The Reluctant Suitor

  Colton pressed a knuckle against his lips to subdue his amusement as Alice brushed past the two women in bristling fury, having forgotten her earlier quest. If she could dismiss the gold ring from her mind so soon, it seemed to confirm his suspicions that she had never possessed one in the first place.

  “I shall introduce you to my husband later,” Adriana informed Mrs. Fulton, giving the child over into her arms. She inclined her head to indicate the room that would belong to the woman henceforth. “For the time being, however, you and the baby can become better acquainted in your chambers. ‘Tis certain the little darling needs your immediate attention, do you not agree?”

  “Oh, yes, my lady, and I am most anxious to give it,” Blythe Fulton assured her, trying not to wince from the discomfort she was presently experiencing.

  “I shall awaken some of the servants and have your baggage brought up to your room,” Adriana informed her. “I assume your cases are still in his lordship’s carriage.”

  “No need to bother the servants, my love,” Colton stated. “I can bring up her baggage myself.” Cocking a brow sharply, he leveled a forefinger at his beautiful wife. “I’ll see you in our chambers shortly. We need to talk about babies and such.”

  Smiling, Adriana stroked her hand along the length of his arm as they passed. “My pleasure, my lord.”

  “No, mine,” he murmured, tossing back a sly wink above a grin just as their fingertips slipped free of the other’s.

  Nineteen

  * * *

  Felicity donned her bonnet and a light shawl before slipping out of Edmund Elston’s house and hurrying up the dirt lane toward Bradford. She was confident that Roger would be gone on his errand to Bath long enough to allow her to accomplish what she had been yearning to do for some time. Her first destination was the apothecary shop, where she hoped to purchase the same herbs Adriana and Samantha had once given her grandfather. She had no way of knowing whether the elder had just been lauding the benefits of their gift merely because of his admiration for the two women, who purportedly had done many good deeds for the people in the area, or if the medicinal herbs had actually improved his condition. By bestowing upon him such a gift, she hoped to get back into his good graces. Yet, after her haughty conduct, she could rally little optimism that she’d be able to make amends though she now regretted her actions with all her heart.

  For years, she had been inclined to discount her mother’s instructions on the merits of integrity, moral behavior, and self-esteem. Instead, she had considered her father an example to follow. She had allowed his derogatory opinion of Samuel Gladstone to become her own. Yet, at some point in her life, her mother’s lessons on honor, virtue, and kindliness must’ve taken root in her own character, for her respect for Jarvis Fairchild had plummeted the very day she had learned he had been pilfering funds from his father-in-law’s woolen mill by laying off workers without removing their names from the roster of employees requiring wages. His thievery had made the sterling attributes of her grandfather shine bright in comparison.

  When she had married and moved away from Stanover House, she hadn’t realized just how much she’d come to miss the old man, his wit, and his wisdom. Perhaps such admiration came from one gaining maturity. Since her union to Roger more than five months ago, she had become the recipient of some fairly harsh lessons about life and its hazards, which had made her far more appreciative of the values she had previously considered.

  For instance, marriage could definitely be a nightmarish pit of demented debauchery when a woman had a husband like Roger. Not only did he have the manners of a boar in bed, but at times he became irrational, even furious when she didn’t readily perform his strange requests, many of which seemed vile and sordid. In spite of her reluctance and tearful pleading, he’d force her against her will as if she were merely a plaything to be used for his pleasure alone. She was forever in fear of what he’d do to her child when he slammed into her tender parts with such vehement force, as if he were some crazed demon, unable to obtain pleasure without dispensing a heavy dose of pain. If he had hated her and used such tactics as punishment, she could not have been more anxious about her welfare.

  The bell hanging above the door of the apothecary shop tinkled charmingly as Felicity pushed it open and slipped within. A chubby-cheeked man with a short frizz of white hair running around the lower portion of his balding head leaned outward from a narrow aisle lined on both sides with countless shelves, upon which resided neatly organized, labeled glass bottles filled with various herbs.

