The Perfect Bride (21 page)

"I
would not think anything you say to be odd," he declared.

She
smiled. "You are kind."

"I
assure you, Miss Biddle, `kind' does not begin to describe the depth of my
admiration for you."

Felicity
considered his words. As her gaze searched his, a warmth enveloped her. Oddly,
Mr. Frakes did not avert his eyes as he was normally wont to do.

Indeed,
Felicity wondered if she was correct in discerning the carefully banked fires
within those somber brown eyes. Fires that, if her senses did not mistake the
matter, were growing ever warmer.

Mesmerized,
she simply could not do the ladylike thing and look elsewhere. Instead, she freely
absorbed that warmth, and was aware of an answering heat deep inside her. Unbidden,
the poet’s words came to mind, and it suddenly seemed most natural to speak
them:

"`You
say to me-wards your affection's strong,’”
she said
softly.
“
'Pray
love me little, so you love me long.’"

Felicity
regarded him steadily.

"Miss
Biddle," Mr. Frakes said helplessly, "I have no right, no hope, no
expectation..."

"And
I have no spectacles, sir, or I would have done this better. For there is more,
much more, as I recall." Felicity fumbled for the glasses in her skirt
pocket and put them on. It did not take long to find the poem. The words leapt
out at her, and she read them aloud. "`Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a
score...'"

"Miss
Biddle, please do not!" he protested, and moved to seize the book from her.

Felicity
whirled away, laughing softly. She read on:   "`Then to that twenty, add a
hundred more...'"

Now
he did succeed in pulling the book from her hands, but Felicity continued, for the
words were etched into her heart: "`A thousand to that hundred; so kiss
on...'"

"
Miss
Biddle
." The book slipped from his fingers. In the next instant, his
hands went around her waist.

Felicity’s
lips parted on a sigh. She heard his softly muttered oath and in the next
heartbeat, Stephen Frakes’ mouth claimed hers. Her soul soared, the slim volume
of poetry forgotten on the floor.

***

Dr.
Greenfield had invaded his sleep once too often.

"I
am leaving for Mayfield," Sir Thomas announced. "I shall rely on you,
Amanda, to see that everything remains all that it should be. And I shall
depend on you, Sommersby, to look after the ladies with the same diligence you
brought to the field of battle."

Sir
Thomas pushed back his chair from the dining room table.

"Father!"
Felicity cried. "What is the meaning of this?"

"My
presence is required at home, daughter," he replied curtly.

"Has
there been some word from Mayfield?” Amanda asked in alarm. “Is Lady Biddle
ill?"

"Not
as far as I know," he replied darkly. "But when you reach my age,
Amanda, you realize that life is too short to play the afternoon farmer. I will
be damned if I will stand for any more of nonsense."

"What
nonsense?" Felicity asked. "You cannot leave us like this. I — we
need you, Papa. There is much to talk about. Please do not go."

Sir
Thomas tossed his napkin on the table. "I see nothing amiss in leaving you
in the care of your betrothed and Amanda for a few days. I would trust both of
them with my life as easily as I trust them with my daughter."

With
that, Sir Thomas strode from the room, leaving the remaining occupants staring in
dismay at his empty chair.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Submerged
passions were carried forth on the drafts that wafted aimlessly through
Sommersby Castle. A restless air permeated the halls, as if Sir Thomas's
departure had cast everyone adrift without mission or method to dispel the
unsettling forces that engulfed them all.

Though
Felicity's feelings for Stephen Frakes ran deep, she went no more to the
library, wanting first to share the state of her heart with her father. Stephen
was left to find in the words of the poets a measure of comfort for the absence
of his lady love.

Amanda,
her diligence exacerbated by guilt over her own unsettling passions, was
determined to be a better chaperon. Thus, she was frequently in the company of
Felicity and Lord Sommersby, and since Felicity spent much of the time in the
doldrums, Amanda was obliged to fill the awkward silence between the couple by
engaging the earl in steady conversation. This he bore stoically.

Julian's
bleak, tormented look might have given Amanda pause had she not been
concentrating so intently on acting naturally in Lord Sommersby's presence.
Considering that a few days ago she had been ready to hurl herself into Mr.
Thornton's arms, Amanda could not fathom how being in the earl’s company
heightened her senses to an uncomfortable degree. Was it his resemblance to his
absent and much older cousin that made her so acutely aware of him? That must
be it, or else she would have to conclude that something very strange was
happening to her, something she could not discipline. Was her heart so fickle
that she wished for the one man yet yearned for the other in equal portion?
More than ever, she longed to take herself off to the comforting, safe
seclusion of her little cottage in Kent.

Simon,
on the other hand, had no use for solitude. Desperate for distraction, he spent
his nights in such spirited fencing with Jeffers that the batman finally swore
he would not go another round if all the hounds of hells were on his heels. And
so Simon remained suspended in inactivity, waiting for Sir Thomas to return and
take his charges to London, where the days would lead inexorably to marriage
and life would lose the restless turmoil that centered around Miss Fitzhugh's
presence in his house.

Everywhere
he looked, she was there, playing the proper chaperon, making certain no improprieties
occurred — which was highly unlikely, since the blue-deviled Miss Biddle was
disinclined toward any exchange that might lead to more than a passing
acquaintance with him. Simon thought his fiancée's behavior odd, but perhaps it
was the way of gently bred females contemplating the wedded state.

At
breakfast on the second day of Sir Thomas's absence, Miss Biddle ventured that
it would be diverting to explore the tunnels.

