CHAPTER FIVE
Felicity blushed at how much personal information she had revealed to this stranger. She had never opened up that much to anyone except a few friends and her mother. What had made her say so much to Philip Merrick? Perhaps it was his friendly, empathetic expression, how he looked her in the eye and nodded. She was accustomed to her brothers laughing at anything serious she might say, but Mr. Merrick did not even look as if he wanted to laugh.
But where were her manners? She shouldn’t be only talking of herself.
“And what are your ambitions, Mr. Merrick?”
“My ambitions?” His look turned more sober as two creases formed between his brows. “I am the fourth son of my father. He is a gentleman of some means, but a fourth son must have plans and an occupation. That suits me well, for I enjoy a life of activity.” He seemed to make an effort to smile, but the somber crease remained. “I shall make the church my profession, if other aspirations do not develop.”
“Other aspirations?”
“Yes. The sort of aspirations the rest of the men are here for.”
She looked inquiringly at him.
“We are all hoping for positions of leadership.”
“I don’t understand. This is a party, is it not?”
“Then you don’t know?”
“Know what?” Felicity’s chest tightened.
He stared at her as if unsure what to say next, but there was a hint of compassion in his eyes, unless she read him wrong. Her heart was beginning to pound.
“There you are!” Mr. Ratley entered the room. “Miss Appleby told me I might find you here.” He turned his attention to Mr. Merrick. “Did you tire of the game in the billiards room, Mr. Merrick?”
“I was searching for a quiet place to read when I happened upon Miss Mayson.”
“Then I shall gladly whisk her away so that you may have your solitude. Miss Mayson, would you like to take a turn around the garden with me?”
Felicity acquiesced, and she once again found herself in the garden with Oliver Ratley and Lady Blackstone, wandering about, talking of the flowers and their trip to the seaside the next day, eagerly anticipating the short jaunt.
But what had Mr. Merrick been speaking of? All the men here were seeking positions of leadership, he’d said. Whatever kind of positions could they find here at Lady Blackstone’s country estate?
Felicity and Aunt Agnes sat across from Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley in that gentleman’s carriage the next day as they set off for Margate. Lady Blackstone’s voice was animated as she spoke about first one topic and then another with a ready smile on her face, while Mr. Ratley kept glancing out the window to relay their progress, commenting on how slowly the carriage was moving, and dabbing at his face with his handkerchief.
Meanwhile, Auntie plucked at her sleeves and mumbled under her breath.
“What did you say, Auntie?”
“Oh, I was saying the weather is warm for this time of year, but I am glad I brought my warm cloak.”
The carriage came to a halt, and Mr. Ratley sprang out, helping each lady down, Felicity being the last one out.
“How do you like it?” Mr. Ratley bent to look into her face.
The ocean was before her as she stood on a sand dune just above the shore.
“It is lovely.” His face was so eager, so expectant, that she went on. “I love the roar of the sea. And the expanse of it is simply wonderful. The way the water continues to meet the sand is unlike anything I’ve seen before.”
“I’m so pleased you like it.”
“Come,” Lady Blackstone called to them from several feet away where she stood holding Aunt Agnes’s arm. “We must go down to the shore.”
Mr. Ratley dabbed at his face again. He had lost some of his color.
“Are you well, Mr. Ratley? You look pale.”
“Oh no, I am quite well.” He smiled, but the corners of his mouth trembled.
What could the matter be?
They started off, and he appeared strong enough. He helped her down some stone steps that led to the beach. She was careful, though, not to lean on him.
At the bottom, her foot sank into the sand. The gritty grains entered her thin leather shoes and settled between her toes. A white seabird ran along the edge of the water in front of them as the frothy water rushed up to meet it.
Felicity shaded her eyes with her hand to gaze out at the ocean. The rippling sea was like a thousand sparkling jewels glinting in the sun. The roar of its ceaseless motion filled her ears the way it seemed to fill the whole world, all encompassing.
She glanced to her right. Lady Blackstone and Aunt Agnes were surprisingly far down the beach and walking still farther. She turned to her left. “Should we not follow th—”
Mr. Ratley was down on his knees beside her. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.
“Mr. Ratley!”
Was he ill? Should she go and fetch a physician? He reached and grasped her hand.
“Miss Felicity Mayson, will you make me the happiest man in the world by agreeing to become my wife?”
Felicity’s heart pounded. He gazed up at her, fear and expectation all over his face.
No man had ever asked her to marry him, except the one time when a surgeon’s young son had asked her in the vestibule of the surgeon’s home when she’d come to fetch him to set her brother’s broken leg.
