Chapter 3

"Will you please smile, Felicity," Felicity's father chastised her; speaking out the side of his mouth, he did his best to look as if he was having a pleasant conversation with his daughter.

"I am smiling," she responded, clearly not smiling.

"If anyone was to look at you, they would think you were attending a funeral."

"Is this not one?"

Her father's face dropped. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Merely an observation, father." Even though she wasn't smiling, she walked with a straight back and a pointed chin, small steps taken as if she was gliding across the floor. "The departed in question being my freedom."

"I had no idea you were so dramatic."

"There is nothing dramatic about it. Is that not why I am here, so you may sell me off to the highest bidder? With or without my consent."

"You know I would never do that."

"And yet here we are."

Her father groaned, resisting the urge to rub his eyes, likely because he worried someone might see and guess what the two were discussing. "We have been over this, Felicity. For a week now, we have discussed it ad nauseum. Enough that I thought you would be more accepting."

"Clearly, you underestimated me."

"And as I explained, I am doing this for you." He had his arm linked through her own, but he rested his spare hand on her elbow and guided her across the floor toward an alcove where they might have more privacy. "Why can you not see that?"

"And as I explained, I do not wish for it. I do not want it. And there is no need for you to waste your time as you are wasting mine."

"Careful, Felicity," her father growled as he continued to lead her. "Do remember who you speak with. I am still your father."

"And I your daughter."

"Then act like it!" he snapped, only to catch himself and force that smile back. "At least while we are in company." He fixed that smile and offered it to a passing lord whom Felicity did not recognize.

"As you wish father..."

He side-eyed her as he continued to lead. The floor they walked on was bustling with bodies, most of whom were too busy with their own conversations to pay attention to Felicity and her father's little spat. But Felicity knew this town well, a little too well, truth be told, and was thus more than aware that it only took one wagging tongue to set off a rumor that would be all but impossible to stop.

And so, she held her tongue firm, knowing that the moment the two were out of sight, she could let it fly once more. As stated, her father was leading her to an alcove off the main room and out of sight where she was sure they would argue, and as was inevitable, she would lose. But then again, what else was new?

Gosh, how she wished that she was anywhere other than here tonight. The Mayflower Ball, one of dozens of balls held this Season, was an event that any single lady of the ton should have been dying to attend.

It was as resplendent an event as Felicity had come to expect – she had been to enough of them. The women were dressed in colorful frocks. The men in elegant suits. The walls of the Ball Room were painted dark red with swirling gold calligraphy meant to mimic a sprawling forest. Waiters dressed in white coats roamed the floor handing out drinks, an orchestra was set up in the corner, and their music drifted lightly across the room, and every single person in attendance, of which there were scores, harbored a gigantic smile for they could not believe how lucky they were to be in attendance.

A shame the same could not be said of Felicity.

"Now, explain yourself." Her father pulled her into the alcove and stood so his back was to the room, effectively blocking them from sight. "What is this mood that you have deigned to besiege me with this evening?"

"Father," Felicity sighed with regret. She wasn't angry with her father. Nor did she begrudge him what he was doing. She just wished that he could understand. "This has nothing to do with you. You know that it does not."

"All I am trying to do is help, Felicity."

"I do not need your help. And I never asked for it."

"And you never would," he pointed out. "I know you, daughter. Do not think I do not. Your entire life..." He shook his head as if upset with himself. "You have taken on so much and given up more as a result. And now that your sisters are taken care of, it's time that someone eases the burden that has been weighing you down for as long as I can remember."

"It is no burden. And I have not given up that much."

"You have." He took her by the hands and looked at her; his stare was pleading, filled with remorse because she knew he blamed himself as much as anyone. "Please, let me do this for you, and you will see how wonderful it can be. I know that you pretend that you do not want to meet someone, that being courted isn't for you, but I don't believe that for a second."

"I know you don't," she scowled at him, pulling her hands free. "But that does not change how I feel. This --" She indicated to the room. "It is not for me father. And there is nothing wrong with that."

"I simply don't accept that." He crossed his arms.

"You do not have to," she snapped. "All I ask is that you leave me be. Why do you not understand?"

"Oh!" He wrung his hands in frustration. "If you weren't so like your mother..." He pushed his lips together and looked over his shoulder. "Where is Phoebe when I need her?"

"I suspect she is with Lord Moore."

"She will talk sense into you." He half turned to walk away. "Do not go anywhere."

"Believe me, I have no plan to."

He scowled at her, and hesitated because he clearly didn't like the idea of leaving her alone – likely, he thought she would flee the moment he did. But then he nodded to himself and ducked from the alcove, scurrying through the crowds in search of his other, more reasonable daughter.

Felicity sighed with relief to see him go. Oh, he would be back. And when he was, he would try again, she had no doubt. Like Felicity, her father could be very stubborn.

He only wanted what he thought was best. She knew that, and thus she couldn't begrudge him as she might have liked. The problem, as he could not see it, was that she didn't want what he thought was best. In fact, she disdained it.

