Felice, p.13
Felice, page 13
Christ! “I see. Is there anything else I can pass on to Mr. Andrews that might be of concern? I assure you, we will keep what you have told me to ourselves.”
“It’s no secret that some of my rooms have viewing panels behind the walls where voyeurs may enjoy watching others in the act. He also pays handsomely for time spent there. And oddly, from time to time he requests that drink and food be sent in.”
René was beginning to feel sick.
Madame rose from her chair. “Monsieur Thibodeaux, I suggest you return to Mr. Andrews and inform him not only of what I have said, but that perhaps it would be wise of him to make further inquiries of this Lord Ainsworth in the man’s home country. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
René thanked her for her time and, finding the same guard who’d escorted him waiting just outside the door, he followed the man to the front exit. The sentry couldn’t walk fast enough to satisfy René.
Once outside, he leaned his back against the wall and sucked in fresh air. He hoped to hell the wire he’d sent to Boston had made it onto the next ship to England. He wouldn’t know anything until he received word back, but after what he’d learned tonight, from now on he’d do more than simply follow Ainsworth.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Bastien called out in his native tongue.
René replied in the same language. “Don’t tell me you are headed inside?”
Bastien shook his head. “I was entertaining a young lady at Antoine’s. I saw her to her door and am now headed home. What are you doing here?”
René nodded toward Ainsworth’s horse. “Third one down. Recognize one of Michel’s fine steeds? I just had a most interesting chat with the owner of this splendid establishment.”
Bastien cocked a brow. “And you have much to tell me?”
“Mais oui. Come along home with me. I could use a drink, and you might as well join me; you have a long day ahead of you on the morrow. Brenna is about to become a mother for the seventh time.”
“At last. Mon Dieu, but she was riper than a summer watermelon. I take it Michel will not make it to the docks in the morning and I am needed in his place.”
“Exactly.” Remembering how easily he’d overheard Ainsworth and Felice talking, René kept their chatter along the way about nothing in particular.
They reached the gate to René’s home and slipped inside, only to hear a howling coming from the rear of the property.
“What’s making all the racket?” Bastien asked.
“That, mon frère, is the rascally pup I rescued. I’ve got her locked up, and by the sound of things, she is not happy about it.” They made their way to where Commander was pacing in his stall, tossing his head about and nickering nervously while the pup in the stall next to him howled and cried.
René opened the stall door and out waddled the pup, yipping up a storm. “Can you believe something this small can make such a racket? Hush, you’ll wake the dead.”
Bastien laughed. “I do believe she’s scolding you for leaving her. Good thing she isn’t any taller or your bollocks could be in jeopardy about now.”
René chuckled and picked up the little dog. “Well, aren’t you the sassy one.” You remind me of a certain plucky lady I work alongside. She’s full of sass too. That’s it—I’ve got your name!
The idea of secretly naming the pup after Felice filled him with devilish humor. He turned to Bastien. “Say hello to Miz Sassy. Now come along. I’ve got some good Armagnac on hand, and there’s much to discuss, so you may as well spend the night.”
Chapter Thirteen
Felice stepped away from the ornate mahogany bed while Mrs. Dawes eased newborn Emma from Brenna’s breast and placed the babe in the bedside cradle.
“Would ye mind cracking the windows a wee bit?” Brenna asked. “I could use some fresh air, so I could.”
“Of course.” Felice drew the emerald-green velvet curtains aside, opened all the windows, and then the balcony doors overlooking the back yard. A pleasant cross breeze flooded the room. Somewhere outside, a rooster crowed. “Sounds like the sun will soon rise.”
Brenna smiled. “As will the children, blessed be their energetic little hearts.”
Her melodic Irish accent was music to Felice’s ears. She returned to the bed where Brenna—who’d been given a sponge bath and helped into a crisp, white cotton nightgown—rested atop fresh linens and against a stack of downy pillows. A floral counterpane matching the roses on the wallpaper lay neatly folded across the end of the bed. Overstuffed chairs in the same emerald velvet as the curtains flanked the fireplace.
