An Independent Miss (12 page)

“No, you don’t, and no, you will
not care for her in that manner.”

He held her by her shoulders.
“Felicity, there will be few rules in our household, bar one. I refuse to have
you playing with herbs and medicines, or any other dangerous ingredients. They
are far more dangerous than you could ever know.”

“They are not dangerous for me. I
understand these things. I have been training since youth.”

“You will forget them.” He walked
away, his shoulders heaving with each quick breath, before he faced her again.
“I will not have you play with dangerous plants in my home, like some witch of
old.”

Like a fish struggling to breathe
on dry land, she fought for words.

“I’m sorry,” he relented. “I did
not mean to be so harsh, but you will find much to do in running Montfort
Abbey. God willing, there will be children soon…”

He had no chance to finish his
argument, for shouts filled the courtyard as the serving girl, Maddy, ran from
the path to the tenants’ home.

“She’s dead!” Maddy cried. “Adele
is dead, never woke this morn!”

“No!” Felicity’s hoarse whisper,
words strangled, deep in her throat.

Maddy reached them. Even as frantic
as she was, she managed a curtsy to Andover, as she faced Felicity. “The tin of
your medicine was on the table.”

The servant started to crumble,
crying, as Felicity held her up by her shoulders. “I put it up high, on top of
the rafter, hidden, but it was down on the table.”

“Who would have done that?”
Felicity worried, aware of Andover’s stiff stance beside her, his cropping
tapping briskly against his leg.

“Dangerous ingredients?” he asked
carefully.

“Yes.” She looked to him, though
she was deep inside, trying to think of how this could have happened. She
turned back to Maddy, wondering if Adele, God forbid, had taken her own life.

“Not in my home,” Andover clipped.
“Never. No witches’ play!” Before Felicity could explain, tell him she’d left
strict instructions, used care with dangerous plants, and taught Maddy caution,
he was on his horse.

Witches’
play?

“You said your mother needed me.”

“Your presence. She has had enough
medicinal tonics and teas and poultices and bleedings for a dozen people. I
swore to end it all within my household, to refrain from any more quackery. I
expect you to join me in this.”

He turned his focus to Maddy. “I am
sorry for your loss.” Offered a succinct nod and rode away, with a flick of his
wrist telling the coachman to follow. No more discussion about Felicity joining
him.

His mother needed her. Every
condemnation he uttered proved how desperate it had become.

But he did not want her kind of
help, trained from a wee age, a valued healer who helped patients. People came
from miles away for her medicines.

Hobby?

She would show him her
hobby—but first, the Smiths would need her.

“Maddy,” She put her arm around the
serving girl’s shoulders. “Let’s have Cook give us a cup of tea and some
scones, and you can tell me what you think happened. Then we will go back.”

They walked back past the gardens,
Maddy weeping, Felicity’s arm still around her shoulders.

Yes, she could be a soothing
presence, but Lady Andover was in need of far more than that.

****

“Cis,” Thomas interrupted from the
outer doorway of the stillroom. “Why do you suppose they call this a room? It’s
larger than some of the tenants’ cottages.”

Felicity looked up.

“I’m impressed you heard me.”

“Of course I heard you,” she
argued, knowing how unfair she was to make the claim. Normally she didn’t hear,
see, sense anything, when in what her family referred to as
one of her moods
. Nothing, outside of a
plant, could reach her then.

“Mother has been looking for you.”

“Oh, God, I…” She brushed a strand
of hair from her eyes with the back of her wrist and looked around the stone
enclosure with its wide walls and small, deep windows.

“You have been occupied.” He
nodded. “I heard about Adele Smith. Tragic.”

“She couldn’t wait,” Felicity
slumped again the worktable. “She just couldn’t wait to get better. But don’t
you dare let anyone know I said that. As far as the world is to know, Adele had
no idea she couldn’t take big draughts of the stuff. We’ll not have her buried
outside the church grounds.”

“That would be a lie.” He tested
her. Felicity knew that.

