Felicity nearly choked on the butterflies that immediately left her stomach and flew up into her throat. She could not enlighten Lord Wakefield about her true identity tonight. While she understood it was inevitable, she simply wasn’t ready at this moment. But how on earth could she escape it? Serendipity seemed overly determined to oust her from her hiding place. So much so that Felicity doubted that an excuse of feeling unwell would be accepted.
Then it came to mind: a wardrobe mishap. An impossible-to-denyexcuse. After all, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t strained a few seams in the past. Madame Couire, their modiste for many years, would attest to that. She took as deep a breath as her corset allowed, doing her best to expand her ribcage to epic proportions. The bodice of her pale-pink gown was already snugger than she liked. With just enough twisting as she bent to retrieve heraccidentallydropped reticule, the softest ripping sound was music to her ears.
She caught her side and straightened. “Oh dear.”
“Oh, Felli.” Serendipity groaned. “Not again?”
Keeping the split seam modestly covered with one hand, Felicity shrugged. “I am afraid so. Might I trouble you to fetch my shawl? Then I shall wait in the carriage while you gather everyone else.”
“You did that on purpose,” Serendipity accused.
“I would never,” Felicity lied, assuming a most convincing innocence.
Her sister blew out a heavy sigh. “Wait here. I shall return momentarily with your shawl.”
As Serendipity left the kitchen, Felicity didn’t dare look toward the pantry in case Mrs. Amesbury or Marcie were peeping out the door. Their disapproving glares had already burned like fire. It couldn’t be helped. She would officially meet the eloquent earl at another time, just not today.
Chapter Two
Safely ensconced inthe family carriage, Felicity watched for the others through its window. All in all, the evening had not gone as poorly as she had feared it would. After all, her cooking had drawn the sweetest poem from a handsome, eloquent earl. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory but still wondered how he would behave when he discovered her true identity, for the discovery was inevitable. If not here in Binnocksbourne, then back in Town when they crossed paths at some festivity that Serendipity and Chance insisted she attend. Perhaps by the time they met again, and she introduced herself properly, he would already be well on his way to becoming anineligiblegentleman with a future wife on his arm. That thought made her sad and wonder if she should have listened to Marcie and Mrs. Amesbury about rejoining the party and chasing him down—not exactly chasing him down, but at least making herself known to him.
“Well, there is naught to be done about it now.” She propped her chin in her hand and continued staring out the window. Apparently, Merry had found somewhere other than the nursery to hide. Chance and Serendipity must be having difficulty finding her. She smiled again. “Good on you, Merry.”
As the two youngest of the seven sisters, she and Merry were closer to each other than the others. She didn’t know what she would do without Merry’s sparkling nature and spirited antics to make her laugh. Her sister made difficult days easier.
Felicity perked and sat straighter, stretching to see as far as she could up the curving driveway to the Atterleys’ front veranda. That voice. She would know it anywhere. It was as rich and delicious as the perfect caramel licked from a spoon. The deep laugh that followed made her shiver. How could any man sound so…so…
She sighed. There were no words.
As he strolled into view, she leaned back, watching from the shadows as she always did. What a finely made man he was. Then a pair of last Season’s flighty young things swirled around him like silky moths to a flame. Damn their eyes, fawning over him as if he were the last available man in all creation.
The surge of jealousy surprised her. She had no right. Well, yes, she did. Hadn’t the man recited a poem just for her?
The ladies on either side of him tittered like a pair of nervous birds, laughing at every word that fell from his lips. The longer Felicity watched, the lower her heart sank. Oh, why hadn’t she gone back out to the party as Mrs. Amesbury had suggested? And now here she sat. In the carriage. In a gown she had purposely torn.
“I am such a fool.” She sagged back in the seat and closed her eyes, refusing to cry over an evening gone so terribly wrong, much to her own doing. She should have gone back to the party and properly introduced herself. Of course, she had no way of knowing if Lord Wakefield would treat her the same when he discovered she was a peer, but itmighthave gone well. He might have been pleased to discover who she really was.
Another sigh left her. Now, she would never know.
More laughter from the ladies walking alongside him had her wishing they would either choke on bugs or stumble on the path and land face first in the roses. Then she felt ashamed for harboring such horrid thoughts and truly hoped that Mama was so busy up in heaven that she hadn’t heard them. Those girls were simply behaving as they had been trained by their marriage-minded mamas, while Felicity sat in theshadows of the carriage because she was a coward, the shy Broadmere mouse.
“Fool, fool, fool.”
The carriage door opened, and a slightly out-of-breath Merry popped inside. “Who is a fool?”
“I am.”
“Why?”
Felicity wasn’t ready to share all the evening’s details just yet. She turned and displayed her ruptured seam. “This.”
Merry frowned. “How does tearing your dress make you a fool? It was the dress’s fault. Not yours.”
“I should have been more cautious. Madame Couire will not be pleased. She warned me about this silk.”
“Madame Couire needs to learn some grace and curb her tongue. She also needs to remember that there are other modistes in Town, and also here. I do not like the way she scolds you when you need a dress repaired or seams adjusted. It is most rude, and I just might decide to speak with her about it at our next meeting.”
“Leave it, Merry,” Felicity said while risking another look out the window.