After slipping a white lace bed jacket over Brenna’s shoulders, Felice braided the new mother’s still-damp hair into a single plait, then drew it over one shoulder. “There you go; toilette is complete.”
Brenna gave Felice’s hand a squeeze. “Ye’ve gone and spoiled me, ye have. As for helpin’ my beautiful baby girl into the world, to say thank you a thousand times would be pitifully lacking.”
Felice’s eyes stung with fresh tears. “Good heavens, I am still in awe of it all.”
Brenna glanced at Mrs. Dawes. “I am truly beholdin’ to you as well.”
Mrs. Dawes blushed. “I would not have traded taking part in this joyous occasion for all the tea in China.”
Michel strolled into the room, a duck waddling behind him. “Have I returned too soon?”
“Perfect timing,” Felice said. “Did you know there’s a duck at your heels?”
He shrugged. “That’s Goose. Follows me everywhere.”
“No, it’s a duck,” Felice responded.
He approached the bed, his gaze locked with his wife’s. “The boys found an egg in an abandoned nest. Hid it in their room and named it before it hatched. Therefore, the blasted thing’s name is Goose.”
His hair was unkempt, bristle shadowed his jaw, and his red-rimmed eyes bore the telltale signs of fatigue, yet an air of elation still clung to him. He took his wife’s hand in his, kissed the back, then tenderly touched his lips to her forehead. “How are you, my dear?”
She gazed up at him, a soft glow in her eyes. “A mite better than when ye last set eyes on me.”
He smiled down at her. “My dear, you were beautiful then. You are even lovelier now.”
Felice had no words to describe the tender exchange taking place between her brother and his wife. She’d never been privy to such intense love. Oh dear, she should give them their privacy.
Mrs. Dawes stood. “If you please, I’ll take a bit of a respite downstairs. The children will soon awaken; should I coordinate meals with Cook? I could also bring you both a tray.”
“Thank you,” Michel said. “While Mrs. Andrews could use a meal brought in, it would be best for me to break the fast with the children. Left on their own, the little devils would likely run amok. Right, darling?”
Brenna, her hand still in Michel’s and her gaze still locked with his, nodded. “Aye.”
“As you wish,” Mrs. Dawes said and headed for the door. She paused. “Miss Andrews is at the shipping office these days, so I’ve little to do as her companion. Would it be acceptable to everyone if I remained here to care for wee Emma and the missus?”
Brenna sighed. “What welcome words. Are you agreeable, Felice?”
“Certainly.”
“Then so ’tis,” Brenna said. She glanced at the duck hunkered down beside Michel. “Fair warning, Mrs. Dawes—our six children will seem more like a dozen, and they play host to an odd menagerie, they do.”
A smile split Mrs. Dawes’s face. “I was raised in just such a home.” She scurried from the room.
“I should take my leave as well,” Felice said. “You two . . . make that three . . . need your privacy.”
“I can wake Donal to escort you home,” Michel said. “But I’d rather you remain in the guest quarters for some well-deserved rest. Once the tribe is up, however, you’ll likely find a few climbing into your bed, books in hand. They know no shame.”
She laughed. How very good it felt to be among a jolly family.
Michel studied her through eyes gone soft. “You’ve been a godsend, Felice. I didn’t know you had it in you to deliver a child into the world.”
“Do stop. You’re about to get me all weepy again.” She wiped at a corner of her eye. “Lord, what an incredible miracle life is.”
Growing quiet, she observed the touching scene before her. “I rarely envy anything or anyone, but tonight, I must admit, I am envious of the precious life you two share.”
She swept her hand to the babe in the cradle. “Brenna was incredibly stoic tonight, Michel. You married an amazing woman.” She sniffed. “Oh bother, now that the excitement is over, I can’t seem to stop the tears. Joyous though they are.”
The duck quacked.
Felice laughed again. “Even the duck is contented. By the way, there was a small goat wandering the stairwell a few hours ago. I don’t know where it got off to, but with the children asleep, should I go look for it and get it outside?”
