CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Felicity’s heart skipped a few beats as Mr. McDowell came to stand in front of her with the most attractive smile she had ever seen.
“Mr. McDowell, I hope you don’t mind me saying that you seem so much more cheerful now than when you were at Doverton Hall.”
“I think you are seeing me now as my usual self.”
“Yes, of course. You had a job to do there, a very serious one.”
“And which side of me do you prefer?” He raised his brows at her.
“I like your cheerful side very much, your smile, and how relaxed you seem. Although, your more serious side showed your courage and character.” So seldom did she say these sorts of things. Was she being flirtatious? She wanted to converse with Mr. McDowell, to bask in his friendship, to remember how strong and capable he had been.
She also couldn’t stop remembering how it felt when he held her in his arms. Was he remembering it too?
More people began to crowd in for refreshments before the dancing began. Felicity and Mr. McDowell were practically forced from the room and toward the ballroom.
When the music began for the first dance, Mr. McDowell escorted Felicity to the dance floor. How it made her heart expand to see him across from her, smiling, his gaze never wavering, intent on her. Every time his hand touched hers, her heart beat a little faster.
The second dance began just as enjoyably—even more so, since the pace was slower. He held her hand longer than necessary as they moved side by side and then faced each other to wait for their next turn. Was she imagining that he was looking at her in a way that was different than the way he looked at everyone else? Did she imagine that there was a questioning in his eyes, as if he was searching for something?
When the first two dances were over, a man came over to speak to Mr. McDowell. Felicity stood nearby, pretending to watch the dancers, but she was actually looking at Mr. McDowell, watching how he interacted with his friend, trying to imagine what he was saying and thinking as he spoke.
Truly, she was being ridiculous.
She moved away, and someone touched her arm from behind. She turned and found a woman smiling at her.
“Miss Felicity Mayson? You may not remember me, but I am Mrs. Ferguson. Your mother and I are well acquainted. I was just wondering about things I have been reading and hearing, some of it concerning you. You don’t mind if I ask, do you?”
“I don’t suppose—”
“Well, some say you are engaged to a Mr. Ratfield or Ratcliffe, whom you met at Lady Blackstone’s home in Margate, and that you were all plotting to revolt against the government.”
“Is that what some say, Mrs. Ferguson? What else do some say?”
“Oh, that Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratcliffe or Rat-something fled the country together, that they are joining with the Jacobins in France.”
“That sounds like gossip to me, Mrs. Ferguson. And if I were engaged to a Mr. Rat-something, I would be with him now. But I am not.”
“What say you in reply to what these people are saying?”
“I say nothing.”
“I hope I have not given offense.”
“Not at all, but I am wanted elsewhere. Please excuse me.” Felicity was already walking away, praying desperately she would see Julia or Leorah or—
“Miss Mayson? Are you well?”
She turned. Mr. McDowell was standing behind her.
“Yes, of course.” She smiled, quite forgetting everything.
“Will you dance with me?”
She took his arm and he led her to the floor.
And so it went the rest of the night. In fact, other than Felicity, Mr. McDowell danced with no one else except Leorah once and his own mother once. He introduced Felicity to his mother, his father, and one brother, who were all in attendance. The rest of the night she was in conversation with his family members or him, but they were never alone.
Before she knew it, the night was over, and she was standing with her family, waiting for their carriage. Mr. McDowell joined them, bidding a good night to her parents and each of her brothers and sisters.
He came to Felicity last. “May I call on you tomorrow?” He leaned so close to her that no one could infer that he meant anyone else.
“I shall be home.”
Philip walked the short distance to the Mayson home as soon as it was socially acceptable to make a call. When he was shown into the parlor, he could not have been more thrilled to find Miss Mayson alone.
“Let my mother know Mr. McDowell is here,” she said to the servant.
But as soon as the servant was gone, Philip shut the door.
Her eyes were round as she stared at him.
“I have some things I must say to you, Miss Mayson.”
He stepped right up to her and took her hands in his, staring into her sparkling green eyes. She did not pull away. Could she hear his heart pounding?
“Miss Mayson, the Prince Regent plans to reward me for my services to the country in searching out the members of Lady Blackstone’s insurrectionist group.”
“Oh, how very wonderful.” She squeezed his hands.
“He has said he plans to give me a profitable estate in Cambridgeshire that is at his disposal, bestowing on me the title of First Baron McDowell.”
Her eyes grew wider, and her pretty lips parted, tempting him. He ached to kiss her, his breath shallowing and making it more difficult to speak. But he wanted to do this right.
“The Prince Regent also plans to petition Parliament to reward me with twenty thousand pounds, and to reward you—”
“Me?”
“With the sum of thirty thousand pounds.”
“Oh.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
“You will not faint, will you?”
“No, of course not. But . . . oh my. You will be a wealthy man, a baron, and I . . .”
“You will be a wealthy woman.”
