To Marry the Duke's Daughter (After the Masquerade) (7 page)

“Papa said he will allow you to court
me,” she told him, her voice low and soft.

His lips tightened, and she could see
that he was holding back his smile. Though she doubted anyone was watching,
they were both aware of the danger of revealing too much in public.

“Then I will call on you tomorrow.”

“But we cannot marry, not yet. It
could be weeks, months, before he allows it,” she whispered. “He may want us
to wait until next Season; I do not know.”

Jonathon narrowed his brows in
confusion. “Why would he want us to wait so long? Have we not waited enough?”

“I asked him that, but he would not
answer me. There is something he is hiding from me, Jonathon, and I am tired
of waiting for him to explain. I am twenty-five, now.” An idea she had once
discredited as romantic nonsense filled every corner of her mind. She grasped
his hand tightly as she tried to push the thought aside, and come up with a
more reasonable solution. The idea had merit, however, and she accepted that
it might be the only way to ensure her happiness.

“I am twenty-five,” she repeated. “Old
enough to make my own decisions. Old enough to elope.”

Jonathon stared at her in shock.
“Elope?”

She nodded. “Come with me to Gretna
Green.”

“I—”

She watched his chest heave, and the emotions
skitter across his face. She could read him easily, now, and she saw his pride
wavering against the desire to put a quick end to their estrangement.

“My father will give his blessing, but
I do not want to keep waiting for him to be ready to let me go,” she added. “I
love you, Jonathon.”

“And I love you,” he murmured.
“Eloping may be the only way we can marry without destroying my brother.”

“I don’t give one whit what your
brother thinks,” she hissed. “He had the nerve to go to Avondale and try to
pursue me, when he knew—”

“Shh,” Lady Ravenwood whispered. “I am
trying to listen to the opera.”

“Sorry,” Felicity muttered. “I am
trying to get married.”

“I know, dear.” The marchioness patted
her arm consolingly. “I’ve been listening to you as well.”

“Then do you agree? Does it not make
sense for us to elope?” she demanded. “I admire your loyalty to your brother,”
Felicity directed towards Jonathon, “but he has hurt you. Even if he is your
brother—your older brother—no one will deny you the right to marry
whomever you will.”

“I intend to marry
you
,” Jonathon pointed out. “There is no
whomever
else.”

Felicity smiled up at him warmly, no
longer caring that she was in public. She had spent too many years caring
about what others thought; Jonathon’s thoughts were the only ones besides her
own that mattered to her now. “Then will you marry me?”

Chapter
Seven

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Lady Sylvia White impatiently pulled
the carriage curtain aside, struggling to refrain herself from questioning her
driver again about their destination. She was tired of sitting in a carriage,
tired of going in circles, and tired of being tired.

London looked much as it had when she
swore she would never return. She had not expected it to change, but then she
had also not expected to return to the city whose dust and noise gave her
megrims, and whose company tested her to her final nerve. If it were not for
her oldest son, she would have remained at home. Gregory had recently written
begging her for money, and Sylvia refused to let him continue ruining the
family name. If Gregory would not listen to reason, she would do everything in
her considerable power as his mother to embarrass him.

However, Gregory had not been home, nor
had Jonathon. Blythe, the butler Sylvia recalled as having served her late
husband for several years, had informed her that Jonathon had gone to the
Ravenwoods’ for his usual morning ride. Sylvia was not acquainted with the
marquis and his wife and so did not feel comfortable pursuing her youngest son.
When Blythe added that Avondale and his daughter had returned to London the
previous day, Sylvia decided that sometimes society needed to be scorned.
While she was not acquainted with the duke, she was determined to do anything she
could to help her son win Felicity’s hand. If that meant calling on a duke
whom she had never before met, so be it.

She exhaled a relieved sigh when the
carriage lurched to a stop, and thanked her driver profusely for finally
settling her on terra firma. Carriages had always unsettled her; she would
need a pot of tea to help ease the sway of her brain inside her skull.

“Good morning,” Avondale’s butler
intoned, surprised to see a female on the doorstep. “May I assist you?”

“Take me to Avondale,” Sylvia directed.
“Please. And some tea would not be remiss.”

“Ah—might I have the pleasure of
your name, so I can introduce you to his grace?”

Sylvia instantly liked the man.
Instead of protesting at the impropriety of her actions, he wanted to make them
as proper as possible.

“Lady Sylvia White.”

The butler smiled, and his tone was
markedly friendlier as he stated, “I thought you resembled Mr. White, although
your eyes are lighter. I will show you upstairs at once.”