“That would be Blackie the pygmy goat,” Brenna said. “Tommy’s had it since its birth. The little beast makes the worst bleatin’ noise if it doesn’t settle in with the boys every night. Now there’s Tad who won’t let the rescued pup out of his arms. Colleen wants to hunt René down and talk him out of the other one.”
Michel folded his tall frame into the chair beside the cradle and ran his fingers lightly over his daughter’s cap of thick auburn hair. “Isn’t our Emma beautiful?”
“Aye, so she is,” Brenna said before Felice could speak again.
“Really, I should leave you two alone,” she said. “I’m intruding.”
Michel rose from the chair. “Stay with Brenna until Mrs. Dawes returns, if you will. I’ll be down the hall in Donal’s room, grabbing a quick nap, should you need me.”
He departed with the duck quacking along behind. Felice turned to Brenna. “Shouldn’t you try to get some sleep?”
Brenna shook her head. “Nay, I’m wide awake.”
Emma squeaked.
Felice rushed to the cradle.
A beatific smile graced Brenna’s lips. “She’s only dreamin’ of her next meal, she is. Do take a seat.”
Felice took the chair beside the bed and next to the cradle. Needlessly, she tucked an edge of the blanket around Emma. “I suppose with six others, you’re quite used to these little noises, but I find them rather terrifying. Did you in the beginning as well?”
“Aye,” Brenna said. “But after the first one, ye get used to their signals. Do you want a large family?”
The question startled Felice. “Why . . . I hadn’t given it much thought. I mean, Mayhew and I have certainly discussed. . .”
No, we have not.
“What I mean is, we naturally assume there will be offspring. At least an heir and a spare, as is expected of the nobility. Heavens. It sounds like I’m not keen on having children, which isn’t true. It’s just that I’d been traveling around the world for some time when Mayhew happened along. After a whirlwind courtship, I found myself back here, so not a lot of planning has gone into our future yet. But of course, I would very much like a family.”
She took in a ragged breath and begged her suddenly curdling stomach to settle. What was wrong with her? But she knew darn well what was amiss. Not nine hours ago she’d been kissed by another man—a slow, deep, passionate kiss such as her fiancé had never given her.
And she’d liked it.
Too much.
Heaven help her.
Brenna’s gaze held steady. “Do you love your Lord Ainsworth?”
The blunt question jolted Felice. “What’s love anyway?” she blurted out.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, as if doing so would take back her words. What’s love? I’ve just witnessed it, for God’s sake! “I don’t know where that came from. I suppose I do . . . I . . . but of course I am in love with him.”
“Has he confessed his love for you?”
“Indeed, he has.” She placed her hands in her lap and fiddled with her fingers.
Brenna studied her for a long while, then said, “Ye’ve never had a blood sister, but I have. We were never apart until the day I sailed away. We could talk about anythin’, knowing our secrets were safe. I could use such a sister here in America.”
“As could I,” Felice breathed.
“Ye’re a strong and independent woman,” Brenna said. “So tell me, what drew ye to someone like Lord Ainsworth to begin with?”
“We met at a fabulous dinner party soon after I landed in London . . . from Paris. As it turned out, the hostess had arranged the seating in hopes of making a match. I was quite taken with him straightaway. Not only was he handsome and debonair, he possessed a keen wit, high intelligence, and enough charm to dazzle me. The next morning, my hotel room was filled with flowers. Always the gentleman, he went about courting me in the most wondrous ways. I grew exceedingly fond of him and quite comfortable in his rather proper English world, so when he proposed, of course I said yes. He insisted on formally asking Papa for my hand, which is why we are here.”
“Gracious, I would think most any woman would be thrilled to become his fiancée,” Brenna said. “But then, ye are no ordinary woman, are you? Why are you looking so ill at ease of a sudden? What’s amiss?”
Absolutely nothing, other than I need to dismiss that encounter with René, shake off the guilt from my Paris liaison, track down the blackguard Mr. Abbott, and get some sleep.
