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“I have never seen so many paintings of animals in one household,” she began. “Mr. Coburn said something about your forebears.”
Bates eyed Coburn. “I hope you were not led to believe the imagery was in any way familial.”
“I do apologize, Your Grace,” Coburn cricked his neck. “I did not intend to mislead you.”
“Of course you did not, Mr. Coburn,” Felicity assured him, and by extension the duke, who looked thunderous. “You said nothing but to note that His Grace had whimsical ancestors.”
“A minor confusion,” O’Mara said, taking a deep breath and exhaling.
Felicity turned the duke’s attention to herself. “I must ask if you have heard from my uncle. While I would be shocked if he exerted himself on behalf of my honor, he is well aware of the workings of high society and would know my reputation is hanging in the balance.”
“He works in the City, if I recall?”
“He is the smelting scion of all England. Pig iron, I believe. And yet he is quite au fait with the nuances of the Quality. His devoted absorption is infused with such scorn, it makes his fascination with the doings of thetonall the more perplexing.”
“Then he will recognize the letter of intent I sent to him at dawn is as binding as a betrothal contract.”
Then she was to be seduced but not abandoned? Relief coursed through her.No, no, Felicity, she scolded herself.That is not your goal! Stay the course!“As surely as you must recognize I am unwilling to enter into a betrothal, much less a marriage.”
A clatter at the drinks table drew everyone’s attention. O’Mara gestured oddly, almost as though she were addressing someone across the room, although no one was there. Felicity changed the topic once more and turned to the duke’s steward. “Mary Mossett offered to deliver my letter into your hands, Mr. Bates.”
“It has been sent directly,” said the duke.
“On a night like this? With no moon to light the way?”
Those devastating crinkles appeared at the corners of His Grace’s eyes. “My messenger has excellent eyesight.”
“Is he a bat?” Felicity asked, incredulous.
“No, we’ve none of those at present.” The duke appeared amused, again, about something she could not comprehend. “Although who knows what the future might bring.” He changed the subject. “I noticed that the direction was that of a solicitor’s office in St. Giles.”
“It was,” Felicity replied, deciding it was her turn to evade. “It appears we share a waterway, Your Grace. I wonder as to the distance between our family homes. Miss O’Mara was unable to inform me as to whether or not our borders march upon one another. It would be rather curious if they did so.”
“Curious?”
“Or enlightening. In that my lands might be found to be very attractive. And substantial.”
“Ah.” The room became rather airless, in an instant, as it had in the coach. Felicity merely wished for a fan, but the others appeared to be severely affected: Mr. Coburn was doubled over the decanters, and both O’Mara and Bates froze in place, their faces etched with tension. “I have no need for your lands, Miss Templeton. Perhaps I can show you the extent of mine. What I want from you is rather different.”
“A threat, Your Grace?”
“A promise, my dear.”
“Which will be rendered meaningless, as it will not be honored.” She could not, would not risk honoring it at the expense of her dream, though it would bring her name into disrepute and infamy.
His Grace stood. Bowing respectfully, which was unexpected given the tartness of her reply, he held out his arm. “If I may escort you in to the dining room.”
“Should we not wait for the bell—” and Mr. Coburn rang the bell, with energy and not a small degree of desperate relief.
Eight
The room designated for formal dining was vast, as was the custom in an antiquated hall, and yet was made cozy by the scores of candles burning and two enormous hearths blazing with roaring fires. Equally passé were the multitude of tables that, should there be a need, could assemble into one great length if the company was large. Tonight, a table that suited four sat at the center of the great room, which was sensible, being the number of those who were to dine. However, there were rather more than four present.
The floor was ringed by the inhabitants of Lowell Hall. Every servant, from Mr. Coburn to the boot boys, from Mrs. Birks to the scullery maids, stood at attention along the walls. And were those faces at the windows? Mary Mossett gave a little wave as the duke seated Felicity at the top of the table. Footmen took their places behind each of the diners, and Mr. Coburn pulled a bell rope.
Felicity smoothed the napkin the footman had placed in her lap, glancing around at the many faces looking at her with such welcome and joy. It was rather overwhelming, and she shifted her attention to the table settings, an ostentation of fine crystal and china, with a gleaming, silver bowl in the center holding clusters of sweet william. She looked up and saw the duke watching her, waiting for the moment she recognized the blooms, and gooseflesh coursed over her person. As ever, his eyes twinkled without the rest of his face showing any emotion. The company sighed as though they were privy to her feelings. She blushed and looked away.
Four more footmen strode into the room, each holding a covered bowl, which they placed with solemnity before the diners. They removed the covers, and a rich broth of beef was revealed. Felicity, grateful that her mother had tutored her in the proper procession of cutlery, took up the correct spoon. The serving footmen retreated, and the original quartet replaced them, filling the wine glasses with a ruby-red vintage. She took a sip of soup and then a sip of wine.
