An Independent Miss by Becca St. John Page B

moved over to
the bell pull, rang it, and struggled so hard to get out of her spencer
Felicity got up to help her.
    “You don’t mind, do you, Cis, if I
use one of your shawls? My spencer has grown a tad tight. I’ve a new one being
made in town, but of course, we haven’t been there because of the Easter
holidays,” she explained. “I didn’t dare let a footman help me out of it in
front of everyone!”
    Bea, still speaking, looked through
Felicity’s shawl drawer to find something lighter than the jacket. She
flourished a paisley wrap. “Ah, yes, this will do.” She settled it over her
shoulders. “It is so good to be here, even with everyone so unhappy.” And she
settled down on the seat beside Felicity, and patted the cushion between them.
“Don’t keep me in suspense now.”
    There was a rap at the door and
Jesse, Felicity’s abigail, poked her head into the room. “Did you want
something, miss?”
    “Yes,” Bea answered. “Please bring
us a tea tray, and see if Cook can rummage up something scrumptious.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Felicity smiled at Jesse, as though
all was right with the world, crushingly aware of looks shot her way. She was
not fragile china, would not shatter. It was a relief when the girl bobbed her
head and withdrew.
    “Interesting,” Bea smoothed her
skirts. “Where were we?”
    “Welcoming you here.”
    The seat was wide enough, and deep
enough that the girls sat legs tucked to the side, backs against the open
shutters. From this comfortable position, Bea tipped her head. “No, I do not
believe that was where we were.” Nose scrunched, she looked so hard, Felicity
turned away. “I was asking you not to keep me in suspense. You are avoiding
answering, so the great upset has to do with you.”
    Felicity slumped back. Impossible
to keep a secret from Beatrice. Not that she wanted to, not that the rest of
the world wouldn’t tell her. Voicing it was just so hard. She was not ready to
do that, but do it she would. Better to have it come from her than some other
source.
    “He proposed,” she admitted. “I
didn’t even know he was courting me, had only known him a matter of weeks, and
he proposed.”
    At the start of Felicity’s
admission, Bea jackknifed, leaned close. “Who proposed?”
    “The Marquis of Andover, Lord
Andover.” The hollowness of her feelings lingered in his name.
    Bea patted Felicity’s knees. “But
that is good news, isn’t it? Aren’t you thrilled? You’ve bested Lady Jane!” Bea
crowed. “That alone makes it worth it. Doesn’t it?” On a swallowed whimper,
Felicity shook her head. “It isn’t.” Beatrice scooted around, pushed Felicity
over and wrapped her arms around her. “What is it? Did your father turn him
down? Did someone do something to turn him away? What? What could be so
difficult?”
    “He…” Felicity pulled away,
straightened. She had to fight this emotion and sympathy didn’t help. “He had
Aunt Vi in his room last night.”
    “What!” Bea gasped. “The cad, the
downright, horrible, terrible cad!”
    “I think Mother is right.” Felicity
offered. “I think Aunt Vi set it all up, only I don’t know how she would know
that I would go to his room…” She looked at Bea, realizing her admission, only
to see her cousin’s pure delight.
    “You saucy girl, you!”
    “No! It wasn’t like that. I…”
    “It doesn’t matter what it was
like, you broke the rules! You!” Bea laughed. “This is just too delightful! And
you were betrothed, so it wasn’t such a bad thing. You must tell me all!”
    “Bea, my Aunt Vi was there in
dishabille! And she confessed that they had been lovers.”
    “Oh.” That dampened Bea’s reaction.
“That’s not a comfortable thing at all.”
    “And the servants knew that I went
to his room.”
    “So you have to get married.”
    “I refuse, Bea. I absolutely refuse
to marry him!”
    Bea continued to study her. “Do you
think that’s wise?”
    “I don’t care if it is wise or