Some girls wanted marriage. Most girls wanted to fall in love and live happily ever after. As for Felicity? Truth be told, she didn't know what she wanted, knowing only that the idea of being courted by a lord she had no interest in while giving away her freedom to boot was very low on her list of wants and desires.

Across the Ball Room, Felicity could see her father searching. Realizing that she was still in a mood and not at all wanting to have the same conversation with him that they had been having all week, Felicity decided to make herself scarce. Not flee the ball, for that would be rude, simply hide.

She crossed the ball, keeping to the edges, not having to worry about someone approaching her because most men, by now, knew that she was a waste of their time. The garden outside was where she headed, figuring some fresh air might cool her off.

When Lord Moore had started courting Phoebe, Felicity had thought herself to be done with balls. Surely, now that her second sister was taken care of, there was no need for her to bother with such things? She had spent years coming to these events, scouring the place like her father intended to tonight, searching out men for her sisters because someone needed to ensure their future.

Of course, the lack of interest she took in her own romantic life was what led to the rumors. A spinster, they called her. A woman of low moral value. A price she paid, which she was more than happy to. And a quick glance at her sister, dancing with Lord Moore, beyond besotted to be in his embrace, and Felicity knew that she had made the right choice.

No regrets. No need for them. Felicity was perfectly happy alone...

* * *

"It was my grandfather who started the business," Lord Tarrow explained as he took a generous sip from his goblet of wine. "And where my father kept it going the best he could, it was under my direction that it truly began to flourish."

"Is that right?" Charles asked, showing genuine interest in a way he hadn't expected to when this conversation had first begun.

"Mmhmm," Lord Tarrow nodded as he took another large sip. "I've always had an eye for horses, you see. I suppose being raised the way I was, it was always going to happen that way."

"And you have how many stables now?"

"Eight!" Lord Tarrow bragged. "Most of them are in the south, as the horses prefer the warmer climate. Sadly, it means that I am not able to be as hands on as I might like. It's all numbers and paperwork mostly," he sighed and shook his head. "But I try and get down there as often as I can. I find London stuffy, as you can imagine." He took another tremendous sip of wine, his body swaying now. "Give me open pastures any day."

"I must say, Lord Tarrow, I find all of this extremely interesting."

"I thought you might! And I am glad for it."

"And where I don't believe in fate, it seems that fate right now is conspiring for us."

"How so?" Lord Tarrow furrowed his brow.

"Might I bend your ear a moment? If you'll allow it?"

"Your Grace, please," he tittered. "No need to ask. It would be an honor to hear whatever it is you have to say. I should be the one asking you for permission – the way I have been carrying on these past few minutes. Too much of the wine, I think." Then, just to confirm the statement, he took a final sip from his goblet, draining it dry.

Charles had to work hard to contain his excitement. A situation he would have never imagined himself to be in, especially when he'd seen Lord Tarrow coming for him not five minutes earlier. A man whom he had never met but whose name he recognized through his father, Charles had predicted a banal conversation as was common at these balls. Oh, how wrong he was.

He hadn't wanted to come to this ball tonight in the first place. Not only did he not enjoy balls, but he knew that most here didn't enjoy his presence in the first place. It was Harry who had convinced him, a nervous wreck because it would be the first time he would see his betrothed since they had made things official. Typically, the moment he had her in his sights, he forgot all about Charles and vanished from sight.

And where Charles had nearly left, Lord Tarrow was now giving him a reason to stay.

"It is funny that you mention horses," Charles began. He wasn't drinking, preferring a sober mind, but the way Lord Tarrow swayed, he wished that he was. "Because I myself had a fondness for them."

"Is that so?"

"It is," Charles nodded. "In fact, this last month I have been trying to find investors to start a stud farm. I already have the location picked. I have the mounts ready for purchase, etcetera. What I need is backing. Or, better yet, partners. And seeing as you have a love for --"

"I must stop you there." Lord Tarrow shot up a hand. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to vomit, but then he continued. "I am afraid I see a friend beckoning me..." He looked vaguely past Charles.

"Is that right?" Charles responded dryly.

"Afraid so." He reached out his hand for Charles to shake. "But it was lovely to chat with you, Your Grace. A real honor."

Charles took the hand, squeezing it a little harder than he intended. "As it was you. And if you change your mind, as said, I am currently seeking investors. It's a guaranteed goldmine. If you want, I can send you some projections I have --"

"Oh, yes, yes, do that..." Lord Tarrow was already stepping around him. "I'll be sure to look them over." He stumbled over his feet, nearly tripping, as he hurried to make himself scarce.

Charles felt his stomach drop as he watched the young lord vanish. A baron, Lord Tarrow was nobody of any real worth or standing, an up-and-comer who should have been tripping over himself to go into business with a duke. And yet, at the mere thought of being associated with Charles, he couldn't excuse himself fast enough.

God, it was frustrating. This perception that the ton had of Charles was more than troublesome; it was chaotic. A rake, they thought of him. A scoundrel. The Wild Duke! Once, perhaps, that name was deserved... but there was good reason for it, reason that no longer implied, reason that he had spent the last decade trying to divorce himself of. And still, the reputation stuck.

