CHAPTER ONE
Spring 1815, London, England
Felicity took the young gentleman’s arm as they moved away from the dance floor. He was quite handsome, with brown hair and a gentle manner.
“You dance very well, Miss Mayson.” He smiled shyly at her.
“Thank you, Mr. Kellerman.”
“Would you honor me with the next dance?”
“I would be—”
An older woman walked up behind Mr. Kellerman and tapped him on the shoulder. She glared at Felicity as she took Mr. Kellerman’s arm.
“You are not to dance with that young woman again.” The woman spoke in a harsh whisper, loud enough for Felicity to hear.
“Mother, please. I already asked her.” His cheeks were turning red.
“She has no money. No money.” She punctuated her words with a tug on his arm. “Go and dance with Miss Gandy over there.”
His face flaming red, he turned toward Felicity and bowed. “Excuse me, Miss Mayson.”
“You are excused.” She held herself with as much dignity as she could and matched his ugly mother stare for stare. They both turned and walked away.
Felicity stood alone by the wall. I will not care what those supercilious, grasping people say or think, she recited over and over in her head. If only her friends Julia and Leorah were there, she wouldn’t feel so embarrassed, but neither of them had yet returned to town for the Season.
The rest of the night, the only people who asked her to dance were her father and the host’s fifteen-year-old son.
In the carriage on the way home, Felicity announced, “That was the last ball I ever plan to attend, unless it is given by the Withinghalls or the Langdons.”
“Oh, you do not mean that,” Mother said.
“I certainly do.” But she wasn’t sure anyone heard her, for two of her brothers and her sister began to argue.
“You’re taking too much room! Move over.”
“You move over! You’re sitting in my lap.”
“Your hair is in my face!”
Her father was wealthy enough to live in Mayfair and be invited to assemblies and balls but not wealthy enough to give each of his five daughters a significant dowry, and he had to do at least a little something for each of his eight sons. She had never been lonely growing up with so many siblings, but being one of thirteen was not helpful in securing a husband.
From now on, she would do what she liked, and she would give not one thought to marriage or eligible men.
She had been studying Chinese in the hope of traveling to the Orient, ever since hearing the impassioned words of a missionary at a lecture hall a few weeks before. But truthfully, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be a missionary. She might just write a treatise on what was wrong with the conditions and restrictions society placed on ladies, its dictates on who should and shouldn’t marry whom, and on how money was a crude and unfair factor in marriage.
Perhaps she could be a sort of young Hannah More.
All she really knew was that she wanted to dedicate herself to something besides standing around waiting for a husband who wouldn’t snub her for her tiny dowry.
“Have you heard? Napoleon is in Paris, and the king has fled France.”
Felicity looked up from her book. Alas for the French. It seemed their government was always in turmoil.
Tom’s eyes were bright, and his voice pulsed with excitement. “The war will be recommencing, and my regiment leaves tomorrow.”
And alas for England, joining in another war. Felicity’s friend Casandra had lost a brother to the war a few years ago. And Felicity would have to be blind not to notice all the soldiers who had come home missing an eye, an arm, or even both legs.
“Tom, you will be careful, won’t you?”
“What kind of fun will it be to be careful?” Her brother grinned.
He was full of the prospect of adventure and danger and the courageous acts he would be lauded for. Felicity shook her head and went back to studying.
“Not still trying to learn Chinese, are you?” Tom snatched the book from her hands. “Father will never allow you to go to China. Besides, aren’t you afraid you’ll faint at the first sight of such a foreign place?”
Felicity took back her book and glared at him. It was embarrassing enough that she had twice fainted, but to have her brothers constantly bring it up . . .
“I suppose it is all well and good for you to go get your head shot off in France, but I am not allowed to be a missionary in China.”
“Why don’t you marry a good soldier and forget about China? You don’t want to end a spinster, do you?”
Felicity held up a finger. “First of all, why would I want to marry a soldier who will only get himself killed or maimed? And secondly . . .” She huffed out a breath and turned away.
Mother entered the room waving a letter.
“Lady Blackstone has invited you to Doverton Hall for a few weeks.”
“Lady Blackstone?”
“Your aunt. You remember. She was married to my brother briefly before he died. Then she married a baron. She is inviting you and your sister. Unfortunately, Elizabeth will be in Surrey for a fortnight with the Harrisons, but Aunt Agnes can accompany you.”