“No, not really. I never gave Adele
instructions. Not this time, anyway. She was too badly off.”

“But you did last time.”

“Yes,” Felicity sighed. “But you
know how it is between first and second sleep. The mind can be groggy. Hope,
that’s what I think drew her to drink so much of that brew. Hope that it would
work faster.”

She sighed. “But I am glad you are
here. I need you to do me a favor.”

He stepped into her sanctum,
ducking to avoid plants hanging from the rafters to dry. As always, he touched
everything, bottles, her scientific apparatus. She stayed his hand, nervous
enough without fretting that he would damage something in his rough
exploration. He looked up, fully aware of the reaction he would get. This was
her space, no intrusion welcome.

“What would you like me to do?” he
asked.

She took a deep breath. “Take me to
Montfort Abbey.” She straightened her spine, got that mulish look that
forewarned there was little chance of thwarting her.

He tilted his head, studied her.
“What for?”

“Andover’s mother needs me.”

“Ah, yes. You figured that out, did
you?”

She ignored his cynical smile. “So
you will escort me?”

“Not without his written request.”

She fiddled with the burner, adjusting
the height of the fire. “He won’t do that. I doubt he will ever do that. He was
there when Maddy told me of Adele’s death and the part the medicine played.”
When Thomas merely stood there, she added, “That’s why you tried to end the
betrothal, isn’t it? You know how Andover feels about medicine.”

“Even at school, he’d never let a
sawbones near him. Abhorred anything of a medicinal nature. He’s worse now.”

“I know how bad he is.” She rolled
a twirled glass stirrer back and forth between her fingers. “There is no future
for us,” she breathed in, against her tears, amazed that she could be so
disappointed over a betrothal she’d not expected a week ago. “But that doesn’t
matter.” She swiped at the tears, catching them before they could fall. “His
mother really does need me.”

Laughter and the thud of a chase
drew them both to the door. Bea stumbled in, grabbed the doorway and doubled
over to catch a breath that hiccupped with laughter. Upton crashed into her,
grabbing her around the waist to keep her from toppling over.

Bea looked up at Upton. The
laughter stopped.
Good Lord, he’s going
to kiss her right here in front of us.

Thomas cleared his throat as Bea
pulled away with a triumphant, “I told you I could find her!”

Felicity ignored Bea, focused
instead on Upton looking up, stunned, still caught in that private moment with
Bea. He recovered with an embarrassed smile and dipped his head toward Cis.

Oh
Bea, he loves you, truly loves you,
Felicity realized, wishing against
reality she could have the same.

“Quite the set-up, don’t you
think?” Thomas egged Upton to take a wider look.

“Thomas!” Felicity chastised, too
late.

“And one of her patients died last
night.”

Upton’s casual assessment
transformed to awareness. His smile froze, shifted to horror, his eyes wide.
“Good God, this is a disaster.”

CHAPTER 12 ~
MONTFORT ABBEY

“Lady Andover is in her rooms,”
Barton, the family butler, informed Andover when he arrived at Montfort Abbey.

“She has had guests?”

“A Lady Stanhope, who stayed the
night. No more.”

“She is not up to guests.”

“Lady Stanhope was informed that
Lady Andover was not receiving. It was Lady Andover who insisted they dine
together.”

“Did she eat?” His mother’s eating
habits were abysmal. He was afraid he might lose her as well.

“She tries to eat, m’lord. She
tries.” Which meant she pushed her food around on her plate. “The doctor has
given her a new tonic, a daytime mixture that revives her spirits.”

The doctor was too fond of his own
concoctions. “Let me get rid of the travel dust, then I will go see her.”

“Yes, sir. I will inform her that
you are home.”

“Don’t wake her if she is sleeping.
It is getting late.”

“Yes, sir. She does retire early
these days.”

“Thank you, Barton.”

He delayed, as long as he dared,
half-hoping she’d be asleep when he did reach her. The door opened to a room
lit by a fire. Instead of the lavender scent his mother always wore, this room
smelled of stale breath, medicine, and unwashed bodies. The scent of decay. She
had gotten worse.

