Chapter Sixteen

F elton raced across the field, one final rock wall the only obstacle between Nyx and his morning meal. They cleared the wall easily and bore down on the stables of Denton Hall. Slowing his horse the last part of the way, he noticed a coach parked beside the stables. It didn’t take long to recognize his parents’ crest. If it were his mother, the day would go from poor to hell. She should be tending her guests.

Bringing Nyx to a halt, he jumped down and handed the reins to a groom. “Be sure to walk him and rub him down before allowing him his oats.”

As the man walked his horse away, he strode into the house, his anger already building. His mother’s house party be damned. That she couldn’t understand Rose would not marry before attending Belinda’s school didn’t mean he had to be an accomplice in her efforts. He’d been gone four days. She could muddle her way through the last three. Striding through the rarely used dining room into the parlor, he found it empty.

His butler approached. “The Marquess of Enderly is in the library, my lord.”

He gave the man a nod, then strode across the entry to the library, where he found his father sipping tea and reading the newspaper. He halted in the doorway. “She sent you.”

His father set the paper on the small table before him. “Of course she did. You expected no less.”

Some of his anger dissipated. “Was it because she couldn’t leave her guests or because she thought you would do better at convincing me to return?”

“Both.” His father gestured to the chair across from him.

The table, usually for chess, held a tray of tea and his favorite breakfast food. Taking the chair his father indicated, he ignored the tea and grabbed up a cake. “I see she even sent Cook’s rout cakes.”

“She wants you to return.”

He waved off the request. “I know that, but why? Why is my presence so important?” He held his hand up. “No, I know. Her numbers are off now.” As if numbers were the most important part of a gathering. It wasn’t the numbers—it was the people. People like Dory who made a house party successful.

His father grinned. “I always said you were intelligent.” He took another sip of tea.

“You can tell her I won’t be returning. We all know, even she knows, that Rose isn’t going to garner a proposal in the next three days. The entire party has been for naught.”

“Yes, but she still hopes.” His father lowered his brows. “You didn’t place a bet at White’s on Rose not receiving a proposal, did you?”

“No, but I believe Sommerset did, not that many bet against him, which is disappointing. That is why I agree with you. I think Rose should have at least a year at the Belinda School for Curious Ladies.”

His father eyed him shrewdly. “You do? I thought you were skeptical of the school.”

He shrugged, not willing to admit his change of opinion had a lot to do with a student from there. “I was, but I’ve made further inquiries and discussed it with Rose. I believe it would be good for her chances to marry.”

“That could well be the case. One of the students, Lady Dorothea, has a number of men partnering her in the games your mother devised. Just last night, Lord Leighhall insisted on—”

“Leighhall?” The man was an arrogant dandy who thought all women should be his playthings. “The man is a horse’s ass.”

His father chuckled. “Yes, it appears Lady Dorothea feels the same, yet he’s one of four men vying for her attentions and your mother says she needs you to make the other ladies feel special too.”

There was only one lady he wished to make feel special, but he was not the man for her. Dory deserved someone who didn’t have to search for the small pieces of his life that made him happy.

“Why did you leave so abruptly? Did something happen? Because I know there was nothing here that required your attention.”

His father’s question caught him by surprise. Yes, something had happened. He’d lost control of his baser instincts and had almost sabotaged his own goal. If he had stayed, he wouldn’t have been able to remain detached and in control. “I grew bored.”

“Felton, you’re always bored. There was something else that sent you running like a rabbit set upon by the hounds.”

He didn’t like the analogy. “That’s an apt image since Mother is constantly sending women after me.”

His father picked up his cup and took a sip before letting out a sigh. “I know it’s difficult for you to understand. She so wished you to marry a Mabry, but when they all found husbands, she despaired. She just wants you to be happy.”

There was that word again—happy. He rose, unable to sit still any longer, and walked to the tall window to stare out at the sloping lawn that ended in forest. “I was happy. With Lady Belinda, I found happiness. She was perfect in every way.”

