Inwardly bracing herself for what was to come, Felicity walked out into the hallway with a smile on her face and a lightness in her step that did nothing to betray the rapid beating of her heart. Beside her Felix stood tall and true, a strong mast in a tumultuous sea.
She knew if it were up to him he would have told everyone staring at them to go straight to the devil. Then he’d grab a bottle of champagne and head for the nearest door. But he understood facing her peers was important to her, and for that she loved him all the more.
Love. What a short, simple word to describe such a tangled web of emotions.
She hadn’t told Felix that she was in love with him yet. At least not in so many words. But surely he knew that she was, just as she suspected he was in love with her. For why else would he continue to bring her flowers every day? Why accompany her on long walks through the park, or go to all the trouble of fixing up a little boat for Henry, or help Anne put bows in Mr. Darcy’s fur, if not for love? After all, a long courtship was not for his benefit. If he had his way…if he had his way she’d already be in his bed.
Her toes curled at the not-unpleasant-thought, and the fire in her belly smoldered anew. Banking down the flames, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
Aside from a new chandelier, the private hallway, reserved strictly for those in the box seats, looked exactly the same as she remembered it. While furniture was sparse – the room was intended for socializing, not sitting – it was luxuriously adorned with a thick blue and gold carpet, green silk wall hangings, and floor length curtains in deep burgundy. The curtains had been pulled back to offer a clear, unfiltered view of the city. From this height everything looked so very small; a dotted maze of rooftops and soft lights that glowed ever brighter as night sank its inky fingernails into the horizon.
Servants dressed in all black balancing large silver platters moved discreetly around the crowd of three or four dozen. They offered flutes of champagne and miniature cucumber sandwiches cut into neat triangles and garnished with a sprig of ginger.
“We’ll take two of those.” Felix waved down a servant and neatly plucked two glasses off his tray. “Thank ye kindly, mate.”
“Thank you,” Felicity murmured when he pressed one of the crystal flutes into her hand. She wasn’t particularly thirsty, but holding onto the glass gave her fingers something to do other than hover awkwardly at her waist.
“Do ye know anyone here?” he asked.
“Yes.” She brought the flute to her lips as she scanned the room. “I know all of them.” And yet not a single one had met her gaze or come over to introduce themselves to Felix. They were not giving her the cut direct, but everyone was being very careful to keep their distance. Scandal by association, she thought with a bitter twist of her mouth. One of the first unwritten rules every young debutante was taught to abide by.
“Miss Atwood!”
Her fingers tightening around the flute’s delicate stem, Felicity turned at the sound of her name. A curvaceous woman with curly brown hair springing out in every direction was squeezing through the crowd, her warm smile a welcome sight in a sea of frosty glares.
“Miss Atwood. I thought that was you.” Breathless by the time she reached them, the brunette’s ample chest heaved up and down as she dragged air into her lungs. “Lady Harriet. Lady Harriet Grisham.”
“I know.” Felicity met the woman’s smile with one of her own. Harriet’s brother, the Earl of Appleton, was a close friend of Ezra’s. The two had attended Eton together, and while they’d both gone on to marry (Ezra more than once), Harriet remained firmly on the shelf. It was not hard to see why. In addition to being a tad plumper than the gentleman seemed to prefer, Harriet was a loud, awkward creature who was forever saying the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. In short, she was a well-bred gentleman’s worst nightmare and nothing – not even a generous dowry – had managed to convince one of them to step up with an offer of marriage.
She and Felicity had met at the Lyceum five years ago during a dramatic performance of Hamlet. Their paths had crossed infrequently since then – Appleton did his best to keep his sister out of the public eye – but Felicity had always regarded Harriet with fondness.
“You look well,” she said, noting the pink flush in Harriet’s cheeks that bespoke of good health. “Are you here with your brother?”
“And his wife.” Harriet rolled her eyes. “She talked through the entire first act. Complaining about this, that, and the other. Honestly. But enough about her. How are you? I couldn’t believe my ears when Lady Manheim said she saw you in the Bridgeton Waverly Women’s box. I thought surely she was mistaken. But here you are!”
“Lady Manheim is here?” But of course she was. Eleanor never missed an opportunity to be seen. Before Felicity’s fall from grace they’d often attended the theater together three, four, five nights in a row. The play was the same, but then one never went to the Lyceum for the play. They went for the people.
“Yes. And she’s saying the most horrible things about you.” Harriet winced. “I am so very sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s quite all right.” And for the first time, it truly was.
For a woman who prided herself on perfection, having her good name and her reputation completely destroyed had been nothing short of devastating. It had formed a knot in her chest, and with every whisper and every cruel bit of gossip and every calling card that had gone unreceived the knot had tightened until there were times Felicity feared it was going to strangle her from the inside out.
She’d tried to untangle the knot by continuing to follow the rules. By minding her manners and avoiding any further scandals and hoping, that with enough time, the ton would eventually forget and forgive. But the truth was…the truth was it really didn’t matter.
No matter how perfect she was or how much time went by, people would always have something cruel to say. People would always think worse of her than she deserved. But that did not mean she had to deny herself the pleasure of attending a play, or a dinner party, or even going to a ball. Because for every Eleanor that cast a dark cloud there would be a Harriet to bring the sunshine.
And she was so very weary of hiding in the shadows.
As the knot in her chest finally began to loosen, Felicity smiled. Not the rigid, polite smile she’d been taught to wear when out in society, but a bright, brilliant smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and showed off her slightly crooked incisor and was not at all flattering.
“Lady Harriet, I should like to introduce you to a very dear personal friend of mine, Mr. Felix Spencer.”
“Mr. Spencer.” Harriet extended one gloved hand and Felix bowed before he brushed his mouth across her satin covered knuckles.