“Must I go?” The thought of a house party with strangers was not appealing. “I’m so tired of everyone expecting me to find a husband.” And tired of being rejected.
Mother gave a slight smile. “I suppose I shouldn’t tell you that Lady Blackstone writes that there will be several eligible young gentlemen there, including one in particular she wishes you to meet.”
Felicity heaved a sigh.
“Oh, my dear,” Mother cried, “do not look up at the ceiling in that rude way. Who has taught you that terrible habit?”
Lady Withinghall, her dear friend, often rolled her eyes, but Mother probably already knew that.
“Forgive me, Mother.” Perhaps she could try a different tactic. “But why would Lady Blackstone be having a party at her country estate at this time of year? It is the middle of the Season, and everyone will be in London.”
“I don’t know, but it will not be for the entire Season.”
“Are you certain Lady Blackstone and her parties are quite respectable?”
“Why would they not be? She is the widow of a baron, and surely at her age—she must be five and forty—she is beyond the sort of behavior that ruins reputations.”
“I suppose.”
“You must get your things packed, then, for you leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” She didn’t even want to go, and now she had to leave before even getting used to the idea?
“Enough time to see me off,” Tom said cheerfully.
Mother turned her attention to Felicity’s brother, fussing about how he should take care to keep his feet dry and talking of where he might be sent and what he should take with him.
There seemed to be no help for it. She was off to Margate on the coast to engage in the kind of frivolities—card games and dancing and flirting—that were supposed to bring pleasure.
She should refuse. She should tell Mother she wanted her life to count for something, not just be an exercise in futility, standing about trying to attract the attention of someone—anyone with a shred of wealth—who would marry her.
But Mother could be quite determined, and Felicity would save her reasons for her treatise on British society’s hypocritical marriage restrictions.
Lady Blackstone’s smile lit up her entire face as she traversed the enormous entryway of Doverton Hall toward Felicity. She embraced her quite warmly.
“And here is your delightful aunt, Miss Appleby. How good of you to accompany dear Felicity.” She squeezed Auntie’s hands and looked into her eyes.
“Yes, here we are,” Aunt Agnes said. “I’ve never been to Margate in the whole of my life. The air is quite moist, but everyone is always saying how healthful the sea air is for—”
“Yes, yes, it’s quite healthful.” Lady Blackstone turned away from her. “And now, Felicity, let us get you both settled into your room.”
Felicity and Aunt Agnes started up the stairs behind Lady Blackstone. On the landing, a young man seemed to be waiting for them.
“Oh, how fortunate you are here, Mr. Ratley, so that you might meet my lovely niece and her dear aunt. Miss Felicity Mayson, Miss Appleby, please allow me to present Mr. Oliver Ratley.”
Oliver Ratley. That was the name Mother had mentioned from Lady Blackstone’s letter, the young man she thought would be a good marriage prospect for Felicity. Well, with brown hair, brown eyes, and even features, at least he was handsome.
Mr. Ratley took her hand and squeezed it. Felicity smiled, but she drew her hand back as soon as possible. He should not take the hand of a young lady with whom he was not well acquainted.
He smiled agreeably, as he was fortunate enough to have straight white teeth. His hair was thick, and his neckcloth was tied neatly. His style of dress was pleasing—neither too foppish nor too austere.
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Mayson.” Mr. Ratley bowed, then turned to Aunt Agnes and took her hand as well, which caused her face to twitch. “Miss Appleby, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I hope you shall both be down later for a game of whist and some conversation. The afternoon will be most dull if you do not.”
“Perhaps we shall,” Felicity said. Then she and her aunt followed Lady Blackstone the rest of the way to their room.
Once inside with the door closed, Felicity glanced at her hair in the mirror. Good. It did not appear too messy after their long carriage ride.
“The young man, Mr. Ratley, was amiable and gentlemanlike, though I did not expect him to take my hand,” Aunt Agnes said. “I did not have my spectacles on, but he seemed handsome as well.”
“Yes. I had thought I might spend most of this house party in my room,” Felicity said, “but I may as well satisfy Lady Blackstone by getting to know Mr. Ratley.”
“Yes, of course,” Auntie said. “You should go down and see if he is as agreeable on further acquaintance.”
“And you must go down with me.”
“Oh, I had rather thought I would read. I have a new book—”
“Auntie, please. I shall not force you to go to all the festivities, but it is the first day, and I don’t know anyone except Lady Blackstone. And though she does treat me so familiarly, I hardly know her. Please? You must.”
