CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Felicity awakened with a start. Someone was touching her shoulder.
A shadowy figure loomed over her.
“Miss Mayson?” Mr. Merrick’s voice whispered. “I think now would be a good time to make a run for the house.”
“Oh.” How embarrassing to be sleeping sitting up, and in a gentleman’s presence.
“I do not hear any more voices. I peeked through the door and saw several people enter the house some minutes ago. Soon it will be dawn.”
Felicity stood and smoothed her skirt, taking a deep breath.
He said, “I shall wait a few minutes after you and then go in.”
She walked to the door and took another deep breath. Would God keep her from being seen as she ran across the yard to the back door? Lately, she always felt that God must be upset with her, she was telling so many lies. But they were necessary lies to save herself and her aunt and even Mr. Merrick. Was God angry with her?
“God, please help me and forgive all my trespasses,” she whispered, then pushed the door open.
She ran the whole way to the house and slipped inside. Keeping her head down, she stepped quickly but carefully, glad she was wearing her thin leather slippers so her footfalls were silent on the marble and stone floors. She went quickly up the stairs. Thank you, God, that no one is around. She made it to her door and let herself inside.
Auntie was sleeping, her breaths deep and even.
Felicity knelt by her own bed and clasped her hands. “God, forgive me of my many sins. I have lied and deceived, but I pray you will show me mercy and look at the motives of my heart and forgive me. And please cause these people in this house to repent of their wicked plans to murder your anointed rulers of our land, the Prince Regent and others. Let them be convicted and turn away from their plan. Please protect Mr. Merrick—Philip McDowell. Give him favor and help him. Keep Auntie and me safe and get us back to London. Thank you, God. May your name forever be hallowed in England and over the whole world. Amen.”
She crawled into bed and felt at peace.
“Darling, a letter has come for you.” Mr. Ratley carried the letter to her as she sat breaking her fast with Mrs. Cartwright in the breakfast room. “May I join you?”
“Yes, of course,” Felicity said.
Felicity saw that the letter was from her family and tucked it away to read later.
“I heard a lot of voices last night,” Felicity said as they were settled comfortably with their tea. “They sounded as if they were coming from the garden.”
“Oh yes,” her fiancé said. “We had some business to attend to, to get ready for our glorious revolution.” He smiled sweetly. “I hope the noise did not upset you.”
“It was a bit disconcerting, that is all,” Felicity said.
“I’m so sorry you were bothered.” He took the liberty to hold her hand and pat it. “We were storing some things, necessary things for the revolution. Nothing to worry about.”
Felicity said no more on the subject and smiled and talked as though she thought nothing more about it. She did wonder if Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley knew of the broken printing press and whether or not they suspected it had been tampered with. The conspirators did not discuss the business of their revolutionary endeavors with Felicity, so it was not strange that they would not mention the broken printing press in her presence.
When she had eaten her breakfast, Mr. Ratley asked Felicity to take a walk with him. “You can read your letter while I look in on the progress with the garden.”
She went with him, unsure how to refuse.
Mr. Ratley found a bench where she could sit with her letter, and he went in search of the gardeners.
Felicity opened her missive, already suspicious. But if she had not had reason to suspect the veracity of the letter, she might never have seen anything amiss in her mother’s handwriting. But it spoke in such glowing terms, with such enthusiasm, she knew it had been forged.
My dearest daughter, Felicity,
I am writing to tell you that your father and I most heartily approve your marriage to Mr. Ratley. Your father gives his wholehearted consent for you to marry as soon as Mr. Ratley may like. We are satisfied that he is the most eligible, the most perfect, husband you could ever have found in the whole of Great Britain. You need not wait for anything, even your family’s attendance on the ceremony, for we shall have plenty of time to visit you after the wedding.
Felicity’s heart sank. So now, with her family’s supposed eager consent to her quick marriage, they intended to pressure her to marry him before their rebellion began. What excuse was she to invent now?
She kept staring at the letter, pretending to read it.
She could feign sickness.
She could tell him she was not ready.
She could say she wanted more time with him for a honeymoon. If they married before the insurrection, they would have very little time.
Didn’t special licenses take some time to get?
Mr. Ratley was walking back down the path toward her. The fraud. He knew exactly what was in that letter. He had not only read it, he had written it.
She pasted a smile on her face.
“Was it good news, my love?” He smiled just as sweetly as she’d ever seen him.
“It was. My father has given his permission for us to wed.”
“That is very good news indeed.”
“I suppose now you shall have to get a special license so that we may wed here instead of in London.”