Now, she stammered as she had done then. Except this time, she said, “I will.”
But did she mean it? Did she truly want to marry Mr. Ratley?
Mr. Ratley seemed to love her, if his nervousness and attentiveness were any indication, and he had a large fortune besides. They would not quarrel about money or be in want. Wasn’t this her opportunity to have the kind of love that her friends Leorah and Julia enjoyed? What else could she wish for?
He jumped to his feet, still clutching her hand. “Oh, thank you, Miss Mayson. I am so . . . thank you for accepting me. I shall endeavor . . .”
He let her go and raised both arms high in the air to wave at Lady Blackstone and Aunt Agnes.
Was this the right time to discuss when he would speak to her father and when the wedding should take place? She rather imagined when she became engaged that her fiancé would kiss her or at least embrace her. But that was foolish. They were in a public place.
Lady Blackstone and Aunt Agnes were walking back toward them now. Mr. Ratley put his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. He bent and kissed her with wet, limp lips.
Was this how a kiss felt? All slobbery and awkward?
Then he set her on her feet again.
Her cheeks burned at the thought that Lady Blackstone and Auntie had seen him kiss her, her very first kiss, which she had not realized would feel so . . . unromantic. But one could not expect perfection when he had—she hoped—never kissed anyone before.
When the two ladies reached them, Mr. Ratley announced, “We are engaged.”
“Truly, I wish you both the best of everything life has to offer.” Lady Blackstone’s smile stretched from one ear to the other. “I could not be happier if you were my own children. That is, if one of you were.” They all laughed.
Aunt Agnes was plucking at her sleeves. “Yes, very happy.”
They continued walking down the beach, her hand on Mr. Ratley’s arm. Felicity could hardly pay attention to the beauty of the ocean. Had she done the right thing? How could she say no to him when he had that vulnerable look on his face? Besides, he must love her to ask her to marry him. But truly, what did she know of him, of his beliefs and his wishes and his thoughts on important things such as faith in God, how many children they should have, and . . . There must be a great many important subjects they had never discussed.
They wandered along the seaside, watching the birds and the waves as they got their shoes soiled and sandy. Mr. Ratley kept his hand on hers. Would he be a kind and affectionate husband? He gave every indication that he would be. Surely her life would be pleasant and comfortable married to this man.
On the way back to Doverton Hall, no opportunity to speak privately presented itself, of course, since Lady Blackstone and Aunt Agnes were with them in the carriage. If only she could speak with him, he would surely dispel this uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Philip noticed a restlessness in the men while their leader was away sightseeing at the seaside. They drank far too much brandy. But by dinner Lady Blackstone had returned with the others, and the guests’ drinking slowed to normal.
The dinner seemed especially fine and fancy tonight as their hostess managed to get everyone’s attention, a broad smile on her face.
“I have an announcement to make. Or perhaps I should allow our dear Mr. Ratley to make the announcement.”
She looked down at the young man, and he stood. He made a show of clearing his throat.
“Dear friends, I would like you all to share in my joy, as Miss Felicity Mayson has agreed to become my wife. We are engaged to be married.”
There were a few cries, then cheers, as the room erupted in exclamations.
Felicity Mayson was smiling, but in her eyes he read an emotion that had nothing to do with joy. But perhaps he was imagining that she was putting on a brave face, pretending to be happy.
After dinner was over and the men joined the ladies, Mr. Cartwright came over to him.
“Perhaps now we can speak more freely about our revolution.”
“Now?”
“I forgot that you were not here the first day.” He glanced behind him. “Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley asked us to behave as if we were at a normal house party and not mention anything about our activities and plans in front of the ladies, particularly Miss Felicity Mayson and her aunt.”
“But why?”
“I suppose it was because the ladies did not know our true purpose for being here. Or perhaps Lady Blackstone was not sure we could trust them. Either way, if Ratley has asked her to marry him, it must mean that they consider them safe.”
Philip became aware of two men, Sproles and Rowell, arguing. Both had had too much to drink, and their voices rose as they drew closer to each other.
“I should be in charge of the weapons,” Sproles yelled in Rowell’s face.
Philip’s whole body tensed as he calculated how to place his body between the two men and the ladies, who, unfortunately, were not sitting in one location.
“You?” Rowell shouted. “You don’t even know the meaning of loyalty to our cause. You would turn your back on us all if the Crown offered to pay your gaming debts.”
Sproles roared and throttled Rowell, and they fell on the floor in a heap of flailing arms and legs.