wasn’t,” Vi chuckled, “but tales
are being told, and I wanted to find out for myself.”
“Tales?” Felicity asked, but her
father had spotted her and she could see Andover making his way through the guests
to reach her. A twinge of satisfaction, that she was the one he sought, chosen,
echoed through her.
“There she is,” Lord Westhaven, her
father, arrived first, gesturing with his glass. “The one child who is happy to
visit me in the library, debate the arcane books we read, share a quiet look
when the family explodes with drama.” He winked at his wife who had joined
them, a positive crowd of family. “Our little Jenny Wren.”
She ignored her father’s pet name,
more concerned with the thousand butterflies that filled her. Vi might
overshadow a little Jenny Wren, but this was a moment she’d dreamed of, the
announcement of her betrothal.
Thomas limped away from the mantle,
a snide smile on his lips. She caught his eye, he saluted her, blew her a kiss.
Andover reached her, no smile on
his lips. In fact, he looked decidedly grim, as he bowed to both her and her
Aunt.
“Felicity. Lady Stanfield.” The
starkness in his eyes softened when he leaned toward her and whispered. “Jenny
Wren?”
An awful nickname, made worse once
Lady Jane unearthed it for the whole school. Somehow, the way it slipped off
Andover’s tongue slid straight to her heart.
They both jumped when a closed fan
thumped his arm. “Surely you see what a little wren our Felicity is?” Vi
snipped. Andover shot her aunt a glance that made Thomas’s fury look like a
toddler’s grimace.
Vi ignored it. “Andover, we are
parched. Please do get us a sherry.”
Sherry,
not champagne?
Eyes narrowed, he gave a curt nod.
“Of course. I’ve been remiss. My pleasure.” He turned to Felicity and asked,
“Will you come with me to fetch the drinks? There is something I would like to
discuss with you.”
Her intelligence fluttered away as
she stared at him, ready to say, yes,
please, and I would go anywhere with
you.
Vi saved her from gawking. “Now
Andover, do let me have a moment.”
“No, Vivian.” Lord Westhaven said.
Felicity blinked, realizing her
parents did not look ready to make any sort of announcement. Her father’s blue
eyes lacked their normal sparkle and her mother…well, her mother often looked
like a boiling pot with its lid on when Vi was present. She was not concerned
about the expression her mother wore, but the dark expressions of the two men
worried her.
“What?” she asked, prepared for the
worst.
****
They were not going to announce the
engagement.
Foolish fantasy.
Numb, Felicity sat between their
neighbors, Sir Bertram and Mr. Andrews. At least Andover didn’t look pleased,
which went a small way toward consoling her.
Neither did her parents.
“Such sad news,” Mr. Andrews was
saying.
Yes, it was sad. Felicity sighed,
caught in her own thoughts, oblivious to whatever Mr. Andrews referenced. She
wrinkled her brow, careless of her mother’s warnings about lines in the skin,
and then thought to send her brother a glare. He winked. She sighed again, with
a bit more relish.
Thomas had convinced their father
to give Felicity more time to adjust to the betrothal before making it public.
A sound idea, if she weren’t so contrary.
She wanted this marriage but knew,
in all honesty, she must introduce her work. If he loved her, that would be
enough.
If he loved her.
He proposed without one opportunity
to learn how she spent her days. Thomas had a lengthy list of activities to
keep his friends occupied during the day. In the evenings, she’d remained
quiet, a listener. He’d need to speak of sorrow and loss, newfound
responsibility, common to his father and brother, but not him. His life had
changed, his path readjusted. He was a man in transition. He spoke, she
listened, and when the words ran dry they sat in silence, allowing thoughts to
settle.
She offered him the opportunity to
sort it all
are being told, and I wanted to find out for myself.”
“Tales?” Felicity asked, but her
father had spotted her and she could see Andover making his way through the guests
to reach her. A twinge of satisfaction, that she was the one he sought, chosen,
echoed through her.
“There she is,” Lord Westhaven, her
father, arrived first, gesturing with his glass. “The one child who is happy to
visit me in the library, debate the arcane books we read, share a quiet look
when the family explodes with drama.” He winked at his wife who had joined
them, a positive crowd of family. “Our little Jenny Wren.”
She ignored her father’s pet name,
more concerned with the thousand butterflies that filled her. Vi might
overshadow a little Jenny Wren, but this was a moment she’d dreamed of, the
announcement of her betrothal.
Thomas limped away from the mantle,
a snide smile on his lips. She caught his eye, he saluted her, blew her a kiss.
Andover reached her, no smile on
his lips. In fact, he looked decidedly grim, as he bowed to both her and her
Aunt.
“Felicity. Lady Stanfield.” The
starkness in his eyes softened when he leaned toward her and whispered. “Jenny
Wren?”
An awful nickname, made worse once
Lady Jane unearthed it for the whole school. Somehow, the way it slipped off
Andover’s tongue slid straight to her heart.
They both jumped when a closed fan
thumped his arm. “Surely you see what a little wren our Felicity is?” Vi
snipped. Andover shot her aunt a glance that made Thomas’s fury look like a
toddler’s grimace.
Vi ignored it. “Andover, we are
parched. Please do get us a sherry.”
Sherry,
not champagne?
Eyes narrowed, he gave a curt nod.
“Of course. I’ve been remiss. My pleasure.” He turned to Felicity and asked,
“Will you come with me to fetch the drinks? There is something I would like to
discuss with you.”
Her intelligence fluttered away as
she stared at him, ready to say, yes,
please, and I would go anywhere with
you.
Vi saved her from gawking. “Now
Andover, do let me have a moment.”
“No, Vivian.” Lord Westhaven said.
Felicity blinked, realizing her
parents did not look ready to make any sort of announcement. Her father’s blue
eyes lacked their normal sparkle and her mother…well, her mother often looked
like a boiling pot with its lid on when Vi was present. She was not concerned
about the expression her mother wore, but the dark expressions of the two men
worried her.
“What?” she asked, prepared for the
worst.
****
They were not going to announce the
engagement.
Foolish fantasy.
Numb, Felicity sat between their
neighbors, Sir Bertram and Mr. Andrews. At least Andover didn’t look pleased,
which went a small way toward consoling her.
Neither did her parents.
“Such sad news,” Mr. Andrews was
saying.
Yes, it was sad. Felicity sighed,
caught in her own thoughts, oblivious to whatever Mr. Andrews referenced. She
wrinkled her brow, careless of her mother’s warnings about lines in the skin,
and then thought to send her brother a glare. He winked. She sighed again, with
a bit more relish.
Thomas had convinced their father
to give Felicity more time to adjust to the betrothal before making it public.
A sound idea, if she weren’t so contrary.
She wanted this marriage but knew,
in all honesty, she must introduce her work. If he loved her, that would be
enough.
If he loved her.
He proposed without one opportunity
to learn how she spent her days. Thomas had a lengthy list of activities to
keep his friends occupied during the day. In the evenings, she’d remained
quiet, a listener. He’d need to speak of sorrow and loss, newfound
responsibility, common to his father and brother, but not him. His life had
changed, his path readjusted. He was a man in transition. He spoke, she
listened, and when the words ran dry they sat in silence, allowing thoughts to
settle.
She offered him the opportunity to
sort it all
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