Aunt Agnes glanced around nervously. “Very well, very well. But I shall bring my book and my spectacles with me, and if I can find a quiet corner, I shall sit and read.”
“Just as you wish, Auntie.”
Downstairs several people were gathered in a large sitting room, and at least two card games were underway at two separate tables. But . . . everyone in the room was male. Not a single lady was present.
“Aunt Agnes,” Felicity whispered, bending her head so her aunt could hear, “I think we should go look for Lady Blackstone.”
They turned to leave when Mr. Ratley and Lady Blackstone suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“You are not going back to your room?” Lady Blackstone asked.
“We were afraid . . . that is, this seems to be the gentlemen’s card-playing room.”
“Oh, never you mind those men. They have been instructed to be on their very best behavior when you are around. Nevertheless, we shall go for a walk, the four of us, in the garden. Will that suit you both? Oh, you shall love my garden, shall they not, Mr. Ratley?”
“Yes, indeed, it is a splendid garden.”
Felicity wanted to ask where all the female guests had gotten to, but Lady Blackstone was hustling them away.
“I should get my bonnet and a jacket before venturing out of doors,” Aunt Agnes said.
“No need to get your bonnet, Miss Appleby,” Lady Blackstone said. “It is a lovely day with not a speck of wind, and the sun is safely hidden behind the clouds. You shall be quite warm and cozy between Mr. Ratley and me, and Felicity can take the gentleman’s other arm. You see?”
They were out the back door before Felicity knew where they were going.
Though Lady Blackstone bore the facial lines of a lady of forty years, her hair was not yet gray but rather a light brown. She tucked Aunt Agnes’s hand inside her elbow. Mr. Ratley gave Auntie his arm, then offered his other arm to Felicity. There was nothing in his manner to give her alarm—his gaze was gentle, though intense—so she accepted his arm and kept her eyes on the garden walk ahead.
“Miss Appleby, I have heard from my sister-in-law, Mrs. Mayson, that you are a great novel reader. Pray, tell me, what are your favorite novels?”
With Lady Blackstone engaging Auntie’s attention on her most beloved subject, Felicity was very aware of Mr. Ratley and the quiet way he was inclining his head toward her. And finally, he spoke.
“Lady Blackstone has kept the garden very much as it was when the monks of Doverton Abbey owned it. Here you can see their herb garden amongst the flowers and shrubs.”
“Are you interested in horticulture, sir? Or botany, perhaps?”
“No. That is, I know a little of the subjects, but very little. I was a soldier before my father died and left me a substantial fortune.”
Well, she was not sure what Lady Blackstone had told him, but she would let him know right away that if he wished for a wife with a large fortune—
“So I may marry as I wish. It is a luxury, a consequence of inheriting such a great fortune.”
“I do not believe most heirs would share your opinion of the business, Mr. Ratley.” She nearly laughed. “In fact, most would feel as though they now had the opportunity to improve on their fortune by marrying an equal or greater one.”
“I understand you, Miss Mayson—you do not mind my calling you Miss Mayson?”
“Of course not. It is my name.”
“I only mean that . . . Lady Blackstone refers to you by your given name, and I hope I do not make a mistake and call you Miss Felicity.”
“If you do, it is all right. I am not the oldest daughter in my family.”
“Felicity is such a pretty name, so charming and feminine. It suits you perfectly.”
His cheeks turned red, and he seemed to have difficulty looking her in the eye.
Felicity did laugh. “You must accustom yourself as best you can to it, I suppose.”
He shook his head. “Forgive me. I was prepared to admire you, as Lady Blackstone had told me you were a remarkable woman, but I do not often meet with such beauty as yours.”
Felicity wasn’t sure which urge was greater—the urge to laugh or to roll her eyes. “I think it best if we talk of other things, as my mother taught me never to receive flattery.”
“Forgive me. I was quite forward.”
“Not at all.” The moment was becoming awkward.
“But I believe we were speaking of the rather indelicate subject of fortunes. Miss Mayson, you must think me terribly ungentlemanlike.”
“What?” Lady Blackstone cried. “You have very gentlemanlike manners, Mr. Ratley.” Lady Blackstone leaned forward and stopped walking. They were all forced to stop as well.
