Chapter 2

"And how is it that the two of you know one another?" Phoebe asked Lord Moore.

"Oh, it's really not that interesting," Lord Moore chuckled. "A friendship that I've spent a lifetime trying to end, truth be told."

"Is that so?" Felicity's father, Lord Drowshire, mused as he took a bite of his crumpet; the crumbs spilling down his front.

"As Lord Moore has learned, I am not so easy to get rid of," His Grace joked before turning more serious. "But as he said, the story really isn't that interesting."

"Only because you do not like hearing it!" Lord Moore laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder; His Grace sat on Lord Moore's left, across from where Felicity was sitting.

His Grace pushed his lips together. "A shame you enjoy telling it as much as you do."

Lord Moore grinned. "To be fair to me, I do come out of it looking rather good. You, however,..." He winked at His Grace. "The same cannot be said."

"Well now we must hear it," Phoebe insisted. She sat to Lord Moore's right, leaning forward and as close to him as she could, eager to involve herself in the conversation as she had been doing all afternoon. "Please tell us."

"You really want to hear?" he asked curiously, his attention directed at Phoebe.

"So much," she assured him, her eyes wide and interested.

Lord Moore looked to His Grace for approval. His Grace, grimacing to himself, nodded his ascent and indicated for Lore Moore to tell the story. And although he feigned annoyance, Felicity couldn't help but notice a coy smirk on his lips as he eyed Lord Moore and her sister, both sitting closer than necessary, eyes only for one another, even if her father was doing his best to involve himself.

"Well, it all started when the two of us were – how old were we?" He looked to His Grace. "Fourteen?"

"Something like that," His Grace shrugged as he waved away a fly that was buzzing about his face. They sat outside in the garden, around a small table just large enough for the five of them, a tranquil setting, if not for the bugs.

"Fourteen," Lord Moore nodded and turned back to Phoebe. "I was fishing at the time. Hopelessly, of course. Never was one for fishing. But the arrogance of youth, paired with a bet I'd made with my father that I could catch tonight's dinner. Which, for the record, I failed at," he chortled.

"Oh!" Phoebe slapped his arm playfully, which Lord Moore delighted in. So much so that he was able to ignore the fly that settled on his brow. But Phoebe spied it, giggling, and she shooed it away.

"Anyhow, as said, I was fishing, when I heard a commotion coming from somewhere down the lake..."

The story wasn't for Felicity, so she paid it little real attention. In fact, the longer this luncheon went on, the more she wondered what she was even doing here. Her father was required, as it was proper that he keep an eye on his daughter and Lord Moore until the engagement was official. But even his presence felt awkward, almost intrusive, because it was painfully obvious from the moment that Phobe stepped out of the carriage that Lord Moore had eyes for her only.

That was a relief unto itself, and Felicity allowed herself to relax, accepting that all the hard work she had committed to seeing this relationship prosper was well and truly worth it... even if she had been forced to set aside her own chance of happiness in the meantime.

Not that this worried her. Again, it was her sisters whom she cared for, and one look at Phoebe's smiling face, that twinkle in her eyes as she gazed upon Lord Moore, and there was no doubt that her happiness was secured.

"... truth be told, I almost let him drown," Lord Moore chuckled, to which Phoebe slapped his arm and laughed along.

"Oh, you did not," His Grace sighed.

"I suppose you're right," Lord Moore sighed. "Of course, I had no idea who you were and the trouble we would get up to later." He winked at His Grace, who smiled sheepishly as if embarrassed. A surprise to Felicity as, from what she had heard, there was little that could embarrass the man. "Remember I'd never seen you before so all I knew in the moment was that you were drowning and needed saving."

"So gallant," Phoebe crooned.

"Very brave," her father agreed with a righteous nod.

"And wet," Lord Moore joked to another round of laughter.

The inclusion of His Grace at this luncheon was the biggest surprise of the day and not a welcome one by any measure. Both her father and Felicity had been assured that Lord Moore would be alone, and where he claimed His Grace's presence was a mere coincidence... Felicity wasn't so sure.