She pulled her hands free and threw them around his back, hugging him. He slipped his arms around her and held her close, pressing his cheek against her hair.
She was in his arms again . . . at last.
Felicity could hardly believe what Mr. McDowell was telling her. Joy bubbled inside her, but . . . was it too good to be true?
“Just because he petitions them . . . that does not mean they will grant it, does it?”
She pulled away, realizing her behavior was quite unseemly and would be embarrassing if Mother or anyone else came into the room and saw them. She took a step back. But he grabbed her hands and leaned toward her.
“It is not a guarantee, but it is likely. And before any other men realize that you are to be a wealthy woman, I need to ask you something.”
Her heart was pounding. Her gaze moved from his bright-blue eyes, which were strangely dark at the moment, to his perfect lips. Then he leaned his head down so his forehead was nearly touching hers.
“I need to tell you that I think you are the most clever, kind, unselfish, courageous woman I know. You are exactly the kind of woman I wish to marry . . . the only woman who could make me happy.”
She could barely breathe. Do not faint, Felicity. Do not. “I hope it isn’t only my new fortune that makes me appealing.” She smiled to show she was in jest, but a lump rose into her throat, forcing her to try to swallow past it.
He seemed to go a shade paler, and his throat bobbed. “I can see why you would think that.”
“It’s only that . . . no one ever wanted to marry me when I had no fortune.” Except Mr. Ratley.
The way he was staring at her made her bite her lip, wishing she had kept quiet. Her insecurity and fear had overtaken her. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No, I understand. I have felt the sting of rejection for my lack of wealth and status, and I do understand. But the truth is, I would marry you even if you did not have a shilling, though I may not be able to prove it.”
“No, I was wrong. You are a good and honorable gentleman. I should not have insinuated . . .”
He leaned even closer. “The truth is, I wanted to marry you ever since you showed how brave you could be, stealing into Lady Blackstone’s chamber and finding those papers. And when Ratley said those idiotic things about you, when he could have said how brave and intelligent and kind and good and noble and clever you are . . .”
He thought she was all those things? Her heart swelled inside her chest, pushing against her ribs, as she stared into his gentle blue eyes.
“Do you remember when we were hiding in the shell grotto?”
“I remember a little.” Unfortunately, most of it had come back to her. Her cheeks began to burn.
“Do you remember when you said you were sad because you would never kiss . . .”
Your wonderful lips.
“My lips?”
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Yes.”
He pressed his cheek to her temple. She felt his warm breath against her ear.
“Will you let me kiss you now?” His head moved, ever so slightly, his chin brushing her cheek. “Will you let me call you Felicity? And will you call me Philip? From now until forever? Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t move.
“I will.”
He turned his head and kissed her cheek, kissing his way down until his mouth slanted over hers.
Sweet heavens. His kiss turned her inside out and filled her with a strange feeling of . . . Thank you, God, for this man’s kisses.
Her hands were around his neck as he ended the kiss and held her tight.
When he finally leaned back to look into her eyes, she very gently brushed her fingertip over his bruised cheekbone, barely touching the skin. “I could hardly bear to see them hurt you.” Then she rose onto her toes and brushed her lips over the same spot. “I’ve been wanting to do that.”
He kissed her forehead, then touched his thumb to the corner of her mouth. “Not as long as I’ve been wanting to kiss you.”
He kissed her lips again, stealing her breath and sending her heartbeat into a rapid tempo. Mr. Ratley had never kissed her like that. It was not the same at all.
She wished she could kiss Philip again and again, but her mother or one of her brothers might come along and open the door. “Do you think my mother will be alarmed to see us like this?”
“I imagine she knows my intentions, why I’m here.”
“My father said something to that effect last night.”
“I shall go to him now, if you wish.”
“Can you stay a little while longer?”
“As long as you wish . . . anything you wish.” He kissed her cheek, then her lips.
Her heart seemed to float and take her with it, straight up to the ceiling and beyond. “I didn’t want to admit I was in love with you, and I was afraid to hope you might love me.” She caressed his shoulder as he touched his hand to her cheek. “I was so ashamed for engaging myself to Mr. Ratley. Are you not scandalized that people are gossiping about me being engaged to that insurrectionist?”
“That’s all over now.” He caressed her hair and pulled her even closer. “I don’t care what people say. I shall make you my baroness, and then they will have to still their wagging tongues.” He kissed her again, sending warmth all through her.
When the kiss ended, she said, “You were always so serious. I could not tell what you thought of me. And when you saved me from my runaway horse . . . It’s my fault you were beaten and thrown into the outbuilding.” She squeezed her eyes shut as a tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “You could have gotten away if not for me.”
He wiped her tear with his thumb. “It’s not your fault, and I would do it all again to save you.”
This time she raised her face and kissed him. “I love you, Philip McDowell—Baron McDowell. I love you, and I always will.”