Twice Upon a Time (A Danby Family Novella) Page 2

  FELICITY’S sister sat on the edge of the bed they shared as she packed. Meredith didn’t speak. Her wide cocoa eyes followed Felicity’s movements as she moved to and from the wardrobe. Placing the last item in the battered valise lying on the bed, Felicity sighed. She had very few articles of clothing appropriate for the journey, and only a single decent gown Mama had refashioned from older dresses that once belonged to her. Although their mother had become an excellent seamstress since Papa’s death, the quality of the satin and lace were nowhere near what one would expect a baroness to wear, particularly to an audience with a duke.

  Lord Penlow would have to accept that her sparse wardrobe was part of the risk he assumed, an independent variable beyond her control, and certainly not a cause to dissolve their agreement.

  Felicity had negotiated her terms before making a commitment to participate in the baron’s tomfoolery. Lord Penlow would pay her whether or not the Duke of Danby believed their story, so long as she did nothing to rouse His Grace’s suspicions. Clearly, her lack of an appropriate wardrobe would not fall under the category of her fault.

  “I think I have everything,” Felicity said as she closed the valise. “Wish me luck.”

  Meredith tipped her head to the side. “Why do you need luck?”

  She paused. Meredith was a pretty girl of fourteen, with silken locks as rich as mahogany and the delicate features of an angel. She would be a beauty without equal by the time she came of age, and with a decent dowry, she was assured to marry at least a shopkeeper or, God willing, capture the notice of a wealthy merchant.

  Felicity smoothed a hand over her sister’s hair. “You are right, Meri. We no longer require luck. Fortune has found us at last.”

  Meredith captured her hand and clung to it. “Why must you leave Mama and me alone at Christmas?”

  Felicity carefully slipped out of her sister’s hold and avoided meeting her direct gaze. “Mrs. Livingston cannot help when she has her baby.”

  “But I have never heard of Mrs. Livingston. Or Mr. Livingston either.”

  Grasping the handle of the valise, Felicity lifted it from the bed. “Yes, well. You cannot be acquainted with everyone in London.” Especially with the fictitious Mr. and Mrs. Livingston who were traveling to Yorkshire on urgent family matters when the lady should be lying in wait.

  “Leave your sister be, Meri. She has an important task to perform.”

  Felicity started at the sound of her mother’s voice. Mama stood in the threshold, her hands braced against the doorframe to steady herself. Arthritis had settled into her knees, just as it had invaded her fingers, making the simple act of walking a chore some days.

  Her heart ached for her mother, the woman who had kept their family afloat when despair had threatened to overtake them. She hated lying to Mama, but she would worry less if she believed Felicity had a proper chaperone for the journey. Mrs. Livingston was a necessary fabrication.

  “Perhaps we shall travel to Bath when I return so Mama can take the waters.”

  Meredith perked up. “Do you really mean it? We can go on holiday again?”

  She gathered her sister in a hug. “Only if you allow me to travel with the Livingstons. We need the money Mr. Livingston will pay me for tending his wife.”

  Her sister hopped up from the bed to follow Felicity to the bedchamber door. “May I have a new travel dress, too? Or do you think a walking dress is more practical?”

  Felicity laughed from the sheer pleasure of knowing Meredith wouldn’t have to choose between the two. “If you behave for Mama, you may have both.”

  Meredith squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh, Felicity. You are the best sister in the whole world.”

  Felicity stopped at the threshold where her mother waited to say goodbye. “I will miss you both. I expect to be back in London by the new year.”

  “Write to me once you are settled,” Mama said.

  “I will.” Felicity placed a kiss on her mother’s soft cheek. “I must go now. The hack will be here soon.”

  She scooted past her mother then headed for the stairwell. As she reached the foyer, footsteps pounded down the stairs behind her, and she wheeled around to find her sister.

  Meredith held out her black bag. “You forgot your instruments. Won’t you need them to care for Mrs. Livingston?”

  Warmth spread into Felicity’s cheeks. “Indeed. How silly of me.”