“Son, I do not know how it feels to lose the one you love, but I do know you cannot go through life looking for another Lady Belinda.”

When his father paused, he turned to see his parent contemplating the teacup. “I’m well aware of that, which is why I’m not.

“Are you sure?” His father studied him. “There is no other Lady Belinda. She was unique. Just like your mother is unique, though she is far from perfect.”

Felton snorted but didn’t respond. How his father lived with the woman was beyond his comprehension.

“If you search for perfection, you will go to your grave alone. You would do better to seek out someone who is different from Lady Belinda. Someone whose own uniqueness can make you happy. That, my son, is why I married your mother.”

He tried and failed to picture his father courting his mother. First, his father rarely expended effort on anything unless it was very important and then it was a slow process. Second, his mother never stopped moving, jumping from one project, one event, one guest to the next without stopping. But judging by the soft smile that played about his father’s lips, he spoke the truth. It was a revelation he planned to cogitate on at some later date.

His father rose and brushed the crumbs from his waistcoat. “I will expect you to return to Sunnydale for the ball this evening. It is the culmination of your mother’s efforts, and you will be there out of respect for her. If you wish to arrive earlier, that is your decision.” The tone, so different from a moment ago, brooked no argument.

With no choice in the matter, he gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” His father strolled toward the entryway but stopped short and turned. “It will make my wife very happy .” Then, without another word, he strode out.

He shook his head at his father’s retreating form. The man’s expectations were far simpler than his own. But he was right about Belinda. There would never be another woman as perfect as she. His gaze moved to his desk, knowing the miniature portrait of her lay safely in the top drawer. As much as he would like to spend time reminiscing about her, he had a ball to prepare for and an overnight at least.

Striding out of his library, he forced himself to ascend the grand stair and give instructions to his valet to pack once more. Then he returned downstairs to walk the path through his own wild garden. There was no order to the array of flowers and shrubs, his gardeners having strict orders to allow the plants to ramble as they would, trimming them to keep them healthy. He had sworn long ago that he would never light them at night, as he enjoyed them perfectly well during the day. Their lack of order made him think of Dory’s thoughts and his step slowed.

He needed a plan to navigate the evening. Obviously, avoiding Dory was paramount. He could spend very little time with his mother, but there was no hope for it but that he must dance attendance on the other ladies. That would allow the men interested in Dory to keep her entertained. It was just a ball, after all.

Except Leighhall. Dearling may be weak, Manning arrogant, and Retfield too patient, but Leighhall was dangerous. He would keep his eye on the man. That Dory did not seem happy with the man’s attentions showed her intelligence, but she had much to occupy her. He would make sure the man did nothing untoward. That was one gentleman he wouldn’t mind laying flat out with his fist.

Coming to the end of his garden, he turned and strode back through. He would find out from Sommerset how the week had progressed and if there were any other men to dissuade from pursuing Dory. While his opinion of all of them was not particularly high, each was a good match socially for her in the eyes of her parents. Hopefully, her mother would continue to be careful until next season was underway. There had to be better men to choose from with the new season. Though he could not be near, he would stand as her protector until she was safely married, not only for the school’s reputation, but for Dory. She deserved to find the happiness she sought.

Walking into the house, he called his butler and had his coach brought. The sooner he arrived at Sunnydale, the sooner he could talk to Sommerset in private.

Within a few hours, he arrived at his parents’ home once again. Preferring his mother, who was resting, not know of his presence, he had a servant bring Sommerset to him in the library. He poured himself a whisky and brought the glass through the open doors on to the terrace and examined the liquid. His father always had the best scotch whisky. A light afternoon breeze caressed his face, reminding him of the softness of Dory’s skin. Just being back at Sunnydale, he could almost smell her lemon scent.

Taking a gulp of the copper-colored liquid, he focused on the smooth burn as it traveled down his throat.

“You’re back.”

He turned as Sommerset closed the door to the library and strode forward. “Do we have something to celebrate?” He nodded to the drink.

“Perhaps.”

