Page 12 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #1)

Chapter Twelve

S pending three days in bed while sneezing, coughing, and feeling as though someone had stuffed her head with cotton had not made Felicity any more mild a person than she had been before her cold. She knew this about herself. Though she did her utmost to care for others when they were ill, she found it insupportable to be the one needing the same sort of care.

So as she walked through the house, gray shawl wrapped around her black dress, she felt like a storm cloud as surely as she must have the appearance of one. Confined to the indoors, sleeping at odd intervals, her head aching and her limbs chilled, her mind had not found much for easy distraction. She blamed her cold and that state for the odd dreams she had experienced.

Several of them about Colonel Halstead.

“He has no business barging in where he doesn’t belong,” she muttered as she descended the stairs to the ground floor, where he kept his study. “Not in my dreams nor Daphne’s outings.”

Horrid man. Daphne had told Felicity all about the garden party and his insistence on joining the game of lawn bowling. What had he been thinking, intruding in that way? Had her niece not possessed such a compassionate soul, she likely would have expressed more annoyance and dismay at the circumstance.

Despite the lingering effects of her cold, Felicity could stand it no longer. She had to speak to him, and the invitations arriving every day were as good an excuse to seek the man out as any.

Not that she truly needed an excuse—but it felt better to have a sheaf of papers in her hand to shake at him the moment she saw him.

Felicity entered the quiet corridor leading to Halstead’s study, but she did not realize the door to that room was open until she was nearly upon it. A voice drifted out from within, unknown to her, but masculine.

“—I have found substantial information that supports this line of inquiry, sir. The letters and witness statement are promising. I think I need but another month to be certain, unless you wish me to approach directly.”

“No,” Halstead’s voice said with its usual firmness. She had to roll her eyes. Always the expert, wasn’t he? “I do not want anyone aware that I am making this search. Not until I have all the information about his present circumstances.”

“Yes, Colonel, I understand. If that is what you wish, your patience may have to stretch a little longer yet.”

“Patience. After nearly twenty years, I suppose a few more weeks or months will be nothing. It is not as though he is yet a child in need of guidance.”

He sounded so resigned in that moment that Felicity had to blink back surprise. She had never heard that tone from the Colonel. He always sounded so…so certain, so full of confidence.

“Even if you choose not to make yourself known,” the other man said, something like kindness in his tone, “in another year or two, you may change your mind. Surely you will want some sort of contact with the boy?”

When Halstead answered, he sounded tired. As though he had said these things too many times before. “I will not decide on a course of action until I have the picture in full, Mr. Wright, as we have previously discussed.”

Felicity listened, transfixed, as they discussed a budget and transportation. Her cold-muddled mind could not quite make sense of all she had heard, and she swayed slightly on her feet as she considered what she ought to do. She hadn’t ever been one to eavesdrop before. Why hadn’t she walked away? Or knocked?

Shaking her head at herself, Felicity took a step back. She glanced down the long corridor, but before she had decided to fully withdraw, she heard the other man’s voice taking his leave. She turned instinctively, heart beating rapidly, and ducked into the room across the corridor, though she had only been in that room once, and had found a poor excuse of a library within, filled with empty bookshelves and uncomfortable furnishings. A perfect place to hide, especially given the darkness inside with the curtains drawn closed.

Standing in the semi-darkness, Felicity closed her eyes and tried to sort out the conversation again. Contact him…the boy… The emotion she heard in Halstead’s voice had shocked her. He wasn’t a man prone to sentiment, that she had learned over the weeks she’d lived here—but the sorrow and restraint in his tone were unmistakable.

Here was yet another thing about him that did not quite fit with what she thought she knew. The picture of him, the details of his past, did not yet tell a clear story.

As she heard the footsteps of the visitor withdraw down the corridor, Felicity wondered what she ought to do. Did she confess to overhearing a private conversation? Slink away and pretend nothing happened?

Shaking her head, she stepped out of the darkness and crossed to the door, raised her hand to knock, and hesitated. Her plan to pester him about the invitations felt quite juvenile in that moment.

She needed to leave. Rethink things. Perhaps spend another three days abed, hiding—no, resting. Resting.

Decision made, Felicity turned to go—and the door to the study opened at the same moment.

The Colonel stepped out, a weary expression on his face, his eyes heavy with thought and his posture less than perfect. He was in shirtsleeves again, too, looking not at all put together.

His shoulders tensed the moment his eyes fell on her. “Miss Price.” One corner of his mouth went upward. “Captain. How are you this day? You must feel somewhat better to be walking about.” The weariness melted away into something almost fond as he spoke to her, confusing Felicity all the more. “I had no hopes of seeing you today when you did not come down to breakfast.”