  ~*~

  Julian’s cousin wiped away the condensation from the carriage window and peered out the slash he had created. They were waiting for the pretend Lady Penlow outside of Lord Orrick Theatre, just as her missive had indicated they should.

  “What time is it?” Pen asked.

  Julian frowned. “It’s high time you purchased a watch of your own.” Still, he pulled his watch from his pocket to check the time again. “She is ten minutes late now. Perhaps she has come to her senses and will not show.”

  “She wouldn’t dare leave me in such a bind, would she?” His cousin turned a pleading look Julian’s direction. “Please, tell me she wouldn’t.”

  “I know nothing about the woman, but I had the distinct impression she needs the ludicrous amount you offered to pay her. I have no idea what you were thinking.”

  “I was thinking you had chosen her, so she must be perfect for my purposes. I couldn’t allow her to refuse me.”

  Julian returned his watch to his pocket and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension building there. How had he become entrenched in this foolishness? They would arrive at Danby Castle in three days, and he didn’t look forwards to facing the duke’s wrath once he figured out the truth. Julian had always gotten on rather well his grandfather, and he didn’t wish to fall out of the duke’s favor.

  “Have you thought about what you will tell Grandfather?”

  Pen shrugged. “I’m sure you will think of something.”

  “Me? I never agreed to any of this, you rotter.”

  “But as you have been reminding me for days, my ideas are rubbish.” He bolted upright on the carriage bench. “Oh, look. Here comes my bride.”

  “You really should insist upon knowing her name,” Julian said. “We are running out of creative ways to address the woman.”

  Pen climbed from the carriage then Julian joined him on the walkway to watch her approach. The young woman boasted a lively step, her dark curls bouncing around the brim of her hat. Her cheeks and pert nose were reddened from the chill wind. As she neared, she flashed a brilliant smile. This gray, winter morning she appeared as welcoming as a ray of spring sunlight. Nothing like the hellcat she had been several nights ago, but Julian knew not to underestimate her. His body had healed, but his memory remained sharp.

  “Did you walk to the theatre?” Pen asked with a scowl.

  She drew up short, her good humor fading. “Well, I didn’t fly, my lord.”

  “Perhaps I will tell Grandfather you are a mute,” Pen grumbled. “You may assume the role immediately.”

  She ignored Julian’s cousin. “Good morning, Mr. Beckford.”

  He bowed to her. “Lady Penlow.”

  The footman stepped forward to take her belongings.

  “I will keep my black bag, thank you.”

  “What do you store in there?” Pen asked. “Instruments of torture?”

  A mischievous grin spread across her full lips. “Perhaps.”

  Julian offered his hand to assist her into the carriage. She held tightly to him as she navigated the steps. Her scent was fleeting as she brushed by him, elusive and yet recognizable at the same time. Was it lemons and chocolate? An odd, but pleasing combination. Something hazily familiar lingered in his mind, a memory beyond his grasp.

  “Do you ever have the sense you have met someone before,” he asked, “but you have no idea when or where?”

  She settled on the carriage bench and smoothed her skirts. Amber eyes—not brown as he had supposed the other night—met his gaze. “No, Mr.
Beckford. I always recall when and where I’ve met someone of interest.”

  The expanding sensation in his chest caught him off guard, but he surrendered to the warm feeling, allowing a smile for her. “You know my name. Now do be kind enough to tell me yours.”

  “Felicity,” she said softly. “Felicity Halliday.”

  Halliday. The name had a familiar ring. Perhaps he had seen her perform on stage before he left London.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Halliday.”

  Pen nudged him. “For pity’s sake, move aside before I catch my death. I’m certain Miss Halliday does not wish to be widowed before she has collected her fee.”

  “Certainly not! However, afterwards is still up for negotiation.”

  Julian laughed. The minx would keep his cousin on his toes. Funny that Julian should experience a pang of envy.

  ~4~

  FELICITY studied the two gentlemen across the carriage. Mr. Beckford met her gaze and held it. The slightly jaded sheen in his miraculously blue eyes spoke of his worldliness. What had he seen in his time abroad?