  “Yes, miss? May I be of some assistance?” he asked solicitously, adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles in a quest to see her better.

  “Why, yes, if you would,” Felicity murmured, offering the apothecary a tentative smile. If of late she had become diffident around men, it was only that she was now inclined to wonder how many were hiding an evil side. “More than eight months ago, my grandfather, Samuel Gladstone, received some medicinal herbs from two ladies of the peerage. He praised their benefits so highly that I thought I’d purchase more of the same for him. One of the ladies is Lord Randwulf’s sister and the other has since become his wife. Do you happen to recall what those herbs were and, if so, would you be able to supply me with a fair sampling that I can take to my grandfather?”

  “Why, I recall them very well, miss. In fact, I was the one who suggested those particular herbs to the two ladies. I thought they’d give your grandfather some vigor and possibly help his condition, but I fear they’re fairly rare and, for that reason, quite costly, miss.”

  Felicity placed a pair of earrings on the counter between them. “Would you take these in trade? I believe they were worth a goodly sum when my father purchased them months ago.”

  The apothecary tilted his head thoughtfully as he peered at her above his eyeglasses. “Are you sure you want to part with them, miss? They are quite lovely, and you’d surely look fetching wearing them.”

  “Missus, actually. Mrs. Elston, to be exact.” Felicity nodded in response to his inquiry. “Yes, I’m willing to trade them. I have nothing else with which to barter.”

  The apothecary could imagine the sacrifice the young woman was making in trading the earrings and sought to suggest a less arduous alternative. “Business seems to be going well at the mill, Mrs. Elston. If you don’t have the funds at this very moment, I can give you the herbs if you’d care to ask your husband to stop by later and pay me. I’m sure he could afford—”

  “No, I’d rather not ask him. Nor do I wish you to reveal to anyone that I was even here, making such a purchase. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Elston. I can be quite tightlipped when I need to be.”

  “I’d truly be grateful if you were, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Carlisle, Missus. Phineas Carlisle. And don’t you worry none, Mrs. Elston, I won’t tell a blooming soul.” Personally, he had never liked the Elstons, having become highly suspicious of the way the late Mrs. Elston had gone from a healthy, effervescent individual to a listless, depressed, and totally forgetful creature soon after her marriage. He had seen opium work much the same way, and at the time he couldn’t help but wonder if Edmund had started giving his wife large doses without her knowledge to create the impression in people’s minds that she had been afflicted by some horrible malady. He would’ve enjoyed proving his theory after her death and bringing evidence of her murder against the man, but he hadn’t been able to. If Edmund had killed his second wife by such a method, then he probably purchased the opium in London, the sources for which would’ve been difficult, perhaps even impossible to discover. As for the son, this was Phineas’s first real hint that his initial perception of Roger Elston had some merit.

  Felicity offered the man a gracious smile. “I was wondering while I’m here, Mr. Carlisle, if you could possibly help me with another matter.”

  “If I can, madam.”

  “Prior to my marriage to his son, my father-in-law was stricken with a mysterious illness. His fin
gernails are strangely streaked, and his skin is scaly and dry. Would you happen to know a malady that could cause that sort of reaction?”

  Mr. Carlisle folded his right arm across his portly middle and braced the elbow of his left upon its wrist as he stroked a finger musefully across his upper lip. Interesting how one’s foul deeds were wont to come home to roost.

  “Well, right off, Mrs. Elston, I don’t know of any disease that would cause that particular reaction. However, I once warned a young lady against the dangers of taking small doses of arsenic to make her skin fairer. She was very vain and exceptionally pretty, but I’m afraid the saying is true: Pride goeth before the fall. . . .” He flicked his bushy brows upward. “Or, in her case, death. At her funeral several months later, I noticed that her skin, which had once been so soft and creamy, had a scaly look to it and her fingernails were strangely streaked.”

