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Chapter Fourteen
Felicity rode with all three Barrington children into the village. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but it would seem she was now unofficially the paid companion to all three of them. There had been no offer of an increase in her wages, she thought with a wry twist of her lips followed by a mental shrug. It really wasn’t any more difficult with three than one. In fact, one could argue that it was easier, as Adelina was well occupied with her brothers. In some ways, Felicity felt more like a tagalong than the girl’s companion, as they pretty much always did whatever Wickham suggested. The boy was clearly born to inherit his father’s title, even if Felicity had yet to witness much of the training Rathnelly had mentioned he intended to do with his sons that summer.
Just thinking of the duke sent a shiver through Felicity. She hadn’t been as successful at avoiding the man as she had hoped to be, and it was getting increasingly more difficult to ignore the feelings thoughts of him never failed to generate. Just thinking about him caused her heart to speed up and her palms to grow damp. Glancing down at them now, she was amused and relieved to note that her gloves would ensure she could retain control of the reins.
When the children prevailed upon her to take tea at the inn, Felicity was more than relieved that she had accepted when the duke had insisted upon giving her pin money for just such an occasion.
“I can’t rightly entrust Adelina with a purse of coins, now can I?” he had reasonably asked.
“Why ever not, Your Grace? I would expect she could be responsible.”
“That’s sweet of you, Miss Jones, but surely you realize she is very likely to misplace it. Besides, you’re far more capable of defending your purse than she is.”
That had made Felicity wonder if she ought to laugh or be afraid but either way, she was glad she would be able to pay for the children’s refreshments rather than denying them the treat.
They were nearly finished when Felicity became uncomfortably aware of someone staring at her from across the taproom. She tried to ignore it, thinking it was the presence of the Barrington children causing a stir. Felicity had known she ought to have insisted they take a private parlour, but the boys had overruled her. She had accepted their argument that the time of day ought to make it sufficiently respectable.
“Pardon me, do forgive my rudeness for staring, but are you by chance any relation to the Earl of Sherton?”
Felicity’s hand froze as it was in the act of lifting her tea cup toward her lips. Everything in her seized, and her conscience flailed her mercilessly. It had been one thing to make up a new identity for herself, but how could she deny her family? Her mouth opened even before her brain finished engaging, but she was saved from the need to respond from the unlikeliest source.
“I am Viscount Wickham, and none of us is related to Sherton,” Gardner said in the haughtiest tone Felicity had ever heard from the mouth of an eleven-year-old. Even in the extreme moment, it touched her sense of humour, and she fought laughter as she realized how very like the duke the boy was. She wondered if Gilbert had been nearly that proud as a youngster.
“But surely, this young woman is not a Barrington, my lord,” the still yet to be identified man protested.
“Not that it’s anything to you, who she might be,” Gardner continued in that terrible voice. “But this is Miss Jones, my sister’s companion.”
Felicity’s face felt as though it had been scalded, and she could meet no one’s gaze as the curious man continued to stare as though he couldn’t quite believe what the viscount was telling him.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” the man said, as though Gardner hadn’t even spoken, “But I am good friends with Wexford and his wife. You are much like her.”
This made Felicity almost snort and conversely helped her distress to diminish.
“You are mistaken, I’m afraid. Now, if you would be so good as to leave us to our repast, we would much appreciate it.”
The strange man grinned. “You even sound like her.” He stared hard at her for another moment, taking in her attire and her in company with the children, and he shocked her by giving her a wink. “I don’t know what you’re playing at here, but I’ll leave off for now.”
Felicity’s day had been ruined. She had no idea who the man could possibly be, but she knew he was trouble. Her carefully made plans had required her anonymity. She was dreadfully afraid that her delightful sojourn as Miss Jones was about to come to an end.
The three children seemed to take the incident in their stride, almost as though they encountered strange men on a regular basis. They made so little fuss about it that Felicity was almost able to forget the incident. Although it niggled at the back of her mind from time to time, she allowed herself to dismiss it as a one-time incident that she needn’t concern herself about. She didn’t even mention it to Gracie when next she wrote.
And so it was that she was completely unprepared the next time she was summoned to Rathnelly’s library a fortnight later, for the fury the duke unleashed upon her.
“I knew you would be trouble,” he declared in the hardest, coldest tones she had ever heard. “I should have thrown you out when I had my suspicions over all your correspondence.” Then he snorted. “I should have known the minute I laid eyes upon you at the coaching station. You must have been laughing yourself to sleep every night over the denseness of Rathnelly. How could I not recognize you when Carrington could?” He waved a crumpled piece of paper at her.
Felicity could only stare at him. “What is the meaning of this, Your Grace?” She tried to brazen it out but was already feeling the chill all the way to her bones.
“Your bags are being packed as we speak. The damage is no doubt already done, but I can claim ignorance since how was I to know you were the Earl of Sherton’s daughter? You shall remove to the inn in the village until someone from your family can fetch you. I cannot have your presence tainting my children.”
“Your Grace,” was all she could stammer out as she fought the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. All her plans were burning to ash around her. How could the man she had come to respect and care for regard her in such a hateful way?
“Are you truly the most selfish female ever born?” Rathnelly asked quietly. “Why did you do this thing? Who have you been telling what you have learned in my household?”
Felicity frowned over his last question. His tone and ferocity led her to believe it was actually of uppermost concern to him, but she didn’t understand the question.
“I wasn’t being selfish, Your Grace,” she began, even as she was forced to wonder if she had, in fact, been. “And I told no one anything. I don’t know of anything worth telling, truth be told. I can’t see that any of my acquaintances are in the least bit interested in the doings of a nine-year-old girl.”
“What of all your letters?” he demanded. “What was your agenda here, Lady Felicity? Who are you in league with?”
