Because I had hoped tonight might be different,and perhaps, I might fulfill the dare I had acted upon a few weeks ago.
I dare you to approach a gentleman, anyone you’ve admired, and start a conversation.
Such a simple, foolish dare that seemed out of her realm of abilities to execute. Yet she had scrawled her name on the board as if her heart had not trembled with fear at her audacity.
Dare accepted.
The ladies she met at 48 Berkeley Square, a secret ladies’ club owned by Lady Theodosia, the new Duchess of Hartford, often partook in wicked and fun dares and wagers. They also frequently invited Felicity to their family balls and social events. Though she did not feel as if she belonged, Felicity often attended because of her mother’s urging and theirs. They would laugh and tease her about her reticence, and she would smile, but there would linger deep inside her heart a profound disquiet that she did not really belong among these fine ladies that were sure to have a great future for themselves. Buried inside that disquiet was a hope that one day she might truly belong and might believe they were indeed her friends of equal wit and consequences.
There wasn’t any chance she would ever be of equal consequences with anyone at 48 Berkeley Square. Although Felicity had attended the same lessons at the club as her dear friend Perdie, now the Countess of Sherburn, it had been to act as Perdie’s chaperone. She hadn’t met them as a true member. Lady Theo had been wonderful enough to offer her a place at the club without Felicity having to pay the club dues, and while she was thankful, the charity burned her pride.
A ripple of awareness kissed over her skin, and her mouth dried. Without looking, she knew it was he, the man from the rain, a gentleman she had since learned only by observation was Phineas Lambton, Earl of Wyndham. A man some said was a wicked libertine, but everyone agreed to be one of the prime catches of the season with his debonair looks and wealth. That one encounter in the rain had burned itself upon her heart and dreams, often embarrassing Felicity, for she did not like to wallow in useless hope. Still, many evenings such as this one, she had envisioned him asking her to dance…perhaps even sending her a bouquet of flowers the next day. Discreetly looking around, she found him, and a soft sigh exhaled from her. Her cheeks burned to feel the ache of want in her sigh.
Tonight, he was fashionably dressed as usual; his waistcoat was dark blue, and she knew it would match the brilliance of his gaze. He never danced much at these balls, only with his sisters and sometimes his mother. There was a rumor he had no wish to marry, and his aloof mannerism at balls would suggest the rumors to be true. Felicity had witnessed a giggling lady drop her handkerchief in front of the earl, and he had merely looked amused and veered out of the path. There had been no pretense of gentlemanly solicitousness. Some might call him rude and arrogant; she thought it was honest, even if a bit indifferent to others’ feelings.
A ravishing widow sashayed up to him and batted her long, lovely lashes. Felicity watched his head dip as he whispered in Lady Canton’s ear. The lady unfurled her fan and graced him with a coquettish smile. Felicity suspected he was arranging a clandestine meeting and scoffed at the odd pain that pinched her heart.
Urging herself to look away, she spied a few other ladies she had met at 48 Berkeley Square. Prudence, Lady Wycliffe, danced with her husband, her expression one of adoration. The earl himself appeared besotted, and Felicity smiled when he twirled his wife close and murmured something to her. That Prudence blushed informed Felicity it was something wicked and scandalous.
A few beats passed with her tapping her feet to the music, observing one couple after another. She now watched Lady Charity dancing with her husband. How happy and in love they also seemed. Once again, that ache for more burned like a hot coal inside Felicity’s chest. She often spent her time at balls watching others enjoy themselves. Wanting to escape the heat and the weight of her suddenly maudlin feelings, she wended her way through the crush toward the door leading to the vibrant, shrubberied gardens at the back of the townhouse. At five and twenty, there was little danger to her reputation to be seen heading outside alone. Though she suspected she would not merit anyone’s attention even if she were caught in a salacious embrace.
Upon reaching the garden area barely lit by a lone lantern, she slowed her steps, noting she was not alone. Slightly ahead of her, a man stood, not just any man but the Earl of Wyndham. Aware of the sudden erratic beat of her heart, Felicity turned around, intending to escape. Yet her feet would not move.
Perhaps it was providence that she encountered him here. After all, she had been working up the courage for the last three balls to approach him.
Perhaps the dare was that push she needed for her to work up the courage to approach him, the gentleman with the umbrella, the one who had stolen into her dreams these last several weeks. The very man who had evoked such painful longing inside her heart, she hardly knew what to do with them.
He walked over to the stone bench deeper into the alcove, and she noted something fell from his pocket. That small piece of paper fluttered to the ground, tossing about a bit under the evening wind, teasing her curiosity. She took a few halting steps forward, uncertain if she should alert that he had lost whatever this was, a letter perhaps.
Stooping down, she plucked up the paper, and she told herself it was by pure chance she read the words neatly scrawled there.
Jane. Jane. Jane. Jane. Where do I find you?
The note was decidedly odd. It seemed this gentleman had misplaced this Jane, whoever she was. She walked closer to the alcove and delicately cleared her throat. “My lord, you’ve lost something.”
Felicity could feel his stare, though she could not see it, for it was too dark where he had gone. There was a rustle, then he emerged to stand too close. Her pulse quickened. She did not withdraw as she did not want to appear easily startled. At his considered silence, she said, “I believe this dropped from your pocket.”
Suddenly she wished she had taken greater pains with her appearance tonight. Her dress was a plain lime green gown without trimmings and last season’s. Or was it the season before? She wore no earbobs or necklace, and her hair had been caught in a simple chignon with only a few wisps caressing her cheeks. As his gaze slid over her with measured slowness, she wondered what impression he formed.
“Are you Jane?” he murmured, his mouth tipping into an amused smile as if he laughed at himself.
“No, I am not Jane. Of course, you do not remember me,” she said with a nervous smile.Not that I had given you my name.Good heavens, surely I could have said something wittier.
“I do not,” he said with smooth politeness. “Have we met?”
Mortification burned through her. “Of course not,” she said stiffly, thrusting the small piece of paper out to him. She had never known such awareness of another, and even as it fascinated Felicity, it also made her wary.
He plucked the paper from her fingers, his brilliant eyes intent on her face.
“I do hope you find the lady you are searching for.”
The earl faltered into stillness.
Felicity clasped her hands before her, wondering if she had said something wrong. “I—”
“Perhaps you are Jane,” he said slowly. “Yes, you could be her.”
She couldn’t explain why she felt a spurt of amusement. “I do not think I could be her, my lord. My name is Felicity Harrington.” As a hasty afterthought, she dropped into a quick curtsy that felt clumsy and not at all elegant.