Chapter One
“Miss Smith, aword, if you please.”
Felicity turned away from the flowers she was adjusting on the table to see Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon, the infamous Black Widow of Whitehall, standing in the entry of her private parlor. She had shrouded herself in mourning black after her husband’s death many years ago and hid her face behind a veil. You couldn’t meet her gaze, but you could feel it. Since that tumultuous evening when Felicity had her “Miss Smith” identity revealed to the Earl of Alston—and she’d refused to marry him—they hadn’t spoken.
Felicity nodded and joined her in the parlor. To her surprise, Mr. Chase was not present. They’d gone from seeing each other every day while she assisted Dr. Sloan with Lord Alston’s recovery to not at all. She could feel his absence like a void in her chest. He was charming, funny, and he made her feel safe—something she hadn’t felt in a long time with a man. His blue eyes and dark hair had such a striking quality she couldn’t help but stare at him after they first met.
“Close the door, dear.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat in a plush wingback chair and picked up her cup of tea from the side table.
Felicity softly closed the door, straightening her spine as she wentto sit in one of the leather chairs beside the settee.
“You intend to still use my alias?” she asked.
“I think it best to keep that protection outside these four walls. The fewer people who know who you are even within them, the better. We don’t want word to spread to your beastly former fiancé.”
Felicity nodded. Mrs. Dove-Lyon never said his name. She always used some other moniker or insult to refer to him. Felicity appreciated the gesture, but it didn’t change anything. Chadwick Revere was still present in her mind and in the ghosts of the bruises on her body.
Felicity cleared her throat. “Is there something I can do for you? I don’t have much to do now that I’m not Lord Alston’s nurse.”
“Indeed. I’ve been watching you. You’re sullen. Dreary like a little gray cloud floating about the halls with no direction.”
Felicity swallowed. “I’m sorry.” What was she supposed to be doing? She had no purpose here other than hiding and searching for a husband. A difficult task to accomplish when in hiding.
“You’re wilting, my dear, and we can’t have that. I’ve been searching for a new suitor for you. The prospects are many, but I’m not sure what we should be looking for. Someone who doesn’t fall in love with another under your nose, preferably.”
Felicity let out a whisper of a laugh. She thought of Lord Alston and Miss Blakewood, now betrothed, she assumed. The moment Miss Blakewood had arrived at Alston House to stay with her brother, Felicity could see the change in Lord Alston. His mood and therefore his health had improved drastically with Miss Blakewood’s presence. It had become obvious early on to Felicity that the two of them shared something special, a current of some invisible mystical element that flowed between them, drawing them together.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon grew silent. “You wear your fear like a cloak, but fear can’t protect you from this dismal world any more than a cloak could stop a bullet. You need to get out more—see the city, smell the flowers, stroll Bond Street, what have you.”
Felicity bit her lip. One never wanted to disagree with Mrs. Dove-Lyon, but the prospect of leaving the house without the cover of a carriage made her stomach hollow out.
“But . . . what if someone sees me?”
“You’ll return to your Miss Smith disguise, and of course, you will have protection. As much as I’d like to coddle you and allow you to stay in, it is in your best interest to gain a bit of independence.”
Felicity closed her eyes and swallowed. “I don’t know what I could do outdoors. Is there another position I could take as a nursemaid for a child, perhaps? Something charitable? I could assist Dr. Sloan with his patients, like I did with Lord Alston.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “Dear, you are so concerned with serving others and never yourself.”
“I don’t know how else to live,” Felicity confessed.
“I know, dear. Fret not. I won’t throw you out the door and expect you to fend for yourself. Mr. Chase will escort you to various excursions I have arranged. A night in my theater box. Covent Garden. Walks along the Serpentine.”
The mention of Mr. Chase set off a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. She would be alone with Mr. Chase. He’d made her feel more at ease than any man of her acquaintance. His friendly smile and kind eyes settled her nerves, and his amusing stories kept her captivated enough that she forgot, for just a little while, that she was hiding from the world. That she was an outcast. That she was absent from her family, her home, her village. That she’d run away from everything she knew, leaving her two sisters behind.
Emotion knotted her throat. “What is the purpose of these excursions?”
“To introduce you to life outside of your little village. You need polish, dear. You can’t marry a peer and not expect to engage in some of these activities. You’ll feel better for it. More aligned with the man you’ll eventually marry.”
Felicity knitted her fingers in her lap. “When will this begin?”
“Right now. Mr. Chase is waiting for you at the ladies’ entrance. Grab your cloak. Your first adventure is the dressmaker. Your wardrobe is in desperate need of an update. Consider it another loan to be paid from your inheritance. I’m still reviewing candidates and—”
“Wait,” Felicity blurted. At the rate her debts to Mrs. Dove-Lyon were accruing, she wouldn’t have any inheritance left, but that wasn’t her most pressing worry.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon tilted her head to the side just a hitch, the veil swaying.
Felicity sucked in a breath. “I want to choose my next suitor. I want to see them for myself.” Felicity couldn’t see through the half veil Mrs. Dove-Lyon wore over her face, but she felt her scrutiny.