“Andover?” The croak of the
once-melodic voice assaulted his senses, much as the room assaulted his nose.

She couldn’t see him yet. The open
door blocked him from the rest of the room. The shield gave him time. He could
still back away, leave, return to the delightful chaos of the Redmond
household. There was a balance there, a normalcy he doubted Montfort would ever
house again.

“I am here, Mother.” Crippled with
helplessness and guilt, he could not run.

“Come,” she whispered. “Let me see
you.”

In the weeks—the
lifetime—he stayed with the Redmond’s, she had grown thinner, her cheeks
more hollow, her eyes now huge in her narrow face. The width of her smile a
mere quirk of shape. There was no sparkle to match it, no infectious
liveliness.

“Mother.” He leaned in, kissed her
forehead, recoiled at the parchment feel of it. The God-awful tonic, sweet to
smell from the bottle, soured as sweat.

“Andover,” she smiled, as though he
were a distant friend and not her son.

“You did not respond to my letter.”

“Oh, yes,” Her lids, her words,
heavy and thick with slumber though she sat in a chair, lap robe pulled tight
in an overwarm room. “You are betrothed to one of the Redmond brood.”

“Yes.” He had written pages and
pages about Felicity, certain he’d referred to her by name at least once. “Lady
Felicity. You will like her. She is very comforting.”

As suspected, she sighed, looked
about at nothing. “It has been cold.”

The weather, a fail-safe topic. A
stranger’s topic. An avoidance topic.

“Lady Stanhope visited.”

“Yes.” In a dream-like trance,
hands twitching on the lap rug, the rest of her so still, she continued. “So
long since anyone has visited, tiring, very tiring.”

He did not tell her of the scandal,
that his betrothed was reluctant. He did not tell her of his guilt in asking
Felicity to marry him, of his worry about bringing her here, to his home, to
his mother.

He did not tell her his heart was
breaking.

****

“This is insurmountable!” Upton
blurted.

“Hit by a wall?” Thomas clapped him
on the back. Upton stumbled, caught by shock. “Accused me of being
mean-spirited when I fought the betrothal.”

“Impossible,” Upton stammered.

Thomas shrugged, “They won’t have a
smooth ride of it. But I will personally take action if anyone, especially
Andover, hurts our Cis.”

“Damn you,” Upton forgot himself
enough to curse in front of the ladies. “He’d never lay a hand on a woman.”

Thomas proved obstinate now. “Don’t
be a fool, Upton. There are more ways than physical violence to hurt a person,
but mulishness is no easy opponent and Cis has an abundance of that.”

He put his arm around her, giving
the brotherly support she hadn’t realized she needed. “Haven’t you seen how
Andover looks at her? The man doesn’t know he’s in so deep, let alone what he’s
facing.” Thomas snorted, releasing her to pace. “Marrying for his mother? I
don’t think so.”

Bea watched the interaction, her
brow furrowing. “What, Lord Upton, what is wrong?” she pressed.

Resigned, Felicity leaned against
the worktable. “At best, Andover would call me a quack, or perhaps a foolish
woman with a poor choice of hobby.”

“Lady Felicity,” Upton objected.

Thomas chuckled. “Admit it, Upton.
That’s exactly what Andover would say.”

“At worst…” She lifted that mulish
chin. “…he would call me a witch.” She was stunned by the sudden need to
sniffle, the tears filling her eyes. She turned to her work, determined not to
cry.

Thomas was at her side in a flash.
“He said that? Damn the man! I should have throttled him when I had the
chance!”

“In so many words,” she sniffed, as
she measured dry bits of leaves, furious that her hands trembled. “But…” She
set her shoulders, determined to squash weakness. “…his mother needs me and I
dare him…”
ah, yes, defiance
, “…just
dare
him to stop me from helping her.”

“What?” Bea took up Felicity’s
other side, wrapping her arm around her. “Who, Cis? What blackguard called you
those things?”