  Felicity felt a terrible coldness spreading through her, and she had to gather her courage before she could bring herself to make another inquiry. Even to her, her voice sounded unusually frail. “Is arsenic fairly common, Mr. Carlisle? And if so, have you sold any within the last year?”

  “Arsenic has been around for some time, madam. It was identified perhaps as much as two hundred years ago, but from what I understand, it existed well before that event. As for selling it myself, the answer is no, dear lady. I’ve been avoiding doing so since the young lady died. I have no wish to see another foolish woman kill herself by such a method merely because her conceit prevails over common sense.”

  “Is there another apothecary in the area?”

  “No, madam. However, I’ve seen an old acquaintance of mine from London who has been visiting fairly frequently of late. He has become quite prosperous in that trade and now owns several apothecary shops. He has a fine carriage, far better than anything I could ever afford. He also seems to have become quite fond of your husband’s fabrics in recent months. He left the mill with a large bundle of woolens tucked beneath his arm not too long ago.” Phineas didn’t dare tell the lovely young woman that the man was also a conniving scoundrel who was eager to be rich by any means he could employ.

  “And his name?”

  “Thaddeus Manville.”

  Felicity had no knowledge of such a name or the man to whom it belonged. As much as she’d have enjoyed exhibiting what both her father and mother had taught her about accounting, her offer to help Roger in that area had been curtly rejected. In fact, she hadn’t been allowed anywhere near the ledgers. Roger had forbidden her even to enter the mill, giving the excuse that he didn’t want her interrupting his work.

  Felicity accepted the medicinal herbs that Mr. Carlisle bundled up for her and, with a gracious farewell, made her departure. Still, she couldn’t help but draw comparisons between Edmund’s symptoms and those that Mr. Carlisle had taken note of at the young lady’s funeral. Could Edmund have been poisoned some months back? And, if so, by whom?

  Who is it?” Jane called, hurriedly descending the stairs after hearing first a knock and then the telltale creaking of the front door as it was being opened.

  “It’s Felicity, Mama. I’ve come for a visit.”

  Jane couldn’t contain her elation nor the happy tears brightening her eyes as she beat a hasty path toward the parlor in her eagerness to greet her daughter. She entered with arms widespread and ran to meet her offspring. With a muted cry, Felicity evidenced her own joy and relief at being welcomed back with such fervor as she flew into her mother’s warm embrace. In view of her past behavior, she had almost feared she’d be shunned.

  “Oh, my precious, precious girl, I’ve missed you so very much,” Jane avouched in a voice that had grown thick with emotion. “Why haven’t you visited sooner? I went to the mill a time or two to see how you were getting along, but Roger said you didn’t wish to be disturbed, especially by me. Have you been well? Happy?”

  “Yes, I’ve been well, Mama.” Preferring not to answer the second inquiry, Felicity hurriedly pulled away and held out the small bundle of herbs. “I brought Grandpa a gift. I thought I’d come and read to him from the Bible if you think he’d enjoy that.”

  “Of course, dear. He’d be delighted. He has missed you.”

  “Missed me?” Felicity was bemused . . . and dubious. “But I thought he didn’t like me.”

  Laughing, Jane laid an arm about her daughter’s slender shoulders and gently shook her. “You little goose, he may have been put out with you for a time, but kin is kin, and that’s the way it shall always be with your grandfather. You’re his granddaughter. Both of you have the same blood flowing in your veins. How could he not care for you?”

  Unable to contain the moisture welling forth in her eyes, Felicity searched her mother’s face and found love brimming over in the other’s teary smile. “Mama, I’m so sorry for the way I acted. Can you ever forgive me for being so utterly selfish and despicable?”

  Jane clasped her daughter close against her, joyful tears streaming down her cheeks. “Say no more, dear. All is forgiven . . . and forgotten. You are my dearest love, my pride and joy.”

  Felicity’s composure broke, and as much as she sought to quell her emotions, harsh sobs shook her. Both mother and daughter remained locked in a fierce embrace, their past regrets washing away as their love for one another flowed upward from the depths of their hearts.

