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Felicity stopped and let her friend rest. “I used to walk with my father throughout the whole of our park at Templeton House. While it was much smaller, at least it was navigable. Where are we?” She walked around the small clearing in which they had paused. Not a folly or a bench for resting in sight, and only a hampered view of the Hall itself. “And of course, I rode with my mother. Every day and nearly into the night. My father.” She laughed, a memory rising up to counter those from the last, difficult years she’d had with him. “He hated to ride, but once he mounted Delilah, of all the mares he could have chosen, and came to fetch us as we were working late into the night devising even more challenging obstacles for the hunt.” She ran her hand down the trunk of an ash tree, remembering how cross she was to be taken away from their course-building, how her mother laughed and teased until her father, who was also cross, mellowed and helped them move a heavy log into place. “At least Uncle Ezra was prevented from getting rid of my home. Although whether it is mine at all is in doubt.”
How Mr. Bates was going unravel her tangled affairs defied her imagination. Had it to do with being a man in the world? She doubted even her trousers would get her as far as the duke’s steward had gone. As she slowly came out of her fog of fear and disbelief, the number of questions that came to mind were staggering, and not only in relation to her uncle’s perfidy. How had Mr. Bates and the duke known, on the strength of one letter, to initiate an investigation? Had the duke read her post? How infuriating that would be, but how like a man. What was within their abilities to aid her? For, duke notwithstanding, Alfred was not the King, nor the Prince of Wales—even his power must have limits. They all seemed very confident that they would meet with no resistance and sort out in a few days what had been flummoxing her for years.
“I am sorry, Felicity, for all that has come to pass,” said Jemima. They resumed their walk, taking care as the terrain steepened.
Picking her way over the large boulders in the way, Felicity led them up to the top of a slight rise. “Look.” She pointed: Was that Alfie? No, just before it leapt from sight, she saw that while large, this creature was lighter in color, a golden blond, and much leaner than His Grace. “Did you see that?”
Jemima huffed her way up to the crest. “I can’t say I did. Good Goddess—God. Or galoshes. How steep that was.”
“What is this doing here?” Felicity led the way toward a well-kept stone building. Its thatched roof was in excellent repair, and its exterior glowed with whitewash, but who would live in the middle of Lowell Hall’s park? “It is much like another such building I saw…four days ago? Five? I have lost track of time. It is seven days since the Livingston ball. It is like a mere moment on the one hand, and an eternity on the other.”
Felicity knocked as she pushed open the door. “Hello?” she called. Shelves lined the walls of the single room and were piled with clothing that upon inspection proved to be of all sizes for men, women, and children. Apart from a few chairs and a low table, there was nothing else in the hut. “What is this in aid of?”
Jemima rested against the doorway. “One never knows when the weather might change?” she hazarded.
“Perhaps it is for those who are in need and do not wish the stigma of charity. They come and take what is required?” Felicity rummaged through a pile of men’s shirts and refolded what she’d set askew. “I’ve seen no want in these lands since I’ve been here, however.”
“A mystery,” Jemima chirped and took a seat.
Felicity laughed. “All that sewing and drawing has left you in poor condition, my friend.”
“This is not my usual mode of transportation,” Jemima said. “And this landscape is not designed for such as I.”
Opening the sack that Mrs. Birks had thrust upon her, Felicity removed a small flask of lemonade and passed it over. Jemima took dainty sips in quick succession.
Felicity moved around the little one-roomed house, restless.
“Have you slept at all?” Jemima asked.
“Yes, to my surprise. The first night was as though I had been struck over the head. The second night was the same. I apologize for neglecting you—”
“Felicity. Don’t be ridiculous.” Jemima’s bosom puffed up in offense. “If the duke had not asked that we leave you in peace, I should have made quite a nuisance of myself.”
“I did not want to see anyone,” she admitted, wondering how Alfred could have known.
“Not even your betrothed?”
Felicity picked up a shawl that had been mixed in with the men’s waistcoats. “My betrothed. I remember accepting him, for what it is worth.”
“It is worth all, as he intends to wed you.”
“Now his goal is achieved, he seems strangely absent.”
Jemima threw her hands in the air. “He was there in his study for you to call upon.”
“Jem, I am in such a state.” Felicity twisted the shawl in her grasp. “I have never had a suitor, much less a betrothed. My mother simply made up stories about balls and gentlemen and bouquets and calling cards. She never had a Season, so how could she have advised me? I don’t know how to go on.”
“How do you wish to go on?” Jemima rose and tidied the garments as she checked them for wear.
“I wish that all that has been exposed were lies. That I had a fortune to do with as I pleased. So I needn’t work out how to go on.” Felicity’s face crumpled, and she buried her face in the shawl she was near to rending in two. “There is no going back, of course,” she muttered into the cloth.
“One can never go back,” Jemima said. “I am curious as to what your dreams were before your ambitions blossomed?”
“Oh. A quiet marriage with a loving, steady man, and a houseful of children so no one would ever be alone. A union blessed by the accord of both sides of the family. Peace and joy.”
“While I doubt your union with His Grace will be entirely peaceful, I think he is capable of love, and it is clear that his pack—his people—his pack of people loves you, and you bring them joy, which they will return to you beyond measure.”
“I am an Antidote,” Felicity whispered. “I have not taken. I do not understand his passion for me.”