As Lord Moore continued his story, she turned her attention to His Grace. Subtly, of course, because she didn't want him to catch her eyeing him. She had seen him doing so when she had emerged from the carriage and the look on his face was exactly what she would have expected from one with his reputation. A rake. A womanizer. A no-good scoundrel by all accounts.

The closer Felicity studied him, the more his reputation made sense. Far too handsome for his own good, she concluded. Taller than Lord Moore, and broader in the shoulders and thicker in the arms. His eyes were dark green, and his square jaw and strong cheekbones matched perfectly with his full lips. There was a ruggedness about him also, in the way he leaned back casually on his chair, his open shirt which blew in the wind, his light brown hair that was ruffled rather than properly combed. And speaking of that open shirt, Felicity could just make out a smattering of dark curls on his chest that --

Suddenly, His Grace glanced in her direction. Felicity's eyes went wide, caught in the moment, which had His Grace smirking at her because he so clearly saw where she was staring.

Felicity looked away, her cheeks flushing a furious shade of red as her heart hammered inside her chest. And she continued to look down at her lap, pretending to find interest in a ladybug crawling across her hand, all the while feeling His Grace's eyes on her, studying, watching, likely thinking the types of thoughts that he was known for. She cursed herself silently. With the reputation he had, the last thing she wanted to do was give him an excuse to try and seduce her – not that she would be seduced! But she didn't want it to distract and ruin her sister's engagement.

"... and we've been friends ever since," Lord Moore was explaining to his rapt audience. "Saving a man's life will have that effect."

"Every time you tell that story, it becomes more exaggerated," His Grace sighed. "Next time I hear it, I fully expect there to be rapids, sharks, and perhaps even pirates shooting from a galley as you pulled me to shore."

"I thought it was a wonderful story," Phoebe gushed. She now held onto Lord Moore's arm, which he seemed rather pleased with. "So heroic."

"It's lucky I was there," Lord Moore agreed as he slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Otherwise we might be short one Duke."

"What a pity that would be," Felicity muttered under her breath, low enough so she was certain nobody would hear it. And nobody did... except for the Duke, who tilted his head and frowned in her direction. This had Felicity hurrying to change the topic. "Phoebe, why don't you tell Lord Moore about your interest in writing."

"Oh, he doesn't want to hear about that," she blushed.

"Nonsense," Lord Moore sat up. "I would love nothing more."

"It's just some poetry..." Phoebe said sheepishly.

"Ah, now I insist you tell me all about it." He squeezed her forearm gently. "And then, naturally, write something about me." This had the table chuckling, which relaxed Phoebe enough that she started to explain her recent passion for poetry, much to the delight of Lord Moore.

"I heard that, you know," the Duke said to Felicity, low enough so that only she may hear.

"Heard what?" she responded, refusing to meet his eyes. Instead, she took a sip of tea, acting as casually as she could.

"You have quite the tongue on you," he continued, speaking plainly while smirking coyly. "You should really be careful with that. You never know who it might cut next."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"I am sure you don't," he chuckled as he turned slightly to face her across the small table, voice low so he wouldn't interrupt Phoebe's story. "But now I am curious --"

"Excuse me." Felicity smiled at the Duke; a polite gesture, even if it was dripping with antipathy. "I am trying to hear my sister speak. If you don't mind?" A fluttering of her eyelashes next.

The Duke's lips curled but he turned it into a smile. "Of course, how rude of me." He then eyed her for a moment, a curious stare that had Felicity worried he would try and speak with her again. But he shrugged his shoulders and turned away.

Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. She was here for her sister, and that was all. The last thing she needed was to be caught in a conversation with His Grace, the Wild Duke, as he was known. Lord knew that her reputation in the ton was bad enough, such that it didn't need any help from being associated with him.

As to why that reputation was so tragic? A worry for another time. As said, Felicity had sacrificed much so that her two sisters might marry and find love, and now that it was an assured thing, a part of her wondered where she might go from here. But again, a worry for another time. Right now, all she needed to do was sit in silence, make sure that Phoebe didn't falter, and, most importantly, avoid His Grace at all costs.

The longer that Charles sat at that little table in the garden, swatting at flies and listening to stories about poetry, the more he began to wonder why he hadn't just turned his horse around and ridden off the moment he realized that Harry had company. And indeed, was it not for the fact that he didn't want to make his friend look bad for how rude it would be, he would have stood up minutes ago and simply wandered off.

