Read Online An Independent Miss by Becca St. John - Free Book Online

out in his own mind, with his own words.
    This afternoon, he revealed his
mother’s melancholia. Not surprising, with the loss of a husband, son, daughter-in-law,
and expected grandchild. Of course she suffered. And Andover as well. He was
only just coming out of mourning.
    Was that all he sought? A soothing
listener? Surely there was more to it than that.
    She’d accepted readily enough. Why?
What did she really know of this man?
    Ashamedly, she agreed to marry him
because of her body.
    She’d lean toward him the way the
tired lean toward a bed, the thirsty follow the scent of water. Her breath
hitched with no more encouragement than a simple gesture of fingers running
through his hair, or the change in the timbre of his voice as he spoke.
Shocking and oh, so, earthy, she agreed to marry him for that.
    Sealed by one kiss, to her wrist.
    One kiss.
    She frowned, remembered his lips,
so close, when they stood alone when Maddy and Jimmy had moved well ahead on
the path. She’d yearned for the touch of his flesh against hers.
    He’d stepped back.
    “This war has taken too many of our
young,” Sir Bertram said.
    Thomas had meant well, she was
certain of it except…her thoughts stumbled. What had her dinner partner just
said? Taken too many of our young?
    “I’m sorry, Sir Bertram, but who
are you referring to?”
    Both of her dinner partners looked
at her. Mr. Andrews, on her left, patted her hand. “Jack Marshall.”
    Jack Marshall? The loveable, funny,
sweet young man her sister would marry? Not that any knew of their growing
love. She was too young to do more than whisper to Felicity, but Felicity knew
of the plans. When Jack returned, when Caro turned down all suitors in London,
the two would marry.
    Fanciful, on the surface, but not
to Felicity who witnessed the depth of their interest. She was their one ally
in this secret love. She didn’t doubt they would play out the waiting game and
make it to the altar.
    If he survived.
    Caro hadn’t received a response to
her letters in weeks. She thought they’d been lost in the chaos of war.
    “He’s still with us, Lady Felicity. But
he is wounded.”
    “Badly,” Sir Bertram added, shaking
his head.
    “Where? When?” She would have to
write Caro.
    “The Marshalls just heard this
afternoon,” Mr. Andrews was saying, as Felicity looked down the table,
realizing that the Marshalls weren’t there. She had failed to notice that as
well.
    “Oh, dear.” Poor Caro. “Was the notice
dated? How long was it in coming?” It had been ages since she’d visited with
the Marshalls.
    Sir Bertram shook his head again,
his lips pressed tight. Mr. Andrews filled in. “They’ve sent Robert to fetch
him back to England so he can get proper care. No telling what goes on at those
camp hospitals.”
    Robbie would want to go, do
something, rather than wait for news of his brother.
    “Is that possible?” Felicity asked. “To
bring him back?”
    “Yes,” Sir Bertram supported. “He
will get better care over here.”
    “If it’s not too late.” Mr. Andrews
stared into his plate.
    Felicity put her hand on his. “It
will not be too late. I know Jack, he’s the scrappiest fighter I’ve ever seen
and that’s saying quite a bit coming from my family.”
    Lost in the worry, he looked toward
her, not directly at her. Evidence she should have noted sooner if she hadn’t
been so caught up in her own foolish concerns.
    “I believe you are right, Lady
Felicity. I only wish he had you near his side. You could cure the dead and
have them walking the land once again.”
    “Mr. Andrews,” Sir Bertram warned,
“don’t encourage such a thing. Lady Felicity will have to put all that behind
her.”
    “Nonsense,” Mr. Andrews argued.
“She has a talent, and she should put it to good use.” He addressed Felicity.
“You’re to go to London soon, aren’t you, Lady Felicity? For the end of the
season?”
    “Mr. Andrews,” Sir Bertram began to
argue, but Felicity cut in. “Thank