her love affair with libraries had grown unabated.
“Five sets,” he reminded her. “Find five gentlemen worthy of half an hour of your time, and I will escort you to the closest stack of books with a plate of lemon tarts in each hand.”
“Very well.” The sparkle in her eyes belied her sulky pout. “If these paragons of dandihood bore me to tears, I may send you back to the refreshment table for a second round of fortifications.”
“Fair enough.” He grinned to himself as his sister melted into the crowd.
Knowing Felicity, she would dance until her feet could not bear another reel. And then, after six or eight or ten whirlwind sets, she would absolutely seek refuge amongst the closest towers of books and not emerge until the coach was ready to take her home.
“There you are,” came a voice from behind Cole’s shoulder.
He turned to grin at his friend, the Duke of Eastleigh. “Oversleep from last night?”
“Wrap up the Middleton betrothal yet?” Eastleigh countered.
“I will,” Cole assured him.
“No hauling her out to the dance floor so that the young bucks copy you,” Eastleigh reminded him. “And no marrying her yourself.”
Cole rolled his eyes toward the arched ceiling. “I remember the rules.”