"Not
the place for women," Julian growled. His eyes bore the red-rimmed look of
an insomniac.

She
ignored him. "Perhaps the duke forgets that this is to be my future home,
my lord," she told Simon with a petulance that he welcomed as a refreshing
change from the lifeless monotone with which she had addressed him of late.
"At all events, I should be glad of the expedition."

Although
he liked the idea of activity, Simon hesitated. "The tunnels may be
dangerous. I myself have not explored them."

"Then
this is the perfect opportunity," Miss Biddle replied, with what might
have been the merest hint of a smile — though it could just as easily been a
grimace of discomfort or distaste or any number of expressions women invented
for the sole purpose of keeping a man off balance and certain he was to blame
for the lady’s less than harmonious state.

Having
seen a bit of the tunnel that night with Miss Fitzhugh, Simon knew that part of
it, at least, was in passable condition. He also knew that they would all have
to go on the outing in order to chaperon each other, which meant that he would
spend yet another excruciating day pretending not to look at Miss Fitzhugh and
telling himself he was only imagining that she was doing the same.

"Very
well," he said, only because he could think of no reason to deny such a
request. "We will go this afternoon."

A
sense of foreboding shadowed him the rest of the morning. It was as if the
ancient stone walls were trying to tell him something, as if all those weapons
were restless after so many years of inactivity. Simon found himself looking over
his shoulder in search of ghostly presences, even though he did not believe in
such nonsense.

Walls
did not talk. Weapons did not grow restless. Ghosts did not exist.

***

"The
stage is set. How fortunate that Edward decided to cooperate."

"He
does seem rather fond of Claridge."

"Fond!
He is positively besotted, Mortimer. He has gone to him every night, tormenting
him with those erotic dreams."

"Edward
finds them erotic, Isabella. I am not certain Claridge agrees."

"That
is the beauty of it. Claridge must be beside himself wondering what is
producing all those unnatural images that haunt his dreams."

"For
myself, I should not like to push a man like Claridge too far."

"Pish!
That is just what we want, to drive the man beyond his limits so that he must
resolve these sudden unexpected doubts about his manhood. With everything else
that torments him, he will have to act."

"And
turn to the chaperon?"

"Precisely.
Our tenant will be furious, of course. And anger is such an aphrodisiac! Oh,
Mortimer, we will not have to wait long — rapture shall be ours!"

"Truth
be told, I feel uneasy about this plan of ours, my dear. Sometimes it is best
to leave well enough alone."

"When
have I ever led you astray, Mortimer?"

"Some
would call being hauled out of bed to face summary execution at Tyburn a less
than fortuitous result of my following your lead, Isabella."

"I
thought you had forgiven me that."

"One
does wonder how it would have been to live a decade or two longer."

"Trust
me, Mortimer. It was tedious. Utterly tedious."

"You
know, Isabella, I have often wondered why, after all we shared together, you
found it necessary to be buried with Edward's heart on your breast."

"I
simply did not wish history to remember me as a faithless wife."

"There
seems little chance of you being remembered otherwise."

"Hmmph!
You have never possessed my vision, Mortimer."

***

"God's
blood!"

Amanda
glanced uneasily at Julian, who had made no secret of the fact that he found
her presence about as welcoming as the grave. But what choice did she have?
Exploring the tunnels had seemed simple enough when all of them stepped through
her wardrobe to begin the expedition — until Amanda discovered that her weak
ankle would not allow her to negotiate the downward path of the tunnel any
faster than a snail’s pace.

At
last they came to a rather large chamber that, like the upper part of the
tunnel, had small rock slabs at intervals along the walls that must have served
over the years as makeshift sconces for candles or lanterns. Julian used one of
them for the lantern he had brought, and he had been intently studying the cave
wall.

“Lady
Sommersby once showed me a recess here,” he said absently. “She thought it
would be diverting for the lad I was then to imagine the treasures it had held
over the years.”

Rather
inconsiderately, Felicity insisted on pushing on, and Lord Sommersby
accompanied her. That left Amanda behind in the larger chamber with Julian. It
was spacious — the ceiling extended to about ten feet above them, and the
chamber itself was perhaps twenty feet across. Still, she did not like having
to remain here alone with Julian. However, he paid her little mind as he
examined the wall inch by inch.

“This
must be it,” he said with satisfaction and picked up a pick ax, which he
promptly used on a section of stone. This occupied him for some minutes.

They
ought to have all stayed together, Amanda thought as she seated herself on a
rock slab while he worked. She was certainly failing in her chaperon’s duties. Her
heavy sigh brought a curse from Julian as he threw down the ax.

"There
is no need to complain so, Amanda," he growled as his fingers probed the
area behind the stone his ax had just ravaged.

"I
was not..." she began, but his attention was on the wall and she abandoned
her defense mid-sentence as not worth the effort.

"The
years have all but obscured the opening,” he said, as he scraped out the loose
rock. “Ah. Now I can see..."

His
voice trailed off, but he said this last with such hopefulness that Amanda's
curiosity was caught. "What sort of family papers are you seeking?"
she asked.

Julian's
only response was another curse as his probing fingers found only crumbling
rock. Whatever he was searching for was not there.

"May
I help?" Amanda ventured.

"Spare
me your altruism, Amanda,” he said bitterly. “I know you wish me at Jericho, so
there is no use in pretending otherwise."

"Even
if that were the case, which it is not," Amanda said, "I have no wish
to see you destroy yourself, as it seems you are intent on doing. You look as
if you have not slept in days. Has anyone told you that you appear to be at
your last prayers?"