“At the moment, I’m feeling somewhat perplexed about . . . well . . . about most everything in my life. I’m certain it’s all the excitement of the past few hours. With fatigue setting in, I doubt I’m thinking straight.”
“Tell me what ye think might have you at sixes and sevens.”
If it’s honesty she wants, honesty she will get—without mention of a certain Cajun rogue who’s had my head spinning.
“Several things, I suppose. It’s obvious Mayhew is a fish out of water here. He doesn’t fit in at all, which I believe rather distorts my perspective. Another thing is that my work has me buried in numbers all day, which is something he has little interest in and gives us virtually nothing to discuss. To make matters worse, we only see each other in the evenings, when I am quite fatigued and he is eager to make a night of it.”
“And once ye’re back in England, ye figure things won’t be so muddled?”
She didn’t dare discuss the effect René’s kiss had had on her. Had it somehow shifted her outlook even further?
Dear God, let my confusion be temporary.
“Once back on English soil, I feel certain things will straighten out.”
“Now ye’re fair chewin’ on your bottom lip. What else is givin’ ye conniptions?”
Felice tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Since we agreed to share confidences, I . . . I would like to bring up a rather . . . ah . . . indelicate subject.”
Brenna nodded. “Isn’t that what close-knit sisters discuss?”
Felice dragged her bottom lip between her teeth again, then realizing what she’d done, set her mouth to rights. “I . . . I need to be quite frank.”
“I am a-listenin’.”
Felice closed her eyes and breathed in a lungful of courage, then spat out the words. “Mayhew is intent on saving my virtue until the marriage bed. Therefore, the physical aspect of our relationship has been . . . ah . . . rather chaste.” She gulped. “The trouble is, he assumes I am an innocent, which I am not.”
At her disclosure, her stomach lurched and her chest tightened until she could barely manage a decent breath. “I feel so guilty.”
She set a steady gaze on Brenna. “I have reached the conclusion that it is only right to confess to him. Still, I fear the consequences, so I delay.”
Brenna scoffed. “Is he himself an innocent? Of course not, yet he expects ye to meet him at the altar as a chaste woman for him to deflower? Bah! I would say nothing.”
“You don’t care much for him, do you?”
“I cannot say as I do or do not like the man after spendin’ only one evening with him. Truth be told, I cannot imagine ye livin’ the rest of yer days in England. I cannot see a spitfire like yerself takin’ much joy in the restricted life of a duchess. Which you will be once his elderly father knocks on the pearly gates. Ye’ve family here, Felice. And a familiar life that gives ye comfort.”
“Indeed, I do feel at home here, but remember, I have kin in England as well. Trevor and Cameron’s families are greater in number than my relatives here.”
“But they’re livin’ in Liverpool, while ye’ll be expected to live on yer husband’s country estates, with visits to London few and far between. Do ye fancy such a life?”
Felice was back to chewing on her lip. “I felt comfortable with the notion at the time.”
“It’s one thing to be courtin’, another to be wed. Not only will yer life not be yer own, ye won’t even be allowed to tend to your own children. Won’t get to know them, so t’speak.”
The feeling of hollowness in Felice’s stomach spread throughout her body. “Of course I will know my own children.”
Brenna shook her head. “We raise our own in this household, Felice. We do not cast them off to nannies on some third-floor nursery to be nae seen nor heard, as happens to those born to nobility. Yer wee ones won’t even be allowed to break bread with ye ’til they’re grown. Any sons ye might have will be trotted off to boarding schools, where ye shan’t see them except fer a few holidays a year. Little more than strangers they’ll be when they come to visit.”
Felice’s heart dropped to her toes. She didn’t want to hear this, but a part of her knew Brenna had the right of it. “You have just given birth to a beautiful child. We should be speaking of this joyous event instead of discussing my plight. Also, I am curious as to how you and my brother came to meet. All I know is that you emigrated from Ireland with your husband, who then passed away.”
