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

you for the kind words. Yes, at the end of
the week, for the season.”
    Sir Bertram was not to be
distracted. “It’s not on, Andrews. If anyone were to find out about her…well,
her hobbies…” He looked guilty, and so he should. Hobbies indeed. Felicity
tended his gout on more than one occasion, and successfully at that.
    He droned on. “…Lady Felicity would
be cut by the ton. Can’t have that. It’s time she let go of girlish interests,
to see about finding a husband, having children.”
    Girlish
interests?
    “Cut from the ton?” Mr. Andrews was
stunned. “Good heavens, the doings up in the city. Why would they do a thing
like that to a sensible, perfectly respectable girl such as Lady Felicity?”
    As the men debated the rules of
society, Felicity looked down the table. Andover angled himself to hear the
vicar’s wife, who was notoriously soft-spoken, his eyes on Felicity. He winked.
    Mr. Chandler’s voice grew louder.
“That’s ridiculous, absolute rubbish that such a thing could happen.”
    ****
    Felicity flopped over in her bed,
kicked her legs free of the twisted sheet, and tugged at the covers. Unlike her
friend Jack, she was safe at home. She should be thinking of him, instead of
foolish notions about her own disastrous betrothal and kisses—or lack of
kisses—and the line of a gentleman’s chiseled jaw, or the way he leaned
close, to better hear what she had to say.
    One moment she wished she could
have gone with Robbie to find Jack, the next, her whole body raged with
excitement and confusion and apprehension.
    Felicity flipped over again, as
thoughts chased round and round, turning into dreams full of chaotic images of
her brother, his sword at Andover’s throat, while her aunt stood in the
background, laughing in that deep throated, mocking way she had.
    Felicity shot up in bed. Just as
quickly, the dream faded.
    Just that night, the ladies had
retired to the drawing room, while the men dawdled over their port. Felicity walked
with the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Francis, a sweet, complacent woman who spoke with a
soft, hesitant voice.
    “Poor Jack,” Felicity commiserated.
    “Yes,” Mrs. Francis replied, “it’s
such a worry, and the Marshalls are refusing visitors. Not a one.”
    “But they will need the support,
the distraction…” Felicity worried.
    Mrs. Francis nodded. “I tried, but
they are not receiving.” She leaned close. “The servants say Mrs. Marshall has
taken to her bed. Not that I fault her. Jack was a mama’s boy.”
    He was close with his mother. “If
there is anything I can do …” Felicity offered, her mind on tonics that might
help Jack’s mother.
    “Actually,” Mrs. Francis’ eyes lit with
determination, surprising Felicity as her small, rounded face sharpened with a
zealot’s fervor. “Some of the community discussed this very thing … that
perhaps you could…”
    Vi cut her off, as she moved
between the two. “Do, please, let me steal Felicity from you, Mrs. Francis,
just for a moment.” She rushed on, not allowing argument. “We haven’t had a
moment to chat since I arrived, and I will be leaving first thing in the
morning.”
    As quickly as the vicar’s wife
revealed a refreshingly unfamiliar eagerness, she slid back to her normal
submissive calm.
    “Aunt Vi, please,” Felicity tried,
even as Mrs. Francis shooed her on.
    “Go, Felicity, we will speak later.
You go ahead.”
    “Very understanding of you, Mrs.
Francis.” Vi tugged at Felicity. “The woman doesn’t mind and—” she
whispered, “—I saved you from the doom of boredom. Do come with me.”
    Felicity looked over her shoulder
to see Mrs. Francis standing alone, looking about her as though lost. Vi angled
them toward the balcony doors. “Come, now, let’s have a good visit away from
the ears of censors.”
    “Outside? Aunt Vivian, it’s been
miserably cold this spring.” The damp air would compromise her aunt’s
deteriorating health. With her liver in such a bad state,