Butthishorrid situation was undeniably his fault. If she ever—no, notifbutwhen—returned to where she belonged… What? What would she do? Did she have the courage to send him away? Most definitely. Besides, what else had he not told her? Perhaps he already had a wife somewhere. Or a mistress. Perhaps he was behind this kidnapping to get even more money beyond her dowry.
She continued rubbing the corners of her eyes, refusing to allow herself to cry.You are being ridiculous. Stop letting your mind reel.Deep in her heart, she knew he had no wife or mistress. That would have most certainly been shoved into her face by the gossips, and while he might be many things, Drake was not cruel. How many times had she seen a longing to be loved and accepted shining in the depths of his hazel eyes?
She shifted again, flinching as she hurt her poor, wounded head.Be still, fool.But she couldn’t. Not with her mind churning like a maelstrom. At least she knew for certain that Chance would come for her. While her brother could be as irritating as an itch you couldn’t reach to scratch, he possessed a raging temper and an endearing protectiveness of his sisters. Chance would come. He wouldn’t simply hand over any amount of money and wait for her to be delivered. No, he would come with his pistols, Papa’s sword, and the daggers Mama had gifted him one year for his birthday. Chance would come.
But will Drake?She released another heavy sigh. Drake might come, but only if Chance hadn’t killed him. What then? What would she do?
“I do not know,” she whispered into the darkness. Her heart ached even worse than her head.
Chapter Fifteen
It took Felicitya moment to realize that the loud, obnoxious crowing of a rooster was not part of some strange dream. She opened her eyes to the rising sun streaming in through the doorway along with the rooster, who behaved as if the cottage were his. He strutted halfway across the room, then stopped and unleashed another earsplitting crow.
“Out with you, Ferdinand.” Mrs. Bean encouraged him toward the door with a nudge of her broom. “I’ll not have you shattin’ in here again. Just because the floor be dirt, doesn’t mean it’s for the likes of you. Out!” As she turned to set her broom back in the corner, she glanced at Felicity. “Good morning to you.”
“Good morning.” Felicity sat up, thankful that the pain in her skull had eased to a much more bearable level.
“How be your head?”
“Better, I believe.”
“Good.” Mrs. Bean nodded at the door. “Tend to your needs. There be a creek for washing just to the other side of the house, but hear me well when I say if you be gone longer than I deem you should, I be sending Edmund to fetch you back.”
“I understand.” Gingerly, Felicity pushed herself up from the pallet and was relieved to discover her balance much improved as well. She made it to the door without issue, having to adjust her stride to accommodate the length of the chain connecting her ankles.
Ferdinand met her just outside the doorway, eyeing her as though ready to give her a taste of his spurs.
“I am in no mood, rooster,” she told the fowl, who seemed to take her at her word. He turned the other way and strutted off as though he were royalty.
She found the water as Mrs. Bean had said and washed her hands and face as best she could after attending to her other needs. At some point between yesterday and today, her gloves, parasol, and reticule had gone missing. She assumed those ghouls had taken them as proof they had captured her. None of that mattered now. Her greatest worry, besides getting herself back home, was Merry’s safety. Each time Drake came to mind, she did her best to think of something else.
Drying her hands on her gown, she shuffled back to the cottage. “Thank you,” she told Mrs. Bean as she stepped back inside.
“For what?” The old woman didn’t bother looking up from the gurgling pot she was stirring over the fire.
“Allowing me some privacy to take care of things.”
“Me and my Edmund wish you no harm, gal. Truly, we don’t.” Mrs. Bean hazarded a taste of the creamy contents of the pot and shook her head. “Porridge be a while longer. Just as well; Edmund still be chopping wood.” Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she turned and studied Felicity. “You know how to mend, or you one of those that does nothing but fancy sewing? If’n you can mend, that there will be easier on your head than crawling all over creation looking for where them hens of mine hid their eggs.”
“I can sew.” Felicity bent and picked up the basket overflowing with clothing in need of restoration. As she straightened, a pain shot through her head, and she nearly lost her balance.
“Aye, egg hunting ain’t for you just yet.” Mrs. Bean tipped her head toward the door. “The light’s better out there on the bench. Cooler too. You can go out there to do the sewing, if’n you want.”
“Thank you.” Felicity gratefully left the overpowering heat of thecottage and seated herself outside. Poor Mrs. Bean. The woman needed an outdoor kitchen, but she and her son barely had the means to maintain the one-room structure they already possessed. No wonder they had made a deal with the devil named Mort.
Felicity selected an item from the basket, found the needle and thread Mrs. Bean had left stuck in the handle, and started sewing. Mending rips and tears was easy. Mending her heart? Not so much.
She became aware of the steady, rhythmic thunk and crackle of wood being chopped and then split off in the distance. If not for her circumstances, she might even consider the warm summer morning on the bench in front of the cottage a calming respite. But her rough treatment from yesterday and the chains around her ankles were reminders enough that her ridiculous trust in Drake had led her to this ruinous hell.
“Them stitches of yours be fine,” Mrs. Bean said from the doorway. “Should hold up real well.”
“Thank you.”
“You said your brother be a duke?”
“I did.” Felicity selected another item from the basket, trimmed away the tear’s ratty threads, then started closing the seam. “He is the Duke of Broadmere.” For a change, the memory of Chance’s temper and hardheadedness made her smile. “It has only been six years since my papa died and passed the title to him, but he is growing into the role quite well.”
“He be a generous man? Kind like you?”