More than that, Charles knew his sudden departure would not be missed. Heck, it might be cheered. He could almost imagine the sigh of relief that would spread around the table as soon as he was gone, a relief that they had managed to get through an afternoon with the Wild Duke – a nickname he hated – unscathed.

In Harry's defense, he was doing all he could to involve Charles in the conversation. But he was also mindful of his soon-to-be bride, making sure to focus his attention on her, as he should be. And the longer the afternoon drew on, the closer the two sat, and the more obvious their infatuation became.

Lord Drowshire was all but ignoring Harry by this point. Clearly perturbed by his presence, he seemed to be making a point of pretending that Charles was not there. That was unsurprising, as most lords of the ton acted the same when they could get away with it. Why risk being associated with someone such as him when they could very well avoid him altogether?

"... Lord Byron is my favorite, of course," Lady Phoebe Hayward was explaining to her small audience. "His way with words is..." She sighed wistfully. "Enchanting. I do not know how he does it."

"Oh, I am sure that your skills are a match for his," Harry crooned.

"I wish," she giggled and then side-eyed Harry with a smirk. "The word ‘amateur' comes to mind, where Lord Byron is a professional. A true poet."

"As said, you will have to write something about me and then I can compare. Although be warned, I might be a tad bias." Harry chuckled at this and Lady Phoebe and her father laughed along as if it was the funniest of things.

Interestingly, Lady Felicity remained neutral. Why, sitting across from Charles, picking idly at her crumpet, paying the conversation little attention, she almost looked bored. Like Charles, she gave the impression of wanting to be anywhere but here.

Shifting slightly, Charles studied Lady Felicity out of the corner of his eye. He had already noticed how beautiful she was, and outside in the garden, surrounded by flower beds and verdant shrubbery, the yellow sun lighting her white features, that beauty was only magnified. She was a lady of the ton in every way... or rather, that was what Charles had thought until he'd spoken with her. Or had tried to.

There was something different about her. Charles tried to remember if he had heard anything about her but was unable to capture so much as a single story. A mystery, then. An enigma. A darn fiery one at that, for he remembered the look she had given him when she caught him gawking at her earlier. And that wasn't to mention her dismissive response when he had tried to lure her into a conversation.

Suddenly, Charles' desire to leave faded as he watched Lady Felicity. Not everything the ton said of him was true. In fact, most of it wasn't. But every now and then, they got some things correct, for example, his love of beautiful women...

"So, Lady Felicity," he began, making sure to keep his voice soft so as not to interrupt her sister and Harry. "Is your sister the only artist in the family?"

Lady Felicity was startled at the sudden question. Caught completely by surprise, she blinked herself into the moment and then frowned at Charles as if not understanding what he meant. Or who he even was.

"Poetry, I mean," he clarified. "Or are you more of an outdoors type?"

"I like to keep to myself." Another smile, and she looked away.

"I bet you do," he chuckled at the dismissive rebuke. "But when you're not keeping to yourself?"

Lady Felicity stiffened. Until now, she had been firmly focusing on her sister, but she forced herself to turn and look at him directly. "I am afraid that I am not entirely sure what you are trying to ask?"

"Merely making conversation," he said with a friendly smile that was meant to be disarming. "I get the sense that we're not wanted here, so I thought I'd save you."

"The same way that Lord Moore saved you when you were younger, you mean?" she responded with a scathing smile.

His face dropped. "Something like that."

"Unlike yourself, Your Grace, I am in no need of saving."

"Are you sure about that?" He indicated to Harry and Phoebe who were all but lost in one another's company. Even Lord Drowshire was beginning to look out of place. "This table suddenly feels too small for five people."

"It is, however, a perfect size for four." She cocked an eyebrow at him.

He couldn't help but laugh. "What did I say earlier about your sharp tongue?"

"Nothing worth remembering, I am sure."

"And yet I sense it's not the first time you have heard it," he grinned, taking some pleasure in how much he was frustrating her and how hard she was trying not to show it. "Perhaps you are more of a poet than you give yourself credit for. May I suggest --"

"I am sorry, Your Grace." She cut him off with a sharp look. "But I am trying to listen to my sister. She is the reason I am here, after all."