Felicity was determined to set forth the truth. “Mr. Ratley was just informing me that he has inherited a great fortune, but Mr. Ratley, I do not think you ungentlemanlike at all. Rather, I admire your forthrightness, and I shall attempt to duplicate it by divulging that I have no fortune at all.”
They all stared at her.
Should she set his mind at ease by excusing him now from further flirtation?
“But I thought your father was very successful in his business in London?” Lady Blackstone’s brows drew together.
“He is successful, but I am one of thirteen children, my lady, and can expect little when I marry. My father has settled only a hundred pounds per annum on myself and my younger sister.”
There. The truth was out, and Mr. Ratley could shun her as he pleased.
Mr. Ratley gazed down at her and squeezed her hand, which rested on his arm. “As I said before, it is well that I do not need to care about the dowry of the woman I marry, since I have my own fortune.”
Felicity again felt the urge to laugh. Surely this man was in jest, as no one said such things. He could not be so disinterested. She’d never known anyone to take such a view. And yet, he seemed perfectly serious.
“Dear Mr. Ratley,” Lady Blackstone said, “you have shocked our poor Felicity—I can see it on her face. And well she might be shocked, for the gentlemen she’s accustomed to meeting care only for a lady’s fortune. Is it not so? But I shall not press you about the matter, my dear. No, no, we shall not dwell on unpleasant subjects. We shall be merry and leave sad things behind for a month or so.”
They all agreed that was a good plan, but Felicity continued to feel unsettled, though not unpleasantly so, as they explored Doverton Hall’s gardens with the handsome Mr. Ratley.
While Felicity was dressing her hair for dinner, a knock came at the door.
“Come in.”
Lady Blackstone entered the room and closed the door behind her. “You are looking so lovely. No wonder Mr. Ratley was so smitten with you.”
“Smitten?”
“He could not take his eyes off you. I cannot blame him.”
“He did seem inclined to think well of me, though I cannot think why. He has never met me nor any of my family, and I informed him of my lack of fortune.”
Perhaps she was being too honest. But she rather prided herself on her honesty, and her friend Leorah had encouraged it. That lady’s courage was too great to worry about the consequences of speaking her mind.
“Have men often reacted unfavorably after they learned of your lack of fortune?”
“Very often. Once a man said, in my hearing, that he would not dance with me because I was the daughter of a merchant and had no dowry. And sometimes a gentleman will dance and flirt with me at a ball or party, and then the next time I see him, he will ignore me and pretend not to know me. People often say that women are mercenary and only want the wealthiest man they can acquire, but I believe it is the men who are the mercenaries. Rather than wishing to marry for love, or to cherish and care for the woman of their choice, they wish to be financially cared for by the woman. That is not chivalrous, nor is it biblical.”
“And do you think British society discourages such ungentlemanlike behavior?”
“Indeed, society does not discourage it. It practically demands it.”
“You are so right, my dear. The rich care only for the rich. I am glad you think as I do.” Lady Blackstone’s eyes were wide and glittering. “I did not misjudge you. I knew you were a spirited young woman with a mind of her own who does not allow society to dictate her beliefs. Given half a chance, you would fight such an unfair system as we have in this country—the elite classes dictating to everyone else, never allowing the poor their equal part in government and in life.”
Felicity stared. What did Lady Blackstone mean? Fight the unfair system? Perhaps she had been too strident in her opinions.
“But this is a party. You are young. You want to enjoy yourself.” Lady Blackstone’s smile was back in its usual place. “I have arranged for you to sit with Mr. Ratley at dinner. He will entertain you quite satisfactorily, and your dear Aunt Appleby will be seated nearby.” She caressed Felicity’s cheek in a most familiar way.
Why did the woman treat her as if she was a long-lost favorite relative? They’d seldom been in each other’s company, and Lady Blackstone and Felicity’s uncle had no children. The baron she married shortly thereafter died a year ago, leaving her once again a childless widow.
Lady Blackstone chatted a bit longer before going to greet the guests who would be arriving before dinner, leaving Felicity to wonder at her hostess’s strange words. Could Lady Blackstone be a reformer? Or a suffragist, perhaps? Felicity might almost think her capable of being a member of one of those oath-taking societies that were illegal, and that, from time to time, had been brought to light and summarily squashed by Parliament and the Home Office. Some members had even been hanged for plotting treason.
But, no, Lady Blackstone could not be part of anything so frightening.