Her mouth opened to respond, but closed again having uttered nothing. She had expected irritation from him, given their last interaction. Not this solicitous behavior and inquiry about her health.

“I am well. Erm. Better. Better than before, I mean.” She held the invitations against her chest. “Are you in good health?”

What a ridiculous question. He was obviously fit as a fiddle, as handsome and healthy as ever. Felicity winced. Why did she have to note his attractiveness every time she saw him? It was becoming a terrible habit.

“Tolerably well,” he said with a chuckle. “Oh. Here—I have wanted to show you this.” He moved by her, but then his hand closed gently on her forearm as he tugged her across the corridor to the very room in which she had hid a moment before. “I hoped to ask your opinion before now, but it was not a matter of great urgency.”

She heard him walk through the darkness, saw his outline approach the curtains, then he pulled them back to flood the room with light.

It was most definitely not the same as the last time she had seen it.

The wooden floor was now covered in several rugs. There were two armchairs by the empty hearth and a couch near the opposite wall, and a painting of an old castle hung over the fireplace. The still-mostly-empty shelves now had books scattered within them, and there were two crates next to the shelves open, more book spines showing within them.

“I haven’t the first idea how to decorate a house, but I do know the importance of a good library. Keeping all the best books to myself in the study struck me as selfish. I have already asked for Daphne to give me a list of her favorite books to add to the shelves in here. I hope you will have suggestions, too.”

Felicity walked numbly to the shelves, looking down into the crate, then up at him with a frown. “You—you are filling your library? Now?”

“I started ordering things from London shortly after you brought my attention to the—shall we say—bland contents of the rooms in my home.” The Colonel’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked at her, a brightness in them she did not expect. As though he were amused, or actually happy for once.

She hugged the invitations closer to her chest. The feelings of confusion curled cozily around her heart, changing into something else. Something warm and satisfactory, like a stand-offish cat curling up in one’s lap.

He had listened to her.

“I should not have said all that I did,” she whispered. “It isn’t my place.”

Halstead’s smile faded into something smaller, less enthusiastic and gentler. “You are concerned for your niece’s happiness,” he said, his voice low. “You were within your rights, in that regard, to be concerned about her home. Besides, you are not the only one who regrets words spoken that day. I apologize.”

She nodded once. “That is kind of you to say. Apology accepted. Thank you.”

He came a step closer. “Miss Price. Are you certain you are well enough to be up and about? Perhaps you ought to be resting—you do not seem yourself.”

“Neither do you,” Felicity muttered softly, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. She could not convince herself to dredge up the indignation she had felt when she had planned to confront him about the garden party, and the game of lawn bowling, and the invitations.

She did not want to soften toward him. She wanted to remain annoyed with him, with his high-handedness—but something about his expression, the steady gaze he kept upon her, the concern in his eyes and the way he shifted, as if resisting the impulse to come closer…it unnerved her.

When he was like this, when he showed such gentleness, he was more handsome than ever. A thing which immediately dismayed her, and it gave her the ability to find a touch of tartness. “I assure you, Colonel, I am not so delicate that a mild cold will confine me for days on end.”

Given that she still felt the last of the illness clinging to her, befuddling her usually quick mind, it was a horrid lie.

Nevertheless, Felicity held her chin high and tried to regain her composure. “I came to discuss something of importance, unless you are too occupied with other matters.”

Colonel Halstead studied her for a long moment, then gestured to the chairs in front of the cold hearth. “Would you like to sit while we talk?” He glanced at the door. “Or we could return to my study if it is a matter of great seriousness.”

Felicity looked to the door and tugged her shawl closer to her shoulders. “It is rather cold in here, without a fire.”

“Of course, I should not have suggested it. Come, the study is warm.” He led the way back to his domain, and she hesitated a moment before following.

When she stepped inside the study, the air was warm and laced with the scent of ink parchment, along with the faintest trace of his scent, a mix of soap and other things she found far too pleasant and familiar.

His desk was still cluttered with papers, ledgers, and an abandoned cup of tea. She resisted the urge to glance at whatever notes might be scattered there from his meeting with the stranger. Ill, she might be, but ill-mannered, she was not. Instead, Felicity took her seat and kept her eyes on him until he settled on the other side of the desk in his large leather chair, putting his elbows on the desk and folding his hands on its surface.

“What is it you wished to speak with me about?”

Best to get straight to the point. “There are several invitations here for various parties and balls. If you are going to insist on being overly protective of Daphne, I require clarification. I am certain you will have an opinion on which invitations ought to be accepted and which declined.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course I will.”

Felicity straightened her spine. At last, she felt her ire return to her. “Then I must ask if I am to run every social decision through you now, Colonel, or will you allow me to do my duty and guide Daphne without interference?”