“Thank you.”

She did not know what to expect of the
duke. She had heard rumours about him when she was a debutante, and he a young
man pursuing every skirt he could find, but all she knew for a fact was that he
had loved his wife, and dedicated himself to his daughter after his wife passed
away. Avondale would do anything to protect his daughter, even if it
unintentionally hurt her.

“Lady Sylvia White here to see you,
sir,” the butler announced while Sylvia waited outside Avondale’s brightly lit
study.

She stepped inside after a low voice
uttered a surprised
enter
.

“Forgive me for intruding, Lord
Avondale, but you must allow me to tell you the truth about my sons,” she
started, never at ease mincing words.

The duke stood as she entered, and was
polite enough to offer her a bow and lead her to a seat opposite his desk. She
did not know why that surprised her, but she was able to direct her surprise to
the butler, who stated that he would call for tea.

“I am astonished that you would come
all this way to lecture me, Lady White,” Lord Avondale started.

She missed the duke’s wry smile and so
snapped, “Don’t flatter yourself, Lord Avondale. I came to tell Gregory that
if he does not stop stealing from his brother, I will expose him as the liar
and cheat that he is. Jonathon is twice the man his brother is, and you would
do well to recognize that.”

Carlton chuckled as he resumed his
seat. “I do recognize that, Lady White, even if you do not recognize my
sarcasm. I came to London with the intention of allowing Mr. White to court my
daughter. She loves him. After Lord White practically accosted us in
Avondale, it has become clear to me that he is the hindrance to my daughter’s
happiness.”

Sylvia blinked. “Oh?”

“I am not the proud idiot you seem to
think I am, Lady White. Proud, yes, but I am no longer a fool, even if I am
still paying the price of foolish actions.” He frowned and ran a hand through
his black hair. “As soon as Felicity returns from the Ravenwoods’, I am going
to invite your youngest here to discuss their courtship. Mr. White sent me
these this morning.” Carlton motioned in the air with a small leather-bound
journal, and Sylvia took note of two others lying on his desk.

“What are they?”

“Proof that he is serious in his
intentions towards my daughter. He thought allowing me to read what he wrote
for Felicity would encourage me to see the truth about his feelings. I do
believe he loves her, and I am willing to let him court her. However, there
are things beyond their knowledge at work here, and—”

“Sir.” Chattrecombe burst into the room,
his expression a mixture of apology and eagerness. “Forgive the intrusion,
sir, but this has just come in.” He offered a letter that Carlton accepted
with a shaking hand.

“Thank you, Chattrecombe. Forgive me,
Lady White, but I have been waiting for this letter for over a year,” he
apologized.

Sylvia gestured in the air with one
hand as she stood, motioning him to continue. “By all means, proceed. I am
content.” She hesitated. “You said your daughter is with the Ravenwoods?”

He halted in the process of breaking
the seal to look up at her in curiosity. “Yes. Why?”

Suspicion gnawed at her stomach.
“Jonathon is there as well, if Gregory’s butler is to be believed. I have no
reason to doubt Blythe—he was always a good hand.”

Carlton glanced at a small table clock
and then back at her. “Felicity has been gone for nearly an hour. That seems
overly long for tea.”

Sylvia nodded. “It concerns me that
Jonathon would have gone to the Ravenwoods’ to ride his mare when he should
have immediately come here to call on your daughter. I know he enjoys a
morning ride, but he loves Felicity. She should be his priority.”

He stood quickly, tucking the letter
into his waistcoat. “Perhaps we should call on the Ravenwoods to ensure that
everything is in order.”

“What about your letter?”

He patted his chest absently. “The
answer is not as important as finding my daughter. If she and your son have
run off together, I will have plenty of time to mull over the truth while
pursuing them.”

On the
way to Gretna Green

Jonathon smiled down at Felicity’s
sleeping figure, one of his hands tangled in her hair while the other was
fisted against his cheek to keep his head straight. After dozing off several
times and waking up to the searing pain of his head bashing against the side of
the carriage, he had decided that sleeping inside the carriage could only be
accomplished by lying on the opposite seat. However, Felicity was already
asleep, her head on his lap, and he had no desire to wake her.

Through the curtain he could see the
soft glow of morning, and his heart fluttered at the realization that every
morning hence he would see Felicity wake. He had been uncertain about her idea
to elope, knowing that time and distance could have changed their feelings once
reunited, but after a day of travel he knew in his heart that his love for her
would never diminish. She was stronger than before, and so excited by their
daring escape from London that he could not help but be caught up in her
enthusiastic plans for their future.

