The Reluctant Suitor (70 page)

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 fingernails 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?

W
ho 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.”

F
elicity 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 later 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.

Now that Roger was in London and she had an opportunity to search through his accounts without fear of discovery, Felicity intended to acquaint herself with both. Unfortunately, soon after entering the mill, she discovered that her husband had taken measures to safeguard his secret room by locking its door. As for his ledgers, he had not been so careful. He had left the key for the cabinet where they were stored in full view upon his desk, no doubt believing she wouldn’t dare enter his office without his consent. Little did he guess her growing concern for herself and her offspring and her reluctance to go to the poor house should he lose the mill.

Felicity had to give as much credit to her mother as her father for her own astuteness in mathematical matters. Although to her knowledge, none of the counting houses in London had ever hired a woman, her father had asked for her assistance in completing his work there on different occasions. As for her mother, Samuel Gladstone had once taught his daughter, Jane, and she, in turn, taught her daughter.

It didn’t take Felicity long after initially perusing Roger’s books to discover that large sums had indeed gone out in various amounts to two individuals. Their identity couldn’t rightly be determined, however, since only the initials
M.T.
and
E.R.
were marked beside the extraction of funds. She lost track of the hours she spent just trying to find names to correspond with them, and her burgeoning frustration did much to heighten her fatigue.

It was nearly midnight when Felicity finally turned down the wick in the small lamp she had lit over the desk. Hoping to continue her search in bed, she tucked one of the ledgers beneath her arm and locked the door of the office behind her before returning to the house. She had entered and was just crossing the hallway to the bedchamber she shared with Roger when she was brought up short by the realization that the room was occupied . . . by her husband.

“Roger, I wasn’t expecting you until Sunday night!” she exclaimed, her heart hammering within her chest as she halted within the doorway. Clandestinely shifting the book to a table residing in the hallway next to the door, she forced a smile and then hurried forward to bestow a wifely kiss upon her boyishly handsome spouse.

Roger averted his face, rejecting her offering, and then peered down at her coldly. “Where have you been?”

Knowing she hadn’t been able to hide the ledger very well, Felicity shrugged and swept a hand to indicate the place where she had left it before entering the bedchamber. “I overheard some gossip about your father trying to cheat you, and . . . well, I just wanted to find out for myself if that were true. I brought one of the books back to look through when I have more time.”

“No need to worry yourself about such things, my pet,” he said, moving past her to fetch the book. “I’ll

do that for you. In any case, if Father
has
managed to cheat me, he’s in no condition to do so now. With each passing day, he seems that much closer to death.” Tucking the ledger beneath the frock coat that he had slung over the back of a chair near the door, he turned to her again, unbuttoning his waistcoat as he smiled meaningfully. “I decided to return tonight, because I was overtaken with a peculiar desire to instruct you in something entirely different.”