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Chapter Three
December 16, 1817
Felicity was still seething the next morning while she dressed for breakfast. How dare that arrogant, rude captain blame the decline of her father’s business on her! Clearly, he was to blame for the oversight, and now the unenviable task of informing her vendors about the missing silk was hers. She simply hadn’t the patience for it yesterday afternoon.
Which meant it would need to be done today, and that meant incurring Mrs. Grayson’s displeasure once more.
Now more than ever it was essential she stay in the widow’s good graces, for if her father’s import business did indeed fail, she would be desperate for an income. Once Mrs. Grayson’s son returned home, God only knew if her services as a companion would be retained.
A sigh escaped her as she grabbed a gray shawl of lightweight wool. Perhaps it was best not to gleefully antagonize the lady today and to not fight back against any verbal abuse she might dole out, not while she was on such precarious ground. Smoothing a hand along the front of her slate blue day dress, Felicity left the relative comfort of her bedchamber and headed downstairs toward the morning room.
Already half past nine, Mrs. Grayson would want to break her fast and she’d desire copious amounts of tea. Of course, the widow had arrived ahead of her and had already settled into her accustomed chair with her back to the bowed window.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d deign to join me this morning,” the lady said by way of greeting as Felicity came into the room. Painted with cheerful pale yellow and ivory striped paper, it was easily one of her favorite rooms in the townhouse. “You’re in danger of setting hours a duchess might. It won’t do to assume airs above your station.”
Quietly and in her head, Felicity slowly counted to ten. Twice. She nearly bit her tongue in two in the quest to not respond to the obvious needling. “Good morning, Mrs. Grayson. Thank you for waiting for me before you started your meal.” A bouquet of hothouse flowers in the middle of the table drew her regard. The roses and lilies were a splendid splash of color. “Do you have an admirer?”
“I’m too old for that, of course. My son brought them last night.” The widow arched an eyebrow when Felicity gasped. “He came home after dinner. You’d already retired, and I didn’t feel inclined to wake you.”
Genuine happiness rose in her chest. “I’m so glad he came back safely. You should have called me down. I would have helped welcome him home. You’ve waited so long for just this development.” Surreptitiously, she glanced about the room. “Where is your son now?”
“I imagine he’s enjoying a well-deserved rest.” She pulled her shawl tighter about her person. “Since you were absent yesterday afternoon, I demand that you accompany me today. There are errands I’d like to run on Brook Street to browse the shops.”
“Of course, Mrs. Grayson.” Felicity glanced at the butler, who laid out a few platters of the widow’s favorite breakfast foods onto the table. The older gentleman widened his eyes slightly to indicate he had no idea what to think about her. “I had business that couldn’t be helped. Not that I was able to clear it up.” The remembrance of her rude treatment got her dander up all over again.
The widow sniffed. “You should leave such things to people who are better equipped to handle numbers or rout shifty vendors.”
“That’s your prerogative, of course, but this in my father’s business. I won’t give it up unless absolutely necessary.” If the vendors she did business with decided to go with a more reliable shipping partner, she’d have no choice but to beg for assistance.
“Bah!” Mrs. Grayson began to fill her plate with food. “Your father has been gone for two years now. Sell the business.” She huffed. “I pay you well enough.”
The woman was as tenacious as a dog with a particularly toothsome bone. “It’s the last I have of my parents, and I’m not willing to declare defeat just yet.” Surely her dedication would see her through.
“That pride will be your downfall, young woman.” She shook her head so vigorously that the lace on her widow’s cap fluttered. “I’ll tell you again you need a man, and one who is familiar with that horrid thing you call a business, but you’re quite stubborn in that regard.”
“A man is not the solution to my current difficulties.” For it had been a man who’d nearly sent her into the boughs yesterday. Was there ever a more unpleasant man than the captain? She’d been so nonplussed she’d neglected to have his name. “If I ever see that ship captain from yesterday again, it will be too soon. Men like him give gentlemen a bad name.” It was the closest thing to an outburst she’d allow herself, and she took a large gulp of tea to clear her mind.
For several long seconds, Mrs. Grayson eyed her with speculation. Then, her eyes narrowed, and she nodded as if having an internal conversation with herself. “Perhaps you haven’t found the right man. They’re not all bounders, but then again, you won’t find one because you refuse to attend any sort of event that would thrust you into a man’s periphery.”
Felicity ignored the complaint. “While I appreciate your concern, my life is my own and I’ll proceed with it as I see fit.” For the first time in her existence, she wished her tea was laced with spirits, for if this was Mrs. Grayson’s mood, she’d need fortification.
“Then you’ll be lonely until the grave.”
“Lonely and alone are two different things.” Why not turn the tables on her? “Besides, I have you, Mrs. Grayson. Unless you’re planning to terminate my employment now that your son is home?”
“Why in the world would I do such a thing?” She waved a hand in dismissal. “He won’t dance attendance on me like you do.”
“Ah.” Then she was little more than a glorified servant in the woman’s eyes instead of a companion or friend. Threads of cold disappointment wound through her gut. “I’d hoped I had garnered more respect from you than that.”
“Oh, don’t cloak yourself in maudlin thoughts or hurt feelings. You know I think highly of you.” The widow shook her head as she raised her teacup. Felicity didn’t quite trust the shrewdness of her gaze, almost as if the widow were assessing her for future manipulation. “Now, back to the conversation at hand. A woman on the shelf and without looks can’t afford to be choosy. I’ll ask around and perhaps lean upon my tenuous connections with the ton. If I’m fortunate, I might wrangle up an invitation or two. After all, it is the Christmastide season, and the lack of notables in Town means hostesses will need to make up numbers.”
Oh, dear Lord, please make her stop talking.
“Please don’t go to any trouble on my behalf.” Though she admitted to herself that it might be nice to dress in fancy clothing and attend a ball, pretend she was a woman of substance and breeding, the reality of that simply wasn’t within her reach. She was the daughter of a merchant and always would be. “I’m content enough.”
“Hmph,” was all the widow said in response.
Felicity sighed as she tucked into her breakfast. Relief eased some of the tension from her shoulders. “Do you hope to find something in particular today?” It had been an age since she’d visited the shops on Brook Street for the simple fact that most of the goods there were beyond her means. Besides, what had she the use of fripperies and such?
