Read Online To Marry the Duke's Daughter (After the Masquerade) by Ashley Stormes - Free Book Online
Authors: Ashley Stormes
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fabric of her skirts and swaying her shoulders so that her skirts swished
around her ankles.
“Mr. White told me that his fortunes
are set to improve,” he continued. “If he has enough to adequately provide for
you—and he has not already found another—I will give him my
permission to court you.”
Felicity threw her arms around his
shoulders with a jubilant, albeit brief, grin. “Thank you, Papa! I promise I
will try to be more like myself, but I miss him.” She drew away enough to look
up at her father. “I miss laughing at his wit, and smiling down at his
wonderful poems. I even miss the cold glares he gave me before he realized I
was not in idiotic chit.”
He took her arm and led her down the
gently sloping hill, his expression contemplative. “I did not realize he
thought so little of you at first.”
“I was rather rude,” she admitted. “In
his place, I would not have thought highly of myself. To be honest, I was the one smitten with him . He was not falsely flattering like
all the others, and I wanted him to see that I am more than a face. I did hope
that it was merely a passing fancy.”
“It might still be,” Carlton pointed
out. “Flights of fancy are not always brief.”
Felicity narrowed her brows in thought,
ignoring the loose strands of ebony hair that played across her face. After
Jonathon’s remarks about her father’s instructions on how to impress a man, she
had begun to think that her father did not want her to marry anyone. If he
truly wanted her married, would he not have advised her to be herself?
Jonathon certainly preferred her as the intuitive dreamer, and not the poised
lady.
Her only friends were among the tenants
living in the village of Avondale. Her father had never complained about her
explorations through the countryside, or her habit of wearing her hair down.
He had simply told her that such things were not permissible in the ballrooms
of London, where she would someday find her husband. She knew her father loved
her, but his overly protective nature of her heart made her wonder why he had
not been bothered when she returned to the manor covered in scrapes and bruises
from a scuffle with a tree.
Had a fortune-seeking woman once
injured him? She could think of no other explanation to satisfy her curiosity
about his determination to see her safe from fortune hunters. She knew he had
loved her mother—she often saw him smiling at Lady Meredith Ryans’s
portrait, which he carried inside his pocket watch—but he never spoke
about his life before marriage.
Her father had denied her hand to a
wealthy marquis two years previous, and when she questioned him about why she
had been forced to find out through gossip instead of her father, he had
responded that the marquis was a well-known womanizer, and did not deserve her.
She had not questioned him at the time—and she had quickly determined
that her father was correct—but now she wondered if he meant what he said
about allowing Jonathon to court her. She had no reason to doubt her father,
but it still concerned her that he had not previously admitted that Jonathon
had asked permission to court her. It had taken Chattrecombe’s murmured words
about a bouquet of roses in her hatbox for her to realize that her father was
removing her from Jonathon’s influence.
Was Jonathon’s influence unhealthy?
She spent the remainder of the
afternoon and most of the evening pondering the question. Having always
understood when she needed time to look inside herself, her father did not
question her suddenly quiet disposition. She feared she was only complicating
matters, but the idea that she was being lied to by either Jonathon or her
father—or both—had taken root in her head and she could not shake
the thought.
She had never doubted that her father
loved her and wanted the best for her. He had raised her in the best manner he
knew how, and she thought highly enough of herself to applaud him for his
effort. He could have
around her ankles.
“Mr. White told me that his fortunes
are set to improve,” he continued. “If he has enough to adequately provide for
you—and he has not already found another—I will give him my
permission to court you.”
Felicity threw her arms around his
shoulders with a jubilant, albeit brief, grin. “Thank you, Papa! I promise I
will try to be more like myself, but I miss him.” She drew away enough to look
up at her father. “I miss laughing at his wit, and smiling down at his
wonderful poems. I even miss the cold glares he gave me before he realized I
was not in idiotic chit.”
He took her arm and led her down the
gently sloping hill, his expression contemplative. “I did not realize he
thought so little of you at first.”
“I was rather rude,” she admitted. “In
his place, I would not have thought highly of myself. To be honest, I was the one smitten with him . He was not falsely flattering like
all the others, and I wanted him to see that I am more than a face. I did hope
that it was merely a passing fancy.”
“It might still be,” Carlton pointed
out. “Flights of fancy are not always brief.”
Felicity narrowed her brows in thought,
ignoring the loose strands of ebony hair that played across her face. After
Jonathon’s remarks about her father’s instructions on how to impress a man, she
had begun to think that her father did not want her to marry anyone. If he
truly wanted her married, would he not have advised her to be herself?
Jonathon certainly preferred her as the intuitive dreamer, and not the poised
lady.
Her only friends were among the tenants
living in the village of Avondale. Her father had never complained about her
explorations through the countryside, or her habit of wearing her hair down.
He had simply told her that such things were not permissible in the ballrooms
of London, where she would someday find her husband. She knew her father loved
her, but his overly protective nature of her heart made her wonder why he had
not been bothered when she returned to the manor covered in scrapes and bruises
from a scuffle with a tree.
Had a fortune-seeking woman once
injured him? She could think of no other explanation to satisfy her curiosity
about his determination to see her safe from fortune hunters. She knew he had
loved her mother—she often saw him smiling at Lady Meredith Ryans’s
portrait, which he carried inside his pocket watch—but he never spoke
about his life before marriage.
Her father had denied her hand to a
wealthy marquis two years previous, and when she questioned him about why she
had been forced to find out through gossip instead of her father, he had
responded that the marquis was a well-known womanizer, and did not deserve her.
She had not questioned him at the time—and she had quickly determined
that her father was correct—but now she wondered if he meant what he said
about allowing Jonathon to court her. She had no reason to doubt her father,
but it still concerned her that he had not previously admitted that Jonathon
had asked permission to court her. It had taken Chattrecombe’s murmured words
about a bouquet of roses in her hatbox for her to realize that her father was
removing her from Jonathon’s influence.
Was Jonathon’s influence unhealthy?
She spent the remainder of the
afternoon and most of the evening pondering the question. Having always
understood when she needed time to look inside herself, her father did not
question her suddenly quiet disposition. She feared she was only complicating
matters, but the idea that she was being lied to by either Jonathon or her
father—or both—had taken root in her head and she could not shake
the thought.
She had never doubted that her father
loved her and wanted the best for her. He had raised her in the best manner he
knew how, and she thought highly enough of herself to applaud him for his
effort. He could have
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