His smile widened. “I have already acquired the special license.”
Her stomach sank lower.
“There is nothing stopping us from marrying this week, if I can arrange it with the rector.”
“This week? Why so soon? Should we not wait until things are more settled, until we can be in our own estate without the seriousness of the revolution weighing on our minds?”
“Darling, there is nothing for you to worry about.” He stroked her arm in a way that made her want to throw off his hand and rub every vestige of his touch from her skin.
“I am not worrying, but I would like the first few weeks and months of my marriage not to be marred by . . . by such upheaval as may—will—occur after your plans are enacted.”
“Darling.” Mr. Ratley gave her a look as one might give a small child who was crying over not getting her way—patronizing, with a pouty half frown. “Isn’t it better to have a little time before I have to help with the revolution than to wait weeks, perhaps months?”
God, help me. She sent up the desperate prayer before turning on the bench to fully face him.
“Oliver, you are not so impatient as this. You wish us to have the best beginning possible, do you not? Now, think of how you will feel when the revolution starts. If all goes well, the crux of it will be over in a few days. We can get married in London with my family—or here, if you prefer—and begin our new life in the new republic. If the revolution takes longer than you plan, you would not wish to be thinking of your wife here at Doverton Hall, would you? Would it not be better to marry when everything is settled and there are no dangerous events to be planned and dealt with? We can start fresh after the revolution has been accomplished.”
His face was immobile, his lips pressed together in a straight line. Finally, he spoke.
“I do not approve of your reticence, but I shall think about what you have said.”
“Thank you, my dear. I appreciate your forbearance and wisdom. Also, I should feel very sad not to have my own dear parents at the wedding, as well as my most beloved sister, Elizabeth, and my other siblings.” She looked down and sniffed, hoping he would think she was crying and be moved.
She took out her handkerchief and wiped her nose. But Mr. Ratley made no move to comfort her, and there was only silence for a full minute.
She glanced up, but Mr. Ratley was stone-faced.
“I know you want your own way in this matter, but I must give it some thought. I will decide what is best.” His expression softened a bit. “Do not worry. All shall be well.”
She was glad he got up and walked away then. How dare the man treat her as if her thoughts and opinions did not matter. A cold chunk of ice sank to the pit of her stomach. How awful it would be to be married to a man who had no empathy or tender feelings for his wife.
Of course, she had been trying to manipulate him with false tears. That was wrong, and she felt sorry for any man who had to live with a wife who feigned emotion in order to manipulate. But if they were married, would he care so little about her feelings and opinions and wishes? Could he watch his wife, the woman he professed to love, cry and feel nothing? She shivered.
She was tired of this spy game. She wanted to go home, to feel safe, and to be comforted by someone who cared about her. Aunt Agnes was sweet, but Felicity always had to be careful not to upset her nerves. Mr. Merrick seemed kind enough, but he had made it clear that his priority was the mission, not her. And he could not comfort her, being an unmarried young man wholly unrelated to her. It would not be proper.
“I want my mother,” she whispered into the damp air. The clouds overhead were gray and threatening, and so were the very real tears damming behind her eyes.
God, help me. I don’t want to be killed by these insurrectionists. But I’d rather die than marry Oliver Ratley.
Philip had finished copying all the papers he’d taken from Lady Blackstone’s room by the time the sun was over the horizon. He hid the copies and the original papers in the false compartment in his trunk and managed to get a few hours of sleep. He had risen at ten, and now Lady Blackstone sat across from him in the breakfast room buttering a piece of bread.
“Did you write your letters last night, Mr. Merrick?”
“Yes.”
“I only ask because I did not see them in the stack of mail going out.”
He’d forgotten to write those letters. A stupid mistake. “I forgot to bring them down. I shall bring them later.”
“You look as if you did not sleep very well.”
“I did not, my lady. I was feeling . . . sad and restless, thinking of my mother.”
“You poor dear.” She clucked her tongue. “I’m so sorry we don’t have any unmarried ladies here to distract you and make you think of other things.”
“Thank you for your kindness. I find I prefer to be alone with my thoughts today.”
Soon after, he hurried to his room to write the letters to his fake mother and brothers in London that he was supposed to have written the night before. Then he brought them down for the post, which had already gone for the day.
Now his focus had to be on getting those papers back into Lady Blackstone’s room before she missed them. But as long as she stayed close to the house, he couldn’t risk going into her room.
Later, he was discreetly trying to locate Lady Blackstone when he looked out a window and saw Miss Mayson and Mr. Ratley sitting on a bench talking. What was that boor saying to her? She looked distressed, possibly even crying.