Felicity looked over her shoulder,
caught Upton shaking his head. Poor man couldn’t get the idea to stick. “She’s
a, a, she makes up concoctions. She…”

“Don’t be so obtuse, Upton!
Felicity is the best damn apothecary in England!” Thomas snapped.

Felicity smiled. “Perhaps not in
England.”

“Fiddlesticks!” Bea defended.
“Physicians come to you for advice.”

“Quacks!” Upton whispered.

“What…” Bea’s eyes narrowed. “…do you
mean by that?”

“Oh, ah,” Upton stepped back from
Bea’s glare.

Upton visibly shook off his
confusion. Poor man was driven by the threat of upsetting Bea. As Thomas would
say, no longer his own man.

The threat of tears billowed again.
Felicity quelled them.

Upton soldiered on, “Too many
quacks out there, parading as physicians.”

“Well,” loyal Bea fixed him with
narrowed eyes, her arm still around Felicity, a united front. “You may be
right, Lord Upton.” Her voice holding the same steel her mother was known for,
“No doubt there are many quacks who play doctor. But our Felicity is not one of
them, nor was my grandmother or my grandmother’s grandmother and that again,
all the way back to the thirteenth century! If I had a pinch of Felicity’s
ability, I would not be a quack either!”

“Bit of a bungle,” Thomas chuckled.

What Bea meant to explain was that
their family line had always had one female with a talent for doctoring. This
generation, the skill fell to Felicity, not Bea. Bea had other talents.

Upton backed out of the stillroom,
fell onto the bench outside, hands on knees. “Andover won’t understand. He
never met a competent quack.”

They all followed him outside. “Too
bad,” Felicity held to the doorway, an avenging angel protecting her space.

“You don’t understand. He lost a
good lot of his family in one night, all victims to ill-directed foraging. And
his mother, well, he doesn’t speak of it, but my mother went round there and it
is not good.” Agitated, he rose, paced. “Not to forget his younger brother,
either. The whole of his family were victims of foolish doctors and worse.”

Felicity sagged against the
doorjamb. “Then tell me. Tell me all of it.”

Upton nodded, sat again, elbows on
knees, hands clasped before him, he looked at the ground. “We were all from the
same neighborhood, you see, Andover, his brother Lord Sutton, who we knew as
Billie, and Billie’s wife, Lady Sutton. We grew up together, everyone knew
Billie would marry Bets, even if there hadn’t been an understanding between the
families.”

“Is she the one who gathered the
mushrooms?” Felicity asked.

Thomas’s head jerked up. “They died
from mushrooms?”

“Yes,” Felicity told him, her eyes
on Upton. “Andover told me that much, and that they were foraged.”

“Yes,” Upton nodded.
“Bets—Lady Sutton—had a Nanny, Gretchen. Just the kind of woman who
makes a child feel comforted. Big gal, buxom and warm-hearted, but she was always
gathering leaves and bark and such from the woods. Betsy thought she could do
it, too, but she didn’t have the eye for it, or never learned properly. By that
time, Nanny Gretchen had moved on, to care for other children, when Betsy and
her siblings grew beyond needing a nursemaid.”

Felicity nodded, caught up in her
thoughts.

“His mother is in a state Andover
blames on the tonics and brews her doctors are prescribing. It’s not good.”

She looked up, urged Upton on. “And
the younger brother? You spoke of Andover’s younger brother.”

“Ah, well, little Tommy had fevers
that left him screaming. Lady Andover was beside herself. Everyone was, you
could hear him out on the grounds.” Upton looked away, as though viewing a
memory more painful than he could bear. “In that case, the doctor bled him,
over and over again, as well as pouring potions down his throat.” Upton shook
his head. “Sad day when Tommy died. So very sad.”

“I abhor bloodletting.” Felicity
offered.

“Well, there is that, then.” Upton
looked back at the stillroom. “But there’s an awful lot in there for Andover to
accept. Has he seen your workroom?”

