Page 33 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Her jaw dropped open at the man’s audacity. “Colonel Halstead, I have done everything I could for Daphne’s happiness and security since she was a child. I want to see her happy, to see her well settled, with friends who support her and a husband who will care for her. To set her up for the rest of her life.”

The Colonel shook his head and pointed at her, his finger hovering over the lapel of his coat on her shoulders. “And how do you propose to ensure such things for her, Miss Price, when you have been unsuccessful in finding them for yourself?”

The chill air struck all the harder when the heat left Felicity’s body, humiliation flooding her like water from a cold spring. She swallowed back her hurt. “How—how dare you, sir?” she whispered, the words rasping out. “You know nothing, nothing of my circumstances.”

She had survived pity before. Dismissal. Even the faint, polite scorn of Society.

But this—this man, this stranger, cutting to the quick with a single, careless observation—was nearly too much. The pain of it struck sharp and sudden behind her ribs. How dare he speak aloud the very thing she had spent years making peace with?

Colonel Halstead took a step back, his own face pale, speaking now as quietly as she had. “You undoubtedly think me cruel, Miss Price. You think I know nothing of how Society functions, but I know more than you can imagine. And I know that if she makes the wrong move, if she trusts the wrong person, it will be her ruin.”

Felicity, breathless, shook her head at him, words spilling out before she could halt them. “There is more than one way for a young woman’s chances to be ruined, Colonel Halstead—a thing I know all too well.” She turned on her heel and marched away as quickly as she could.

He did not call her back.

When Felicity entered the house, she shed his coat at the door and kept walking until she came to her chamber. She ought to check on Daphne, but that could wait while she regained her composure. It must wait.

Standing before her looking glass, Felicity stared at her pale countenance. There was no use thinking of the past, but the memories came anyway.

His smile.

The letters that stopped arriving.

The day she heard he’d married someone else, someone younger, richer, and prettier, of course.

And now here she was, years later, with the same old ache cracking open under a soldier’s careless words.

Chapter Eleven

An acquaintance from Blackstone’s club had invited Edward and his ward to a garden party a few days after his most unsatisfactory conversation with Miss Price. Precisely whether or not his ward’s companion was invited was unclear so, wearing a fine dark green coat and a deep brown embroidered waistcoat, he alone escorted his ward and made introductions.

The greenery of Mr. Thomas Norman’s townhouse stretched out in neat, ordered rows. Every hedge clipped, every bed of early spring blooms precisely arranged—and yet, for all the effort, it looked as lifeless as the blasted rose garden at Briarwood. Decorative, cold, and utterly unremarkable.

Rather like himself, according to Miss Price.

Edward adjusted the position of Daphne’s gloved hand on his arm as they strolled along the outer path of the gathering, nodding politely to a passing couple but hardly seeing them. His mind remained fixed on Felicity Price’s voice, sharp as a blade, still echoing in the back of his skull. It didn’t matter that she had not attended; uncertain invitations notwithstanding, she had caught Daphne’s cold after the young lady recovered from it, and her words still echoed in his mind.

“You are exactly like your house. Hollow. Unwelcoming. Cold.”

Heaven help him.

“Are you quite well, Colonel?” Daphne’s voice, sweet and uncertain, tugged him from his irritating thoughts.

He looked down to find her watching him with polite curiosity, her brow faintly creased in the way Felicity’s often did when studying him, though the expression was softer. Less judgmental. A great deal more cautious, too.

It was the first time the two of them had gone anywhere without her aunt, an occasion he ought to make the most of as he proved to his young ward he held her success as a high priority.

She looked quite innocent, dressed in a modest gown for one of her age, the soft blue fabric bringing out her eyes. She had to take after her mother in coloring, given that her father and aunt were both of a darker complexion.

“Yes, I am well,” he lied. “I am only considering the layout of the grounds in comparison to my gardens.”

Daphne tilted her head, clearly unconvinced, but she did not press him on it. “It is very pretty here,” she offered instead, though with little conviction. “Not as large as your gardens, of course. Nor as lovely as Briarwood will be in a few weeks. Aunt Felicity says once the roses bloom, it will look as though the house is floating amid a sea of them.”

Of course Miss Felicity Price noted such things. She paid more attention to his house and its appearance than anyone.

He could practically hear her voice in the remark, perhaps already plotting improvements, as if Briarwood belonged to her rather than him. Edward was not blind to the small changes to his home in the weeks since her arrival; even the hours at which the meals were served had changed. Mrs. Lane deferred to Miss Price in household matters, even when he had a question or suggestion. The staff already fully trusted her opinions on things, following her instructions without hesitation.

They all liked her.