Sommerset moved to the sideboard and poured himself a glass before joining him on the terrace. “I’m glad you’ve returned. It has been delightfully entertaining without you. I needed your dark thoughts upon our daily activities to dampen the festivities.”

Sometimes Sommerset took their penchant for dressing in opposite colors, Sommerset in light and himself in dark, a bit too far.

“My thoughts are not dark. They are simply observant.”

“Call it what you will, but your company was greatly missed. I’m also a few pounds lighter in my pockets without your counsel.”

“There was betting?” Disappointed he hadn’t had the chance to join, he frowned.

“Yes, there was. Much of it our hostess did not know about.” Sommerset smirked. “Most was on cards and billiards, but there were a few odd ones too. We actually bet on the theme Lady Enderly would choose for the ball.” The man shook his head. “I bet on butterflies, but it’s night faeries.”

“Yes, I could have saved you that loss. Are there any bets still on the table? Perhaps I can make up for my absence.”

“As it would happen, there are still two bets waiting to be settled. The first is whether our hostess will serve trifle or syllabub for dessert tonight. There seems to be differing views on what would be fitting.”

“Now that is one I cannot bet upon, as I already know the menu. My mother shares far too much with Rose and me when she has these damned parties.” There were many a detail he’d prefer to forget.

“In other words, you won’t help me win back some of my money, after all.” Lord Sommerset didn’t sound disappointed in the least, so he didn’t stand to lose much. The man had inherited financial problems, which, though since solved, had made him financially cautious.

“I didn’t say that. If you guess, I could perhaps indicate if you are correct.” He took another sip of the whisky, happy with both the company and the conversation. “What is the second bet?”

“The last bet is who will win Lady Dorothea’s hand. The competition has been most interesting to watch. My wife and I have had to spend all our time with her except when she is in her room.”

“I will not bet on that.” He couldn’t help the cold turn his voice had taken.

“Why not? You always tell me you make your bets based upon observation. Have you not observed Lord Deerling, Lord Manning, and Mr. Retfield enough to choose one as the triumphant suitor?” Sommerset raised his glass as if toasting.

“None of the suitors here are a good fit and until I see her interaction with others during the season, I won’t have enough information.”

Sommerset swallowed his whisky. “That is a fair point. The lady has been surprisingly popular. I don’t remember men flocking to her.” He raised his glass. “I even thought you might have an interest.”

“Me? You know my heart is already taken, though I am the reason Lady Dorothea is here at all.”

“You?” Sommerset grinned, obviously assuming the wrong reason. “I thought your mother had chosen the guest list. After all, I’m on it.” He chuckled.

His mother adored Sommerset, which had been convenient more than once for getting them out of trouble. “True, but she allowed me to suggest additional guests. I knew Rose wished to attend the Belinda School for Curious Ladies, so I thought having one of them here would give her a chance to learn more about it before she made a decision.”

“That does make sense. You have always been protective of your sister. If I remember correctly, your words to me when we came home from Oxford that first year were something to the tune of ‘ Do not even consider the thought. ’ And I do believe all I did was comment on how much she’d grown.”

He smiled at the memory as he took another sip. “Yes, well, it was how you said it. Remember, at the time you were hardly a saint.”

“And as I remember it, neither were you.”

No, he hadn’t been. He’d taken his pleasure where he pleased with whomever he pleased since his heart had died. Filling his physical needs had given him some relief. He smirked. Mayhap that constituted a bit of happiness, but he’d never tell Dory about that. “True. But discovering that Rose sincerely wished to attend Belinda’s school gave me additional motivation. You see, I had already decided to make those students more popular among the ton so Belinda’s name could be honored, and I set about determining how to do so.”

“Ah, that does put this into perspective. And what did you decide upon? As I’m quite sure you crafted a plan of some sort.”

“Of course. I realized that each woman had something unique that made her less palatable to society. Since Lady Dorothea accepted the invitation, I set out to discover what the problem might be and fix it.”

“‘Fix it’? I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying you fixed Lady Dorothea?”