He could not march out there and demand Ratley stop harassing Miss Mayson. He could not appear any more concerned about Miss Mayson than he already had. Ratley was her fiancé, and, like it or not, she had to continue with the charade for a while longer.
Mr. Ratley finally got up and left her. Just then, Philip heard someone approaching from behind him. He turned to see Lady Blackstone.
“Mr. Merrick. It’s good to see you out of your room. I shall pay a little visit to Miss Mayson.”
Mr. Ratley entered from outside. He and Lady Blackstone slipped into a small sitting room and talked in hushed voices, then Lady Blackstone left, striding out the door that led outdoors and to the garden.
Mr. Ratley now stood looking at him. “Merrick. I did not see you there. We should play a game of billiards. I have to go up to my room to take care of something, but perhaps later.”
“Of course.” Did Philip dare try to replace Lady Blackstone’s papers while Ratley was upstairs?
If Lady Blackstone did not take any trips in the near future, he’d have no choice but to replace the papers while she was outside, or even just downstairs. Time was short—for himself, and even shorter for Miss Mayson.
He decided to risk it.
Felicity listened as calmly as possible while Lady Blackstone spoke.
“Dear Felicity, Mr. Ratley tells me that you are wishing to have your parents and sister at your wedding.”
Felicity could see the disapproval in Lady Blackstone’s lowered brows. “Oh. Well, I . . . I had hoped that they might be present.”
“My dear, I understand, of course. But you must see that this is a time of war. We must do the things that are necessary for the good of all. Mr. Ratley is sacrificing his time and resources for the good of England, and you surely wish to honor that sacrifice.”
“Of course, I will always wish to honor my husband. Mr. Ratley is not yet my husband, but I do wish to honor him. But does honoring my fiancé, or for that matter, honoring my husband, mean that I must do everything he wishes me to?” She had to be careful. She did not wish to speak too vehemently on the subject. Perhaps she was beginning to emulate her friend Leorah. But after all, God was the authority, first and foremost, even ahead of one’s husband. Felicity could even imagine her favorite writer, Miss Hannah More, agreeing with such logic.
If only Mr. Ratley would change his mind about marrying her. Perhaps he would, if she was too outspoken.
Lady Blackstone’s jawline was rigid. “Of course not. Do you think I did everything my husbands said?” Lady Blackstone laughed, but it was a cold, brittle sound. “But as I was saying before, this is a time of war. In wartime, brides must accept less time with their husbands, and they must seize the time that they do have, lest they have regrets later. Mr. Ratley is a good and a wealthy man. Even if he is killed in our rebellion, you shall be well taken care of. Imagine what you will inherit.”
“I suppose I should think that way.”
“But you are a kind and gentle person, so innocent and good, it had not occurred to you that it would be best to marry first, in case something happened to Mr. Ratley.”
Felicity remembered what Lady Blackstone had said about her, that she was timid and afraid to speak her mind.
“You would never think of marrying a man only for his fortune,” Lady Blackstone went on, patting Felicity’s hand placatingly. “Of course, I know that, and Mr. Ratley knows that, which is why he wishes to make sure you are taken care of if the worst should happen.”
“So he only wants to marry me quickly because he’s afraid he might die, and he wants me to inherit his money if he does?” Felicity did her best to look wide-eyed and naïve.
“And why not? He cares so much for you.” Lady Blackstone smiled with her lips, but her eyes seemed to be shrewdly searching, trying to read Felicity’s thoughts.
“That is so incredibly kind and generous, I hardly know what to say. I would like to marry soon, just perhaps not quite as soon as Mr. Ratley would like.”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“Oh, just that Mr. Ratley wishes us to marry in a few days, but I . . . I do not know if I am ready . . . just yet. Perhaps we could wait three or four weeks. I believe that would give me enough time to settle my nervousness about being married.”
“Oh, I can tell you all about the marriage bed,” Lady Blackstone said, waving her hand in the air and looking amused. “Having been married three times, I can prepare you for anything you might encounter, anything you might worry about—anything, in short, that you might be frightened or unsure about. Knowledge is power, my dear.”
Felicity’s stomach tied itself in a knot, even as heat infused her cheeks.
“Please, do not tell me anything until the night before the wedding, I beg you, my lady.”
Lady Blackstone laughed, throwing her head back. But her sounds of mirth died away as she shook her head slowly back and forth. Then she took Felicity’s hand. “You and our dear Oliver shall be very happy together, never fear.”