  When at last they parted, Felicity searched her handbag for a handkerchief and blew her nose as she tried to reclaim her composure. Jane watched her, trying to discern what remained hidden. Instinct told her that something was not quite right in the life of her daughter, but she had no idea what that could be. Gently, she laid a hand upon the other’s arm. “What has happened, Felicity? Is everything all right with you?”

  “Of course, Mama.” Felicity didn’t want to fret her mother and bravely tried to smile. It seemed a task beyond her capability. She finally shrugged as she gave an excuse. “I guess now that I’m with child, I realize how much of a burden I was to you, I mean, the way I acted and all.”

  “You’re with child?” Jane pulled away with a buoyant laugh, but it died in her throat as she caught a brief glimpse of the sadness dulling the beautiful blue eyes of her offspring. Immediately the look of hopelessness was forced behind an artificial smile, and once again Felicity was pretending to be happy. Worriedly Jane cupped the delicately boned chin within the palm of her hand as she carefully perused the girl’s face. “Something is wrong. What is it?”

  “Nothing, Mama,” Felicity tried her best to laugh in an effort to put to naught her mother’s insightfulness. “Nothing at all.”

  “Is something the matter with Roger?”

  “Roger is fine, well, never been better.”

  “Roger may be fine, but I know my daughter well enough to perceive that something is not quite right. Although I do not wish to pry, I plead with you to trust me to help in any way I can.”

  “Mama, I just don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d better go upstairs now and read the Bible to Grandpa. I can’t stay long. After my visit with him, I’ll have to leave.”

  Felicity couldn’t believe she had actually found an opportunity to slip into the mill’s office without fear of Roger finding her mulling over the books. He had left for London before workers had departed the previous day and, for that sojourn, had made plans to stay over until Sunday. She certainly didn’t mind that he hadn’t invited her to go along with him. If anything, she was relieved she wouldn’t have to endure his deviant abuse in bed for that space of time.

  Her handsome but utterly depraved husband had seemed especially aggressive with her right after she had gone to Stanover House, causing her to wonder if he had found out about her visit through a casual comment from townswomen or some other harmless soul and had sought to dissuade her from ever calling upon her mother again. The pain he had elicited had definitely heightened her dread of him and made her wary of visiting her relatives, at least in the light of day, when townspeople might see and la
ter comment on it to him.

  So great had been her ordeal during those several days that it had seemed as if Roger had released her from a torture chamber when he finally turned the bulk of his attention to a new undertaking of his, directing carpenters in the task of converting a little-used storeroom just off the gift shop and his adjoining office into a private haven for himself. It was obvious he was expending a greater sum to bring workmen all the way from London, but he had casually given the excuse that locals were not skilled enough to satisfy him. Felicity had to wonder if that were truly the case, why Lord Harcourt, who was clearly a man who appreciated quality, had employed a good many woodwrights from Bradford while refurbishing his own chambers.

  Naturally, for this proposed room, Felicity hadn’t been allowed to view any plans or projected expenses. It seemed her husband only wanted her for one purpose, to pleasure him in bed, and casually dismissed any other talent or knowledge she had out of hand.

  Upon the room’s completion, shortly after the mill workers had left for the day, furniture arrived from London in two large tarp-covered wagons hitched to teams of stout drays. Curious to see what Roger had purchased, Felicity crept into her father-in-law’s upper-story bedchamber while the elder slept. For some reason, it was a room her husband didn’t think she’d ever enter, much less frequent. He was mistaken, however, for she did so fairly often, having discovered that its windows afforded her a broad vista of everything that transpired in front of the mill.

  In spite of the large tarps and padded quilts wrapped around the pieces, she glimpsed enough gilded arms and heavily carved legs to have no doubt that Roger’s private cubicle would be grand enough for royalty. Such ostentatious tastes definitely seemed out of place in Bradford on Avon, even more so in a woolen mill.