“I did. She is already quite beautiful and well trained as a lady, but she had a habit of rambling in her conversation without input. I researched what could be done to shorten or eliminate the many soliloquies she falls into. There was no clear answer, but I found enough information and suggested a solution, an experiment if you will. She put it into practice and has become, as I had hoped, a success.” Dory’s success did make him happy, but he couldn’t tell her, for to talk to her would bring them too close for him to not touch her. They’d already been far more intimate than he’d ever expected. Better to keep his distance.

“We should celebrate that, but I need more. Shall we replenish our glasses?”

“Yes.” He followed Sommerset in and poured them both more scotch.

Sommerset moved to stand near the cold fireplace. “I will say both Amelia and I had secretly hoped that your attentions to the lady were of a personal nature.”

Unfortunately, they had become far too personal. Felton walked over and rested his forearms on the back of a winged back chair set there. “Since I don’t want her success ruined, tell me about Lord Leighhall. My father seems to believe the man is also interested in Dory.”

“‘Dory’?” Sommerset lowered his brow.

Berating himself for his slip, he shrugged. “It is what my sister calls Lady Dorothea.”

“Hmm, well I can tell you Leighhall is not interested in the lady for any noble purpose. He’s blatantly accused her of being like her mother.”

He choked on his whisky, coughing to get it out of his throat. “Why would the man say that?” He well knew she had been innocent before he’d touched her.

Sommerset didn’t look at him. “Let’s just say your sister might have instigated something that would not have reflected well upon Lady Dorothea if anyone discovered it. Unfortunately, Leighhall did, according to Lady Dorothea. Amelia and I couldn’t have your parents ask him to leave without divulging what happened, so instead, we have stayed with her constantly. Except, of course, when she’s in her room.” He motioned toward the ceiling.

He couldn’t help looking up. He’d have to get the truth out of his sister, but no matter what they’d done, it wasn’t good that Leighhall knew. “I don’t like this situation. You and your wife have protected her here, but about when she’s home or at the school? I’ve learned that Leighhall becomes obsessed with whatever he focuses on and doesn’t give up easily.”

Sommerset put his drink down on the mantel. “That was my sense, though I don’t know him and have heard only rumors. Since he’s older than we are, I never paid him much attention.”

Felton threw back the rest of his whisky, not happy with this turn of events. “All the rumors you heard are true. Even the ones you find difficult to believe. I once saw him stalk a young lord just out of Cambridge because a woman preferred him over Leighhall. Leighhall bided his time. When the young man’s mother died and he came to the club to drown his sorrows, Leighhall was there to take every penny from him. His father paid his debts, but the young man never set foot in White’s again. I believe he married a rich, American woman after the first woman spurned him for being imprudent.”

“So how do we protect Lady Dorothea?” Sommerset crossed his arms. “I know I’m only her chaperone for this party, but from what Amelia tells me, her parents are so at odds with each other, they barely notice their daughter.”

He’d sensed that as well. “Didn’t you have a man you used to track down an art dealer who had sold you a forgery? I believe you said he’d been a Bow Street Runner at one time.”

Sommerset uncrossed his arms and lifted his glass. “Yes. Mr. Taylour. He also served with Lord Blackmore in the war. He’s a smart man and well versed in, shall we say, disguise and persuasion. Why?”

“I would like to hire him. I can’t keep an eye on Leighhall, but he could.”

Sommerset grinned. “Yes, he can. He’s quite good at blending in and he’s done similar work for the Duke of Northwick. I will write him and have him meet with you.”

“Excellent.”

“We have accomplished much since you returned.” Sommerset lifted his glass. “I suggest we have another drink and enjoy the solitude.”

“In other words, we stay in here until it’s absolutely necessary to change for the ball.”

Sommerset nodded, a wide grin on his face.

Felton lifted his glass in a toast. “I’m amenable to that.” Then he would do his duty as a good son and leave first thing in the morning, hopefully without saying more than a few words to Dory. As he poured more whisky, he could feel an odd ache in his chest. As strange as the idea was, he would miss her company.