Feeling despondent now, Charles figured it was about time he left. He turned to do just that, only to catch sight of someone by the exit whom he had no intention of speaking with. Not even a little bit.

Her name was Lady Beatrice Selkirk, the daughter of a baron who had recently taken a liking to Charles for reasons he couldn't imagine. She was attractive, sure, and clearly interested, but there was something unsettling about how obsessed she was with him, something sinister. He sensed there was more to it, as if she was using him for his name and not because she actually liked him. Needless to say, he had no interest in speaking with her.

She caught his eye and beamed and Charles, thinking quickly, ducked away and headed toward the back of the ballroom. But he knew she would find him if he stayed so he darted around the edges of the room, spying an exit which led into the gardens. Without thinking, he hurried outside, certain that he had lost her.

The gardens were well-lit... a little too well-lit for Charles' liking. Still moving quickly, he skirted the edges, keeping close to the walls, figuring he might find a side path that led to the front of the manor. A quick glance over his shoulder, double checking that Lady Beatrice wasn't following him and --

"Oomph!" Charles exclaimed as he walked headfirst into a body.

"Ow!" she yelped, nearly falling. And she would have, too, had Charles not shot an arm out, wrapping it about her waist and keeping her on her feet.

"I am so sorry," he apologized as he steadied her. "I did not see you there."

"Looking where you are going might have helped."

"That is a good point," he agreed, taking a step back so he could see who he had walked into. And when he realized who it was... well, Charles couldn't help but grin. "Although if I had done that, then I wouldn't have had this excuse to speak with you."

"If only I could have been so lucky," Lady Felicity said coldly.

He didn't even mind how icy his reception was. In a way, Charles almost expected it. Lady Felicity... he had thought about her several times since last week, his opinion remaining the same each time. A lady unlike any other, all fire and brimstone, not caring about decorum or feigned niceties because she preferred to speak her mind. Even when she probably should not have.

"Oh, there is no need for that," Charles said with that same grin. "Your sister isn't here now, so do not concern yourself with her well-being."

"I might have to find another excuse then."

He laughed. "I suppose running into you like a bull at a red flag is a good one?"

"You make it so easy sometimes."

Oh, she was something else. Even putting aside how purposefully rude she was being, Charles couldn't help but admire her beauty, confirming that she was as radiant as she had been last week. It was dark around this corner, hidden from the torches that lit the main body of the garden, but her green eyes seemed to glow, and her white skin shone. As to what she was wearing, a quick glance down and Charles caught his breath.

"In my defense..." Another quick glance over her body, his smile reaching his eyes. "You're the one hiding around the corner in the dark. Even if I was looking, the result may have been the same."

"I'll make it easy for you then." She moved to walk around him, but he cut her off.

"And what is it that brings you out here?" he asked.

She stiffened as he stepped in front of her. "That is none of your concern." She looked at him and he cocked an eyebrow. "Getting some fresh air."

"Ah, yes. It is a little stuffy in there, isn't it?" He was standing close to her, a little too close. And where he expected her to step back, she held her ground as if in challenge.

"No need to tell me why you're out here." She met his eyes and he could see the fire in them.

"Meaning?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do not play coy with me, Your Grace. I, as well as everyone here, knows all about you. And seeing as you've hidden yourself out of sight, in the dark, free from prying eyes, it does not take a genius to put two and two together."

Charles frowned as he considered what she meant. "You think I am meeting someone out here?"

"I do not think it." She held his stare. "I know it."

That had him wincing. "I can assure you, Lady Felicity, that you could not be further from --"

"No need to justify yourself," she cut him off. "And no need to sully me with lies." Still, they stood close, such that he could feel her breath on his face. A small part of him yearned to reach out and rest a hand on her hip, wondering if he was reading the situation correctly... "What you do in your own time is not my business."

"And what is your business?" he said in a throaty whisper, his hand moving slightly, toying with the idea of touching her.

"To avoid men like you." With that, she took a quick step back and the fire that was brewing between them died. "It is nothing personal, but I know your type. I know the games you play and I will not be a party to it."

"My type?" He leaned back as if struck.

She sighed. "You know to what I refer and again, do not take it personally. Why I am sure that whoever it is you are meeting out here will be thrilled for the chance to spend an evening with you."

"I told you, I am not meeting --"

"But that simply isn't me." Another step back, her eyebrow raised. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Your Grace. I hope you have a good evening..." She looked past him, shook her head, and then walked right on by without so much as a glance.

Charles was left stunned. And, quite truthfully, a little annoyed.

Maybe his perception of Lady Felicity had been slightly miscued? Maybe she wasn't one to simply speak her mind and say what others might not? Maybe she wasn't just a little fiery and free and unconcerned with what people thought of her? Maybe, she was just plain rude?

He had been all but ready to leave the ball but now, as his mood plummeted, Charles decided that what he needed more than anything was a drink. Several of them. Anything to wash the sour taste out of his mouth and hopefully help him forget what had just happened. Despite what he might have once thought, he now knew there was no chance that he and Lady Felicity might hit it off; that the fire between them was kindling for a passionate fling. She hated him. He didn't much like her. And if he never spoke to her again, it would be too soon.