The Perfect Bride (29 page)

"Oh,
dear! My necklace is gone!” she exclaimed. “I must have dropped it along the
way." She gave him a pleading look. "My lord, would you be so kind as
to try to find it? I remember having it back in the cave."

The
last thing Simon wanted to do was to prolong this expedition, but he could
hardly expect her to go back for it. "What does it look like?" he
asked.

"What?
Oh, it is a small gold locket. It was a present from my mother, and I am
greatly attached to it."

Simon
suppressed a sigh. A small locket could easily languish in some tiny crevice
out of reach of the lantern's light. He might be here all night and never find
the infernal thing.

"I
do not recall the necklace you mean, Felicity." Miss Fitzhugh said.

Miss
Biddle looked surprised. "You cannot have forgotten it, dearest."

Leaving
the ladies to dispute the matter, Simon started back into the tunnel. He had
only gone a dozen feet when he heard the solid thump of a door closing.
Turning, he saw Miss Fitzhugh standing quite alone, wearing a look of
consternation.

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

Laughter
sounded from within the wardrobe, where Miss Biddle had evidently gone to.
"You will understand when you read my note, Amanda," came the faint
reply.

As
Simon's gaze shot from the solid back of the wardrobe to Miss Fitzhugh, they
heard the distinct sound of the heavy bolt being drawn.

Miss
Biddle had locked them in the tunnel.

Suddenly
he realized what had nagged at him. Miss Biddle had left her bag and supplies
back in the cavern.

Fear
swept through him, the kind of raw, primitive fear every soldier faces when he
enters a new battle realizing it may be his last. Simon was man enough to
acknowledge it.

But
this fear had nothing to do with war, or being trapped in the tunnels with
whatever wild creatures haunted them. No, this fear was born of something else
altogether.

Simon
tried to collect his thoughts. He presumed that Miss Biddle would not abandon
them for days on end. Still, they would need to conserve the supplies she left,
even as they worked to find an escape route. It would be a simple exercise in
basic survival. He had done it a thousand times.

But
not with Amanda Fitzhugh. That was the source of his fear.

His
control would surely face its greatest battle yet.

***

"Felicity!"
Lady Biddle sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes, and stared at her youngest
daughter.

"Good
evening, Mother. I trust you had a pleasant journey." Guilt at the lines
of worry on her mother's face did not dampen Felicity's spirits. Indeed, she
felt positively buoyant. If ever two people were meant for each other, it was
Amanda and Lord Sommersby.

"Where
have you been, child?" Lady Biddle demanded. "And where is
this...librarian of yours?"

A
sharp pain of loss punctured her high spirits. Felicity took a deep breath.
"Mr. Frakes is gone. But I am grateful for the opportunity to have known
him, for it has opened my eyes to an important truth."

"What,
pray, would that be?"

Felicity
settled herself on the edge of her mother's bed. "That I cannot dictate
the ways of my heart."

Lady
Biddle frowned. "I do not know why your father allowed you to study
literature at that school for young ladies. It ruined your eyesight and left
you with a lot of foolish notions."

"Is
it foolish to wish to spend the rest of one's life with the man one loves,
Mama?"

There
was a long pause. "To desire such a thing is natural, I suppose, at your
age," Lady Biddle conceded. "To expect it, however, is foolish."

"But
you and Papa gained your hearts' desire. For years I have envied that special
spark between you two. It is obvious that you feel great affection for each
other."

"Relationships
do not always sustain themselves at the feverish peak." Lady Biddle looked
away. "You are better off marrying someone appropriate, not a penniless
librarian who recites poetry."

"How
did you know that Stephen loves poetry?" Felicity asked in surprise.

Her
mother allowed herself a smile. "My dear, I cannot imagine that it would
be otherwise in a man who has claimed your heart."

"I
will not marry Lord Sommersby."

Lady
Biddle studied her daughter. "I take it the earl has no use for
sonnets?"

"It
is not that," Felicity said. "I cannot marry a man for whom I have no
passionate feelings. Do you understand?"

Recalling
some of the more lustful aspects of her own courtship, Lady Biddle colored.
"I do indeed. But you cannot expect that things will always be that way
between you."

Felicity
did not miss the troubled look in her mother's eyes. "All is not well
between you and Papa?" she ventured.

"Felicity!"
Lady Biddle said sternly. "The state of relations between your father and
me is not your concern."

"’Tis
Dr. Greenfield, isn’t it?"

Lady
Biddle looked shocked. "What about him?"

Felicity
hesitated. "Have you not seen how the man is besotted with you? He is
always about, inventing one excuse after another. When you turned your ankle
and required his tending, he was nigh to ecstatic."

Lady
Biddle was silent for a moment. "I did not realize that the situation was
so obvious," she said at last.

"If
I have noticed it, you can be sure Papa has," Felicity said. "Indeed,
he turns positively green when the man's name is mentioned. That is how I knew
Papa was lying when he counseled me to marry for suitability, instead of
love."

"Lying?"
Lady Biddle echoed, startled.

"Why,
yes, Mama. Papa is thoroughly in love with you, you know." She smiled
wistfully. "You are fortunate to have what so many yearn for."

Her
mother’s eyes grew moist.

“Oh,
Mama,” Felicity said, putting her arms around her mother. “Do not cry. I am
sure all will be well.”

"I
have been so foolish — and lonely.” Lady Biddle’s voice broke on a sob. “I did
not want to face the fact that the last of my chicks was leaving the nest. With
your sisters established in their own households, they have no need for me, and
soon you — "

"Not
so, Mama," Felicity protested. "We will always need you."