“Lady Harriet. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Brown eyes bright with curiosity, Harriet’s gaze flicked from Felix to Felicity and then back to Felix. “Are you and Miss Atwood…?”
“Carrying on behind the garden shed?” he suggested with a devilish smirk.
“Oh! I would never imply–”
“Mr. Spencer is only jesting,” Felicity interrupted with a warning glance at Felix. Poor Harriet’s face was as red as the curtains and she feared her own countenance was a similar shade. Carrying on behind the garden shed, indeed! How did he even think to come up with such things? The man really was incorrigible. “I fear he has a rather wicked sense of humor.”
Harriet appeared nonplussed for a moment, and then she shrugged. “There is nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Goodness knows that my brother and his friends could well benefit from a bit of humor now and again. Oh dear,” she fretted, twisting her hands together as she looked ruefully at Felicity. “I was not suggesting that Lord Ashburn is without a sense of humor. Although he did divorce you, which is not a very humorous thing to do, so perhaps he truly is devoid of any wit. I should not have said that.” Her nose wrinkled. “I do apologize, Miss Atwood. I really cannot seem to help myself.”
“There is absolutely no need to be sorry, or to feel as if you need to censor yourself around me.” Leaning in close and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, Felicity added, “Ezra never was very amusing.”
Harriet nodded sagely. “I can assure you he has not gotten any more so since he married that awful woman. Oh!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I should not have–”
“Stumbling over your own tongue again, Harriet? What a surprise.” Sailing up to them in a gown of emerald green and a glittering smile, Eleanor giggled as she not-very-subtly nudged the red-faced brunette out of the way. “Dearest Miss Atwood. I saw you from across the room and I just had to come over and say hello.”
Beside her Felicity felt Felix stiffen, but she laid a restraining hand on his arm before he said anything untoward. She would take care of Eleanor. In fact, it would be her great pleasure to do so.
“Did you?” she murmured, her own smile dimming considerably as she met Lady Manheim’s sharp, calculating gaze. How very small and petty you are, she thought silently. And how foolish I was not to have seen it sooner. She almost felt a stirring of pity for Eleanor. It must have been lonely, living a life that appeared so bright and fulfilling on the outside but was so brittle and empty within. For if Eleanor was truly happy, if she was truly content, then she would not need to lower herself to dragging others down with cruel insults and cutting remarks. “That is very unfortunate, as I am afraid you have wasted your time.”
“And why is that?” Eleanor purred.
“Because I have nothing to say to you.” And with that Felicity turned her back, a direct cut that lifted a gasp from Eleanor’s lips and caused nearly a dozen heads to swivel.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “You do not turn your back on me, you vile little wretch!”
“Careful,” Felix drawled, and even though his mouth was curved in a lazy grin his eyes were hard as flint. “Your ugliness is showing.”
It was fitting that Eleanor’s hands went immediately to her hair. When she realized Felix was referring to her character she bared her teeth and would have grabbed Felicity by the shoulder and forcibly spun her around had Felix not intervened.
He caught her arm in midair. “I wouldn’t do that if I were ye, my lady.”
“I say, what is going on over here?” Twenty years his wife’s senior, Lord Manheim walked with a slight limp, his right hand wrapped firmly around the polished silver handle of a long wooden cane. “Your sir, unhand my wife at once!”
“Lady Manheim was just leaving. Isn’t that right, Eleanor?” Felicity spoke calmly as she turned to face her adversary with a lifted brow. “You can release her now, Mr. Spencer. I do not believe she is going to bring us any more strife.” While a dozen people looked on with expressions running the gamut from shock to amusement, she stepped close enough to Eleanor to see the outraged throb of her pulse beating against the side of her neck. “You will never speak to me again. You will never approach me again. Is that clear?”
“You’re making a dangerous mistake,” Eleanor snarled, her face mottled with rage.
“No,” Felicity said simply. “The only mistake I made was ever believing you were my friend to begin with. You should leave, before you embarrass yourself any further.”
Eleanor’s eyes flashed. “Me? Embarrassed? You should be the one who is embarrassed! Parading yourself around like the whore you are. You’re not fooling anyone. Everyone knows that blonde-haired son of yours is a bas–”
Felicity slapped Eleanor with so much force that her head whipped to the side. The sound of it was like a clap of thunder. It echoed through the entire hallway, as did Eleanor’s shocked gasp.
“You struck me!” she cried in pained disbelief.
“And I shall do it again if you ever mention my children.” There was no anger in Felicity’s voice. She spoke quietly, smoothly, and her words carried all the more weight because of it. “That is not a threat, Lady Manheim. That is a promise. Now leave before I lose my temper and do something I may one day come to regret.”
The implication that she did not regret slapping Eleanor was clear, as was the hate in Eleanor’s eyes. She raised a trembling hand to her cheek, pressing lightly against the red imprint Felicity’s palm had left.
“You are going to rue–”
“That is enough,” Lord Manheim said sharply. “You’ve both said your piece. Eleanor, come with me. Our carriage is waiting outside.”
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. “Did you not see what she did to me?”
“I do not believe there is a person in this room who did not.”
“And?” she demanded. “What are you going to do about it?”
Lord Manheim’s sigh was long and heavy, indicating this was not the first time he’d had a similar conversation with his wife and he knew it was not going to be the last. “Come along,” he said wearily. “What is done is done.” His gaze shifted. “Miss Atwood. Lady Harriet. I hope you can excuse my wife’s behavior. She has not been well as of late. Do enjoy the rest of the play.” He held out his arm. For a moment it appeared as though Eleanor was going to openly defy him, but with one last, lingering glare at Felicity she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“This is not over,” she seethed.
“Yes,” Felicity said evenly. “It is. Good night, Lady Manheim. I hope you feel better soon.”