“Yes, I do know. He was used to indulge us in a treat or an adventure whenever he sold a story.”
Rusper smiled. “There now, I knew I was right to keep them. To be truthful, my dear Miss Temple, I could not risk the possibility that your great-uncle might destroy them.”
When the clerk returned with a fat package, carefully wrapped in cloth, Felicity and the lawyer spent some time examining its contents together. Raoul, his mind busy, played no part in this beyond smiling at her exclamatory comments as she looked at both printed and hand-written effusions from her father’s pen, reading out snatches of what appeared to be particularly fantastical, fey and even some gruesome tales.
His attention centred on the recognition that Felicity’s antecedents were indeed perfectly respectable and presented no bar to the scheme he had in his head. Nor did he think it incumbent upon him to approach the irascible Sir Arthur upon the matter. Once the thing was done, he might inform him, perhaps. Felicity was of age. She needed no one’s permission but her own. Which was where the water stuck.
Would Felicity see it in the same light of convenience that Raoul did? Or would he be balked by her streak of independence?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Felicity came away from Mr Rusper’s establishment happier than she could remember to have been for an age. She clutched the precious package of Papa’s stories, which were almost of more value to her than the draft on the lawyer’s bankers now reposing in an inner pocket of Raoul’s coat.
She still felt stunned by the amount and was relieved to have him take charge of it for the moment. He had promised to cash it on her behalf at the first opportunity. Although how would she look after such a sum? One could scarcely keep it under the mattress.
“Besides, I don’t have one.”
“One what?”
Surprised, she glanced at Raoul, who was concentrating on weaving a path through Marlborough’s traffic. “Did I say that aloud? I mean I don’t have a mattress.”
A disbelieving laugh came her way. “A mattress? What in the world are you talking about, you absurd creature?”
She glanced back at Broome on his perch behind and lowered her voice. “I wish you won’t cash that draft, Raoul. Not yet. I can’t think how I am to look after such an amount when I could not even hold on to a few measly guineas.”
She received an amused look. “You are scarcely to blame for their loss. Have no fear. We will arrange to keep the bulk of it safely in the bank.”
Puzzlement followed the sliver of relief. “But how? They won’t let me have an account.”
“No, but I have one.”
“But…” A host of objections leapt to Felicity’s tongue, but she forced them back. Such arguments could not be engaged upon in an open carriage. Yet they gave rise to so many questions in her mind she did not know which to tackle first.
She had not had time to think of the vista of future that had opened out before her. Her whole object had been to discover a way back to a situation where she might have sufficient means to find another post. But need she do that? Could she not live quite comfortably with upwards of four hundred pounds at her disposal? Not a house, perhaps. That would rapidly dissipate her funds. But a room with Nanny Kimble? It must alleviate poor Nanny’s lot to have her there, though she could not replace young Cissy. Only what would she do in Middenhall?
“I could set up as a teacher.”
“Wool-gathering, Felicity?” Raoul’s wry look was in his face. “I shall not again question your remark, for I don’t think I wish to know what is in that butterfly mind of yours.”
“I wouldn’t tell you if you did ask,” Felicity said, goaded.
“Thank God for that! Would you care for refreshment before we leave Marlborough?”
“Yes! No! I need to think.”
“Well, you won’t do that with Mrs Dadford fussing about you. We will repair to a suitable hostelry.”
Remembrance of Angelica’s warnings kicked in Felicity’s mind. “But we are supposed to be circumspect. What if someone you know sees us?”
“I hardly think it matters now. Nor were you concerned in Middenhall.”
“No one knows you in Middenhall.”
“They do now.”
“Oh, you know what I mean, Raoul.”
“You are worrying needlessly.” He was already drawing into the yard of the Lamb, a substantial coaching inn, where he brought his equipage to a standstill. “We’ll bait here, Broome. Get the team into the warm and rubbed down.”