"Your
father is away in London so much," Lady Biddle continued, dabbing her eyes
with a lace handkerchief. "Richard's attentions made me feel young again.
And, I suppose, they kept me from worrying about whether there might be...someone
else who kept Thomas away so much."

Felicity's
eyes widened. "Oh, Mama! I am sure that Papa does not have a
mistress!"

"What
a thoroughly inappropriate subject to discuss with one's daughter." Lady
Biddle blew her nose.

"It
is all right, Mama," Felicity said sorrowfully. "My knowledge of the
world has recently expanded."

Lady
Biddle eyed her sharply. "Felicity! Never say you let this young man take
liberties..."

"Stephen
was the perfect gentleman," Felicity assured her. "Sometimes I wish
it had been otherwise." She sighed. "I do not believe that love
should be denied just because society says that it is proper to wait until
marriage."

Felicity
expected this confession to produce another shocked gasp from her mother. To
her surprise, Lady Biddle gave her a little half-smile. "You know,
dear," she said softly, "I see a great deal of myself in you."

Shyly,
Felicity clasped her mother's hand. It was a relief to have everything out in
the open. Or almost everything.

"Where
is Papa?" Felicity asked cautiously.

"Out
scouring the countryside for you. I expect he will be back soon. He will be
overjoyed to know that you are unharmed. As will Amanda."

Felicity
said nothing.

"Oh,
my!” her mother exclaimed. “I had forgotten about Amanda. She and Lord
Sommersby have been searching the castle. We must let them know you are back,
and — where were you anyway, dear?"

Felicity
regarded her calmly. "Merely reading in a quiet place I discovered
recently. You know, Mama, I do not think we ought to try to locate Amanda and the
earl. The castle has so many rooms, we should never find them. I am certain
they will be back in good time."

"But
they will still be searching," Lady Biddle protested. "And in all
that dust and draft, too. Amanda may catch her death."

"Lord
Sommersby is nothing if not capable, Mama,” Felicity said. “I am certain that
Amanda is in good hands."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Bewildered,
Amanda held the letter Felicia had hurriedly thrust into her hands before
darting inside the wardrobe and latching the door. Lord Sommersby said nothing,
but his dark expression made his thoughts abundantly clear.

"I
cannot account for Felicity's actions, my lord,” she said in dismay. “Perhaps
she is playing a prank and will soon free us."

"I
suspect not," he replied grimly. "Shall we return to the cave and
decipher her note? No doubt she has left us ample light."

Following
him through the tunnel and into the spacious chamber area, Amanda saw that
Felicity had indeed left extra candles, along with a small bag that — if memory
served — usually contained her needlework, and a blanket. Opening the bag, she
discovered it held cheese, a crusty loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and two
glasses. Supplies suitable for a picnic, Amanda thought. Had Felicity been planning
to meet Stephen after all?

Lord
Sommersby brushed off the blanket and spread it over a flat rock. He gestured
for her to sit. He placed the lantern on a slab above them and eyed her
expectantly. "Perhaps you would care to read the letter now.”

Though
his words were uttered with the utmost politeness, they did not sound like a
request.  Indeed, he looked exceedingly unhappy.

With
some trepidation, Amanda opened the missive and stared at Felicity's neat,
round handwriting. Her eyes widened as she read the first few lines to herself.

"Aloud,
if you please," he ordered.

Amanda
fingered the pages. "I do not think..."

"Read
it, Miss Fitzhugh. This undoubtedly concerns us both."

His
implacable expression did not invite refusal.

“Very
well,” she said, “but I doubt you will welcome its contents. Nor do I, for that
—”

“Miss
Fitzhugh.” His brows drew together like thunderclouds. “Read the letter.”

With
a sigh, she began: "`Dear Amanda. Please do not be angry with me. You and
Lord Sommersby appear to be so estranged from sentiment that nothing short of
forced imprisonment could erode that barrier.'"

Amanda
felt the earl's eyes burning into her. She longed to be anywhere else. But she read
on: "`And forgive me, my lord, for choosing this cowardly way to tell you
that I cannot marry you.'"

She
looked up. His expression was unreadable. Amanda handed him the pages. “This is
a private matter, my lord. I cannot —”

“Miss
Fitzhugh.” The command was unmistakable.

With
deep misgivings, Amanda took a deep breath and continued: "`My heart
belongs to another, and though he has gone away, I find myself incapable of
being the devoted bride you so deserve. I cannot marry without love.'"

Amanda
ventured a sidelong look at the earl. His face had seemingly turned to stone.
"There’s more. Should I continue?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

“Very
well. ‘My course of action has been clear since the moment I discovered the
secret that you and Amanda hold so close to your breasts.'"

Dear
Lord, Amanda thought. She put the pages down, aware of a deep sense of
foreboding. "I do not know what this is about, sir, but I should warn you
that my cousin is known for her fanciful imagination."

"Read."

Her
heart sank. The atmosphere in the cavern had become quite oppressive. Except
for the space illuminated by his lantern, the rest of the chamber was dark and
dank. Little air circulated. That, combined with the sense of impending doom
that Felicity’s letter wrought — and the earl’s stony expression — suggested
the worst was still ahead. But Amanda forced her attention back to the letter.

"`Knowing
that it is not fashionable for a husband and wife to sit in each other's
pocket, I was prepared to accept a cordial union with Lord Sommersby in hopes
that deeper feelings would follow. But Stephen claimed my heart, and I can
settle for nothing less than a true melding of his soul and mine — however long
it takes.'"

Oh,
dear, Amanda thought. Far from abandoning her hopes for Mr. Frakes, Felicity
had intensified her feelings, thereby inviting more pain.