Felicity shifted, reached back and
closed the door. “No, not yet.”

“Please,” Upton begged, “Don’t ever
show him that room, or create one at Montfort Abbey.”

“It’s what I do.”

“Then stop what you do.”

Thomas jerked. “You can’t be
serious?”

“Of course I am,” Upton strode
toward Thomas. “You knew, you knew all along it would come to this. That’s why
you fought him, that’s why you bungled the announcement.”

“Let them work it out. And by that
I don’t mean that Felicity does all the giving-in. Andover has to learn to
accept it.”

“Impossible!” Upton shouted. Thomas
hadn’t expected him to be so angry. “It’s impossible.” He calmed, a visible
struggle. “He’s been through too much. He will never accept her pastime.”

“Oh, Cis, this is horrible.” Bea
started to weep, Felicity comforted her, as she handed her a handkerchief.
“Don’t Bea, don’t.”

In three strides, Upton was there,
his arm around Bea. “Even without all of this…this…hobby, Felicity will have a
full life,” Upton offered.

“She won’t be who she is!” Bea
snapped.

“Wait,” Felicity urged. “Wait,
let’s just find out what was going on, then we can talk about what will be, and
what will not be.”

“Oh Felicity, how can you be so
calm? This is horrible, terrible.” Bea slumped down on the stone bench.

“No, we don’t know it is horrible
until I speak with Andover.”

Felicity’s abigail could be heard
calling. Time had run out.

Thomas reminded her. “Sorry, Cis. I
did tell you Mother is looking for you.”

“Oh, dear.” Felicity sighed. “You
did, I just…oh…this is not a good time. She wants to take measurements for my
trousseau. How awkward.”

“Felicity!” Bea argued. “This is
tragic, but surely not that drastic.”

“They will marry.” Like a judge’s
sentence, Upton continued. “But it is hopeless. The worst of matches.”

“Whether he can accept me, as I am
or not,” Felicity stated, “his mother has been given tonics that steal her
mind, her will. I can help, but he will never let me, will he?”

“No,” Upton shook his head. “With
all the deaths, with his mother’s fragile state of mind, he will never let you
do anything.”

“Then we will have to see her
helped without his knowledge.”

“He’ll never forgive you,” Upton
insured.

“So be it,” she declared. “So be
it.”

She never should have sent her
letter.

****

Newspaper pushed aside, tea grown
cold, the remains of eggs and kippers lay congealed on the plate he’d
abandoned. Andover toyed with Felicity’s letter. A missive written, no doubt,
on the heels of his abandoning her.

Lord Andover,

I fear matters arose which needs be
discussed. Differences between us. Insurmountable differences, as they stand.
Or not? Could we not find a place somewhere in the middle? Should we not have
all discussions completed, decisions made, before we reach town and all is made
public? Mama is more than willing to accompany me to your home, if you would be
so kind as to give your blessing.

But I am remiss. Even more important than
us, your mama. How does she fair? And your travels, were they smooth or
terribly dull?

You have made it abundantly clear your
mama’s health is fragile and guests are terribly taxing. Mama and I promise not
to burden Lady Stanton’s reserves, but merely give her a chance to acknowledge
my presence and— God willing—to receive her blessing.

I await your consent.

Felicity

She must not come. There would be
time in London for them to come to some understanding of what marriage would
mean to them. Then he would bring her to Montfort Abbey, in its summer glory,
flowers in bloom, dark farm rows turned green and ripe. He wanted her to fall
in love with her new home.

Not meet the Montfort Abbey lost to
the brutal memory of death.

He’d woken this morning, dreaming
of Felicity, his Felicity, floating toward him on a warm breeze, all sweet
innocence except for a wisp of fabric the current of air forced against her
body. It clung, revealed a cameo of rich ripeness. He ached for her, flooded
with lust, as she curled around him, all comforting soft velvet and enticing
plush curves. Her dark husky whisper implored him, “Take this, know me, and
then you can have me, all of me.”