He had told her about the rumour that
Wellington was retreating, and the corresponding rush on the banks. He did not
believe the rumours and had bought as much stock as he could, praying that the
risk would pay off once Napoleon was defeated. If his move played out as he
hoped they would have enough to buy a comfortable property, if her father
refused to support them. They both doubted the duke would be too angry about
their elopement, but Jonathon wanted to be sure that he could provide for
Felicity if her relationship with her father turned sour.

She had assured him that she did not
care if they lived as paupers, as long as they were together. As long as she
had him she would want nothing else. He had been tempted to ask her if she
would want a blanket if the nights were cold and they had no roof over their
heads, but he had not wanted to spoil her declarations with reality. She
understood him as no one else did, and when they confessed the fears they had
encountered while separated they had also assured each other that they were
stronger together than apart. They had barely recognized the passage of the
sun across the sky, and John wondered if the days would always be so short with
Felicity.

“Perhaps we should stop for the night,”
she murmured, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Mmm, I was,” she consented. “But I
dreamed that you were uncomfortable, so I woke up.”

He chuckled softly. “It would not make
sense to stop now, since it is already morning. But we might need to find an
inn tonight,” he agreed, “if only to give the coachman a rest. We have changed
horses several times, but poor Briggs has only rested when we stopped to
stretch our legs.”

Felicity smiled and struggled to sit
up, her ebony hair sticking out on one side and her cheek red from where it had
been pressed against his leg. “For Briggs, then. I am still surprised the
Ravenwoods lent us one of their carriages and coachmen.”

“I am surprised they agreed to assist
us in our elopement.” Jonathon used his fingers to untangle her hair before
brushing the thick black locks behind her ears. “You can still change your
mind.”

“It was my idea,” she pointed out. “I
will tell everyone that when we return to London.”

“You cannot take away all my pride, love,”
he teased. “At least allow me to pretend that I stole the duke’s daughter.”

She shook her head with a wry smile,
her eyes twinkling. “You men are so odd. Perfect gentlemen, but in public you
want to look the cad.”

“Not at all, I just fancy the idea of
stealing the duke’s daughter.”

Felicity studied him carefully,
concerned by the offhand tone in his voice. “Do you not want to elope?”

Jonathon took her into his arms and
pulled her so that she sat across his lap. “I love you, Felicity. I am
eloping because that is what you told me you wanted. I would have waited to
speak to your father, but you believe he will not give his blessing any time
soon. Seeing as how you know the man better than I do, I believe you. I am
patient, but I have been longing to tell the world that I love you. Eloping is
certainly the quickest way to declare my love.”

“But you have asked me several times if
it is really what I want.”

“I do not want you to feel pressured,”
he assured her, reaching up to brush his fingers against her cheek. “You are,
after all, a duke’s daughter. No one expects you to run off. I will run away
with you a thousand times if that is what you want, although it is not in my
nature to do so. I am used to calculated retreats, and that is what I consider
this to be. It is the only way we can achieve victory, and I cannot accept
losing you. The very thought of another man someday taking you as his wife
makes me feel ill.”

“Especially if that man is your
brother,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around his neck so she could rest her
head against his shoulder.

“I am afraid Gregory’s visit to
Avondale was my fault,” he admitted. He gently pressed his lips to her cheek.
“I let him find out about you.”

She lifted her head, her expression
perplexed. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I thought it would spur
your father to bring you back to London. He would want to find out why my
brother wanted to pursue you. I knew your father would allow me to court you
if you returned.”

“But…you do not like my father,” she
managed, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Not at first,” Jonathon hedged. “I
still do not agree with how he has gone about this, but I will give him credit
for wanting what is best for you, and wanting to keep you safe and happy. I
agree with you when you say that he is hiding something from you, but I do
think he has done so for your safety and happiness. If he said we would have
to wait to marry, I think it is due more to what
he
is hiding than any ill feelings he has towards me.”

“But why should we be punished because
of whatever he is hiding from me?”

“It isn’t fair, I agree. I think
eloping is the right thing to do; we can always tell the truth. We were so
overcome with love at seeing each other again that we could not tolerate any
more time apart. Knowing a wedding would take permissions and time, we decided
to elope. The
ton
receives a
romantic story of two lovers who overcame the separation imposed by their
families, and we are only required to throw a reception so everyone can see how
happy we are. Your father will support us, and my brother will refuse to have
anything to do with me,” he finished flatly.