“Thank you.”
“You must not let fear stand in your way.” Lady Blackstone curled her lip when she said the word fear and rolled her eyes, much as Felicity’s friend Leorah often did. But she suspected Lady Blackstone was rolling her eyes at Felicity, something Leorah would never do.
“I only want to feel a bit more comfortable with my future husband, to know him better, his thoughts and feelings.” Which was quite true. “Mr. Ratley and I—”
“You may drop the formalities, my dear. Call him by his given name. Call him Oliver.”
“Very well. Oliver and I became engaged so quickly and suddenly, and I thought we might have a long engagement, to get to know one another better. You might remember that I had no notion that he was involved in a plan to revolt against the government when I agreed to marry him.”
“Yes, exactly.” Lady Blackstone’s eyelids drooped, shading her gaze. “It makes me wonder if perhaps you have decided not to marry him after all.”
“Lady Blackstone, please. Why would you say such a thing? I hope you do not say this to my dear Mr. Rat—to Oliver.”
“I only wonder because of what you say—that you did not know of his sensibilities and political opinions when you became engaged to him. And now, when Oliver wishes to marry you and take care of you, you shun him.”
“Shun him? I only asked for a bit more time. I see no reason to think that he will be killed—you make it sound as if he will almost surely be.” Felicity allowed her true distress at being so questioned to bring up some quite real tears. “The thought of Oliver fighting and . . . and—”
She had to stop speaking and bite her lip to keep from crying.
“There, there, my dear. I am sorry I pressed you so, but I did want to know if your feelings for Oliver were true and deep, as true and deep as his are for you.” Lady Blackstone rubbed her shoulder, and Felicity suppressed a shudder.
She took out her handkerchief and wiped her face and blew her nose.
“Now, then, how much time do you think you need?” Lady Blackstone asked.
Surely Mr. Merrick could have all the secret information copied within days—which would leave him free to leave, to escape to London to ensure the information reached the Home Office. Perhaps they would all run away in the middle of the night, even if Felicity had to saddle her own horse and Auntie’s too and ride until she reached the safety of London. Oh, to be home! To see her mother’s sweet face and wrap her arms around Elizabeth.
“Two weeks? Yes, I think two weeks would be enough time.”
“In two weeks Oliver will be away leading the rebellion. One week seems ample time, with the two of you together every day. Then you will have a week together as man and wife.”
“I don’t want to interfere with his planning of strategies and meetings and the various duties he has.”
Lady Blackstone clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Poor Oliver. He was hoping to wed at the end of this week. I shall try to placate him, but it might be difficult.”
What did Lady Blackstone want her to say? Was she fishing for something? “I . . . I just love him so much. I don’t want to disappoint him when we are married. I want to feel perfectly comfortable with him. You understand, don’t you? As women, we cannot so easily enter into such a close physical relationship as men seem to be able to do. We need time and conversation.” God, please let her say she understands.
Lady Blackstone stared up at the clouds. “I do believe you are correct. Do you know, you have a very wise understanding of human nature, especially for a girl of your age and so little experience.” She smiled and touched Felicity’s jawline. “But perhaps it is because you have so many brothers and sisters. Several of your siblings are married, I believe, and you were able to observe the characteristics of men versus women.”
“Yes, I think that is so.” Felicity let out the breath that had stuck in her throat.
“Very well, my dear. I shall request to our dear Oliver that he wait ten days. That is a little less time than you wanted but a little longer than he wished to wait. He may be disappointed, but as you insinuated, it is not good for men to always get their way.” She winked. “He shall be the better for being forced to wait, I daresay.”
Felicity had to hope that they would all be able to escape before ten days’ time. “Thank you, my lady.”
“By the by, do you know anything about what happened to the printing press last night?”
“The printing press?”
“Yes.” Lady Blackstone was giving her that shuttered look again.
“I’m not even sure I knew there was a printing press. Where is it?”
“In that little building over there.” Lady Blackstone waved her hand.
Felicity shook her head.
“It is very strange. The servants left it in the evening, and when they went back this morning, it was broken.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I hope it does not cause any serious problems.”
“I daresay it shall not. I only ask you because you and Mr. Merrick were nearly the only ones who were not with us last night when we stowed away the weapons that arrived.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Lady Blackstone, I don’t know anything—”
“No, I don’t suppose you do. It is just as well. Oliver and I thought to spare you any of the details. Well, I hope you have a good afternoon. I must go now to my room and write some letters of business.” And she kissed Felicity’s cheek.