"Is that right?"

"It's why we're all here." A raised eyebrow and a look so cold the sun seemed to dim under it. "As to why you are here? That is a mystery I have no interest in solving." And with that, she turned back to her sister, making a point of shutting Charles out so he wouldn't try and speak with her again.

Charles had met many a rude lady before. He had been denied, turned down, insulted by the best of them. But on most of those occasions, he could sense the want in them. Oh sure, they said no, but their eyes always said yes. Alas, social decorum and preconceived notions of what it meant to be a lady of the ton kept their desires at bay.

Where Lady Felicity was concerned, however...

He couldn't quite explain it, but her clear rebuke of him, how darn rude she was, and how much she meant it, only piqued his interest further. There was something different about her. Something hidden beneath the surface. A mystery indeed, one he yearned to solve.

And so it was that for the rest of the luncheon, Charles sat in relative silence, happy to be ignored as he watched Lady Felicity, trying to puzzle out more about her. Which may have been easier to do if she spoke at least once more. But for the rest of the afternoon, she sat silently, letting the happy couple take the limelight and confirm what everyone with two eyes could see: that they were already falling in love.

It wasn't until the Drowshire clan had left the Moore Estate that Charles was finally able to learn more about Lady Felicity. He had decided to hang back and wait for Harry, partly to congratulate him on a bride well found and partly to ask questions.

"Still here?" Harry asked with surprise as he wandered back into the garden, having just waved his soon-to-be bride off.

"Still here," Charles sighed. He had stayed at the table when everyone had left, sipping at cold tea because it was still warmer than the goodbye he would have received from Lady Felicity and her father. "I just wanted to wish you congratulations. She seems lovely."

"She does, doesn't she?" Harry smiled. "I plan on meeting her father tomorrow to go over the finalities. But all that is to say, you are looking at a soon-to-be married man."

"About time." Charles rose and wandered to Harry. "More women for me, that way."

"Ah yes, of course," he chuckled dryly. "Because you always struggled where women were concerned."

"Finding a woman is easy," Charles pointed out. "Holding onto one is another thing altogether. Speaking of which..." He looked past Harry as if catching a final glimpse of Lady Felicity. "The sister."

"Lady Felicity?" Harry frowned... only to groan. "Oh no."

"What is her story? She was rather congenial just now," he lied in a way that he knew Harry would see through. "A real peach of a woman."

"Take it from me," Harry said, resting a hand on Charles' shoulder as if in support. "Do not waste your time with that one. And that's coming from a man who knows how much you like to waste your time."

Charles frowned. "She is that bad?"

"Worse." Harry sucked through his teeth. "She is a lovely person on the face of it, a pleasure to talk to. I have dealt with her a little of late and from that perspective, she is everything a lady should be."

"But..."

"Surely, you have heard of her?" Harry frowned and leaned back.

"Remind me."

"I do not like to spread gossip, you know this. But from the little I know, she is a dedicated spinster – the kind who laughs in the face of wedded bliss the same way you might. In fact..." He chuckled to himself. "Maybe the two of you have more in common than I thought."

"She is?" Well, that was unexpected. Another layer to the woman Charles was finding more interesting by the second.

"Trust me on this. At twenty and six she has never been close to being courted simply because she has no interest. And where she was instrumental in her two sisters finding themselves a partner, from everything I have been told, she would rather die an old maid than be tied down. Not a woman worth pursuing."

"How interesting..." Charles rubbed his chin.

"Forget it." Harry pushed Charles' hand down. "She is as likely to stab you in the heart as to steal it. Truly, I do not know how her sister grew to be such an exquisite being as she did." He sighed wistfully and looked back over his shoulder. "Oh, she was something, wasn't she? Can you believe how lucky I am?"

To that, Charles had no answer, for his mind was now firmly on Lady Felicity. Logic told him to forget about her. Like Lady Felicity, he had no interest in marriage and had long since learned not to waste his time pursuing women of the ton for singular flings and short-term engagements. But still, he could not dislodge her from his mind and even hours later, as he rode home, Charles could not help but wonder if he would see her again. And if he did, he hoped that it might be soon.