  A few weeks after Mr. Beckford’s aunt had died, Felicity learned of his new position with the Foreign Office. He had already departed for India when she paid a visit to his uncle, Vicar Whitton. She had been worried about the vicar after his wife’s death, and unable to erase the image of his pained expression from her mind. The gentleman had appeared so frail in his grief, and she feared he too might succumb to illness as spouses often did after a loss.

  Papa had dismissed her concerns and warned her against making a nuisance of herself, but Felicity had followed her heart. How could she hold vigil at the lady’s bedside, acting as her nurse for days, without another thought for her family? Mr. Beckford had certainly remained at the forefront of her mind for weeks after her experience.

  She saw little familial similarities between her traveling companions aside from both gentlemen being uncommonly handsome. Lord Penlow’s head was covered in pale blonde curls and he had a soft appearance to his face. Felicity was hard pressed not to compare herself unfavorably to the gentleman. It seemed unfair that a man should be blessed with a beauty she didn’t possess.

  Mr. Beckford, on the other hand, was golden blonde and his square jaw lent him a rugged appearance that made her heart race at what could only be considered a dangerous pace. She placed her fingers over her wrist to feel her pulse. It beat strongly.

  The corner of Mr. Beckford’s mouth slanted upwards. “Is something wrong, Miss Halliday?”

  She dropped her wrist. “No. Just a little discomfort in my joint.”

  “You are a bit young to suffer from gout, don’t you think?”

  Rolling her wrist, she detected a slight soreness, so she wasn’t lying. “I may have bruised it the other night.”

  His eyebrows pulled together. “When Pen tossed you in the carriage?”

  “Maybe. Or I might have hit it somewhere in the course of my day.”

  “Let me see.” Mr. Beckford leaned across the carriage and captured her wrist, pushed her sleeve up, and gently twisted her arm for a better view. Her heart launched into a flurry of erratic beats.

  She wiggled from his grasp and pulled her sleeve to cover her exposed flesh. “It’s nothing serious, sir.”

  “But there is a bluish cast to your skin. You were injured the other night.” He sat back against the seat and aimed a glare at his cousin.

  Lord Penlow kept his face turned to the window, his mouth set in a straight line. He appeared oblivious to their presence and exchange.

  Felicity didn’t wish to rehash the injuries incurred that evening. Hers was minor in comparison to the ones she had inflicted on the men, so she initiated a change in topic.

  “What is our history, my lord?” she asked Lord Penlow.

  When he didn’t respond, Mr. Beckford elbowed him in the side.

  He jerked around and blinked across the carriage at her. “Did you say our history, Miss Halliday? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Well, we must have a history. No one will believe you found me in an alley and proposed marriage.”

  “No, I suppose you are correct.”

  “Where did we meet?”

  His mouth opened and closed. “I… We met at—Blast! How should I know? I haven’t thought this all through yet.”

  “Fancy that,” Mr. Beckford said.

  Before the men started arguing again, Felicity intervened. “Allow me to make a suggestion, my lord. We met at church.”

  Lord Penlow’s eyes flew open wide. “Church? Does that not seem a bit...disrespectful, seeking a marriage match when I should be paying attention to the sermon?”

  Felicity grinned. “If you will recall, I chastised you for your behavior when you called on me the next day. It was unbecoming the way you gaped at me from across the aisle.”

  Mr. Beckford chuckled. “He truly couldn’t help himself, Miss Halliday. Never had he seen a lovelier vision. You wore yellow that day and a smart bonnet with daisies.”

  “You are mistaken, sir. I was dressed in pink with carnations on my hat.”

  “Yes.” He snapped his fingers. “How could I forget? You wore yellow the day he called. Pen thought it the perfect shade for your complexion and rich, brown locks. He likened the color to molasses.”

  Felicity made a face at Lord Penlow. “Really, my lord? Molasses? How dull your imagination.”

