“Because Mama overheard me use those same words and washed my mouth out with soap from the laundress.” He worked his mouth as if he could still taste it. “I never used those words again until university, and then my chums were quite impressed with my broadened vocabulary.”
She hugged herself tighter. This conversation was not going as she had planned. “Your point, brother?”
“People who love each other do not always get on.” He added milk to his tea and slowly stirred it. “Our married sisters would tell you the same, and you know it. How many times have they fussed and fought with the loves of their lives? Couples learn and grow as their relationship ages and becomes richer, like cheese or a fine wine.”
“And how many times haveyoubeen in love, brother? How are you such an expert on marriage?”
“I do not claim to be an expert on anything other than my sisters, and I know what I have witnessed.” He pulled three more letters out of the pouch. “These are for you. From Blessing, Fortuity, and Grace. I will bet you my favorite horse they are telling you the same thing I just said.”
“I am not a fool, Chance. These letters have been opened.”
He gave her the sheepish grin he always wore whenever caughtdoing something he shouldn’t. “I failed to notice they were addressed to you and not me.” His grin faded. “I didn’t much like Wakefield until he saved your life.” He patted the bulging leather mailbag again. “And any man who is thought well enough of to cause a merchant to forgive a sizeable debt deserves a second chance.” He stared down at his tea and seemed almost sad. “We all deserve a second chance when we have chosen poorly with the very best of intentions.”
Felicity studied her brother for a long moment, sensing this conversation wasn’t entirely about her and Drake. “What have you done, Chance? When have you chosen poorly?”
He shook his head and started stirring his tea once more. “Many things were left unsaid between me and Papa.” He shook his head faster. “Many things I should never have done. Things that made him ashamed of me.”
Felicity reached across the table and took her brother’s hand. “Papa loved you, Chance. You know that.”
He twitched with a half-hearted shrug. “I know he loved me, but I never made him proud.”
“You are doing so now.” She squeezed his hand. “Even though you are impossible at times, I feel certain Papa and Mama both are pleased with you.”
“I hope so,” he said quietly, then leveled a hard gaze upon her. “Give Wakefield time to heal and explain himself fully, even though you think you know the entirety of his story. He deserves that much, Felli, before you fully condemn him. Both of you deserve that much, and then, if you still wish to end the engagement, do so.”
“In other words, you refuse to let me go home?”
He nodded. “I refuse to let you hide until you have put your demons to rest.”
“Fine.” She would do as he asked. This time. She waved down the maid, motioning for her to come over. “Have you any eels? I need a bucketful.”
“Felicity!” Chance pointed at her as if she were a naughty child. “Don’t you dare.”
She smiled, knowing all along she wouldn’t take a bucket of eels upstairs to his bed. She hated the slimy things—but Chance didn’t know that.
Chapter Seventeen
“Where is she?”Drake asked the maid who had been helping Mrs. Bean take care of him for the past several days.
“Who, my lord?” The girl propped the window open wider, scooted a wooden rack over in front of it, then draped clean bandages across it to dry in the breezy sunshine.
“Lady Felicity.” Drake tried not to snap at the servant, but the chit knew very well whom he meant. “The duke’s sister. I have not seen her for days. Has she gone?” Gads alive, he hoped not. Not when he had finally decided to follow her around on his knees until she forgave him. They could not end this way. He needed to prove to her that he could do so much better.
When the maid didn’t answer, he thumped the bed, flinching as the searing pain shot through his shoulder, reminding him he shouldn’t do that. “You know bloody well who I mean. Where is she?”
“Mrs. Bean should be the one to tell you, my lord.” The girl curtsied and hurried from the room.
“Damn and blast.” Drake gritted his teeth and floundered to shove himself higher in the bed. He was sick of being flat on his back and weak as a kitten. He went still and held his breath as the door creaked open again, but it turned out to be the insufferable Mr. Warner.
“And how are we feeling today, my lord?” the surgeon asked in a tone that clearly stated he couldn’t possibly care less about Drake’s well-being.
“I am shedding this bed.” Breaking out in a cold sweat, Drake forced himself to an upright position, then swung his legs over the side.
“Take care now, my lord.” Warner rushed forward and caught him just as he lost his balance and veered to one side. “Do you care so little for my handiwork? I removed your stitches only yesterday. If you fall, you will split the wound open wide all over again.”
“Leave me, quack.” Drake swallowed hard. Bile burned the back of his throat, churning his innards with a queasiness that would not bode well if it didn’t settle soon. “I must rise. Strengthen myself. I have to return to Broadmere Hall.”
“Why?” Warner didn’t release him. Instead, the man had the gall to hold him there as he teetered unsteadily on the side of the bed. “If you wish to speak with His Grace, I can send a maid for him.”
