After emptying herself of what she hoped wasallthe biscuits, Felicity dropped into a heap across her bed. It had been a long time since she had eaten herself sick. It had been at a party when she overheard several gentlemen taunting one another about who might be unfortunate enough to have to sit beside the Broadmere cull at dinner. As she recalled, she had sworn never to eat herself sick ever again. So much for that oath.
A cool cloth was pressed across her eyes, and someone plucked the jabbing hairpins from her hair. Heartbroken and her stomach sore, at least she still had her caring sisters.
*
Drake strolled alongthe lane toward the village, happier and more content than he had been since allowing Uncle George to drag him into what he had come to label life asthe Wakefield mess. And it was all because of Felicity. She was the sunshine to his dark and dreary soul. Soon—very soon, he hoped, he would ask her to marry him. The banns could be read, and within a month, they would be married.
As for their courting, he couldn’t have hoped for better. Well…perhaps a little bit better. He ached for a taste of what he was certain would be the sublime sweetness of her lips. Her loveliness drew him in, transfixing him, mainly because she was so unaware of her beauty. How anyone couldn’t see her delightful radiance was beyond comprehension. He shook his head. The fools had to be blind.
He lifted his face to the sun, thankful that the rain had subsided so their promenade would not be missed. Their strolls around the village green were his second favorite of their chaperoned meetings. Sitting at the kitchen worktable and watching Felicity cook was his favorite above all. She was an artist with ingredients, and the kitchen her canvas, her eyes sparkling brighter whenever she was creating something delicious—well…mostly delicious. He grinned, relieved that they could now laugh over the hideous batch of bitter biscuits.
As he neared the green, he scanned the area for his bonneted beauty, frowning when he failed to find her. Checking his pocket watch to ensure he wasn’t too early or terribly late, he meandered along the path the villagers had constructed to be an almost exact copy of Rotten Row in Hyde Park. A shame, really. As time passed, the village increasingly modeled itself after London to cater to the elite, and in doing so, it became less quaint and friendly. The longer he walked, nodding to those he met along the way, the more he felt as though he was being watched. Not by any one person in particular, but by everyone. What the bloody hell was going on here? He stopped in the shade of a sprawling oak and rechecked his watch, noting it was now half past the agreed-upon hour they were to meet. Had something happened? Had some ill befallen his lady love?
He crossed the green and hurried into Mettlestone’s. If anyone knew everything going on in Binnocksbourne, it was the Mettlestones, either them or Mrs. Caruthers from the treat shop. In his opinion, the Mettlestones were the lesser of the two evils.
“Good day to you, Lord Wakefield,” Mr. Herbert called out from behind the counter. “I did not expect to see you today.”
Drake forced himself not to react to the shopkeeper’s insinuation that if he hadn’t come on the usual day to pay on his accounts, he knew better than to darken the shop’s door. “Perchance, have you seen Lady Felicity today? She and I were to meet for a promenade.”
The shopkeeper shook his head as he continued dusting the shelves behind the counter. “I have not seen her, my lord, but I believe my Beatrice mentioned seeing her earlier at Caruthers.”
“I see,” Drake said, not really seeing at all. It appeared Felicity had been at the village at some point in time that day, but now she was nowhere to be found. “Was she accompanied by her sister, Lady Merry?”
Mr. Herbert offered a solemn nod. “Yes. My Beatrice mentionedseeing Lady Merry as well.”
Drake could tell by the way the shopkeeper acted that Mrs. Beatrice had mentioned a great deal more, but Mr. Herbert simply wasn’t sharing it. There was naught to be done but hurry to the Broadmere residence to ensure Felicity was all right.
“Good day to you, sir,” he told the shopkeeper, and dashed out the door. With long, ground-eating strides, he left the village behind him, all the while wishing he had ridden into the small town. But it couldn’t be helped. It would take far too long to fetch his horse to ride over to the Broadmeres’.
By the time he reached their front door, the exertion had him slightly out of breath. He banged the brass door knocker, willing the portal to swing open and let him inside.
And swing open it did, just wide enough for a pale, watery eye to peer at him. “Yes?”
“Walters, please let me inside. Lady Felicity failed to meet me at the park today, and I am concerned about her welfare.” Surely, the ancient butler remembered him from his visits before.
The crack in the door did not widen. The old codger simply glared at him.
“Walters? It is I, Lord Wakefield. I am calling upon Lady Felicity.”
“She is not receiving.” The door shut with a harsh bang.
“What the bloody hell?” Drake clacked the brass door knocker again, slamming it harder this time.
The door opened wider this time, revealing the younger butler, Fipps. “Good afternoon, Lord Wakefield.” With a polite nod, he ushered Drake inside. “How may I help you?”
“Lady Felicity. Is she receiving today? Walters quite abruptly informed me that she was not.”
The butler’s expression revealed nothing. Fipps was the epitome of a staid servant. “It is my understanding that Lady Felicity is indeed not receiving today, my lord.”
“But she is here…and well?”
Still expressionless, Fipps gave a single nod. “She is in residence, my lord. Would you care to leave your card?”
“No, I do not care to leave my bloody card.” Drake ran a hand through his hair, staring deeper into the house and fighting the urge to run through the halls calling her until she came out. “Her sisters. Lady Merry. Lady Serendipity. Are they receiving?”
“They are not, my lord.”
“And you are going to just stand there and tell me nothing when you know damn well what is going on.” Servants knew everything. They were theton’s most valuable lines of communication.