  The baron looked between the two of them as if they’d gone mad. “I would never make such a ridiculous claim. I would compare your hair to luxurious cashmere in which any man would love to become entwined and lose himself.”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks in spite of the cold confines of the carriage.

  Mr. Beckford narrowed his eyes at his cousin. “You are embarrassing Miss Halliday.”

  Lord Penlow inclined his head her direction, a dispassionate expression on his face. “My apologies. I simply intended to make a point. I can be creative when the occasion calls for it.”

  “I would hardly call your comparison original.”

  “Cashmere, indeed,” she murmured. “I urge you to be more convincing in your grandfather’s presence.”

  Lord Penlow flicked a speck of lint from his coat. “There is no need for false modesty. Julian chose the most beautiful of the lot. I’m not surprised. He has always had an eye for actresses.”

  “Be quiet, Pen.” Mr. Beckford thumped him on the arm.

  “Ouch!” The baron rubbed his shoulder where he’d received the blow. “What has gotten into you, Jul?”

  “Hold your tongue for once,” Mr. Beckford snapped.

  “Very well.” With a huff, Lord Penlow turned back to the window.

  As silence descended over the carriage, she considered what the baron had said about actresses. He had spotted her as she left the theatre after being summoned to evaluate a sprained ankle. Surely he didn’t think she was an actress.

  Felicity was a midwife by trade, but she had learned medicine by her father’s side. She was just as adept at treating injuries and diagnosing illnesses as she was at catching babies. The women at the theatre and brothels cared very little that her gender prohibited her from calling herself a doctor. They preferred her gentleness and acceptance of their lots in life. Felicity would never judge a woman for surviving by the only means available to her.

  “Pardon me, my lord,” she said, but Lord Penlow didn’t look in her direction. “I think we may have a misunderstanding. Do you think I’m an actress?”

  The baron groaned. “Don’t tell me you are a whore.”

  “Pen!”

  “Good heavens, no!” Felicity’s hand rested over her heart.

  Lord Penlow glared at Mr. Beckford. “Well, there were whores passing through the alley. If she is not an actress...”

  “I am neither, sir.”

  The baron crossed his arms over his chest. “Yet you exited the theatre after the performance ended.”r />
  “And that makes me an actress? If a man exits the mews, does that make him a donkey?”

  Mr. Beckford grinned. “In Penlow’s case, yes.”

  “If you are not an actress, then tell me what you are,” Lord Penlow demanded.

  She glanced at Mr. Beckford. Would he remember her if she told the truth? Part of her hoped he would, but she feared he might be disappointed in her for stooping to lies in order to support her family. Still, she couldn’t deny Lord Penlow’s request.

  “I am a midwife.”

  “Egads!” The baron fell against the seatback and slapped his forehead. “Why me? Why must this always happen to me?”

  Well, one of them was a gifted thespian. “Do you often abduct actresses, my lord?”

  He pursed his lips, then returned to staring out the window.

  The place between Mr. Beckford’s brows crinkled as he stared at her. For a long time, she waited, holding her breath and hoping recognition would light his eyes.

  Eventually, he shrugged. “Miss Halliday carries herself well. I still believe she was the best choice, even if she has no acting experience.”

  Felicity sighed. What did it matter if he realized who she was or not? Their situation would be the same. Mr. Beckford would still be a member of the upper echelons, and she would continue to be unworthy of his notice.

  ~5~

  DUSK was settling over the small village when the traveling party arrived at Three Bucks Inn. Julian climbed from the carriage and stretched his arms overhead to release the tightness that had invaded his body during the long hours of confinement. He’d thought the first day of their journey to Danby Castle would never end.

  Pen had been in a black mood the entire time and rarely spoke unless he had a grievance. The road was too rutted. The carriage was too cold. The journey was too long. Julian had never seen his cousin in such a state. Pen had always been light of heart, but the summons from Danby had transformed him into someone Julian barely recognized.

  It was true Julian hadn’t had seen his cousin for some time, but Pen had traveled to India twice during Julian’s appointment and stayed with him for several months. Surely, Pen hadn’t changed so drastically in a year.