His gaze sharpened. “I think I ought to be consulted with regards to where Daphne spends her time. Once at such events, it would be ridiculous for every detail to need discussion.”

“Especially since you will be acting as her shadow at every turn.”

“Indeed. One of us should always be with her.”

He was to be as stubborn as ever on that point, drat him.

Felicity put the invitations on the desk and pushed them toward him. “Very well. Here are the invitations. Do let me know which you find acceptable. Perhaps you would also like to choose which gowns she wears, and what jewelry adorns her? To ensure that her clothing does not offend your sensibilities. Perhaps letting her decide between ivory and lilac is granting the girl too much freedom.”

His brows drew together in a most disapproving frown. “Miss Price?—”

“Then there is the matter of her hair. We will consult you about which ribbons and pins to employ.”

“Miss Price, I?—”

“Then there is the matter of fans. Lace? Paper? Silk?” She raised her voice, continuing despite the childishness of it. After all, he’d started it. “Then there is the matter of which books?—”

“Felicity!” he barked sternly.

Her lips parted in surprise as the rest of her words fled.

He had used her given name.

“I know what you are doing,” Halstead said, tone still stern yet he did not sound angry. “You think I have made a ridiculous request, so you mean to make it more so by adding one thing after another—I am not a fool. I can see we will not agree on how best to chaperone Daphne. My ward, your niece. But I trust you to see to the rest, Felicity. I trust that you know best how your niece presents herself, and how she navigates the world, and who she spends her time with. Why does this one instance of our disagreement cause you such distress? Why can you not bend to my reasonable request?”

Felicity’s stuffy and muddled head made it all too easy to grow petulant, but she retained enough of her sensibilities to recognize that as an unwise course of action. Instead, she studied him, and closely. “Will you truly listen to my explanation this time? Without interruptions, Edward?”

Well, he used her Christian name. She might as well use his.

As it passed her lips for the first time aloud, Felicity felt herself relaxing. To address him thus made things feel less tilted in his favor.

He was just a man. Not a Colonel. Not above her. They were both simply people who were joined unwillingly by the circumstance of caring for the same young woman.

He sighed and ran his hand over his face before cupping his chin in his hand. “Contrary to what you may think, Felicity Price, I value your opinion.”

His words made her pause, collecting her thoughts as she would a scattered deck of cards as she prepared to address his question. “Edward,” she said, her voice calm, “my resistance to your request is not borne of a mere desire for disagreement. I am not rebellious by nature.” She straightened, meeting his gaze directly. “It is about the manner in which we prepare Daphne for her future role in society. She is no longer a child, and after she marries she will need to navigate the complexities of social engagements on her own.” Felicity’s hands rested lightly on the stack of invitations. “If we shadow her at every event, scrutinizing each interaction, forbidding her from making slight faux pas which will surely be forgotten, are we not at risk of undermining her ability to discern and decide for herself? Such constant oversight might suggest to her that she is incapable of any independent judgment or action—or imply to others we do not believe her competent in that regard.”

His eyebrows raised, but he kept his word and said nothing, giving Felicity encouragement to continue with a softer tone. “You have led men in battle, sir, where obedience and vigilance are essential. I would not question you on the battlefield of war—but on this particular battlefield, I do. Daphne’s challenges, though less perilous, will require no less courage and the ability to trust her own decisions. Is it not our responsibility to prepare her to meet these challenges with confidence?”

Edward’s features remained neutral, watching her intently, giving her no idea how he received her careful reasoning.

Felicity continued in earnest. Well, in for a penny… “I value your guardianship, Edward, and your protectiveness towards Daphne. Truly, I did not expect you to concern yourself so much with her. But we must also trust her to grow, to learn from her own experiences. To make minor mistakes now, when we are at hand to help right them.” She sat back, folding her hands in her lap.

Had she said too much—or not enough?

Felicity watched the Colonel closely as he seemed to weigh his words, he winced as though pained when he looked down at the surface of his desk. At the myriad of invitations. “Miss Price…Captain. Felicity. I understand your desire to see Daphne flourish under less stringent supervision.” He paused, lifting his head but looking past Felicity as though seeing into his own distant memories. “I must confess, my insistence on vigilance is not solely the product of an overprotective old soldier.” His gaze returned to hers, filled with a seriousness bordering on sorrow. “When I was younger—much younger—I learned a hard lesson about the consequences of youthful mistakes. My whole life, and the lives of others, shifted paths because of my mistake.” Edward shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the creases in his brow deepening. “There were repercussions which followed me long after, repercussions from a moment of folly easily avoided with more prudent guardianship.” His voice was low, almost hesitant.

An unexpected pulse of compassion went through Felicity as she felt the pain behind his words. Something awful had happened, then.

When he continued, it was with a voice of compassion. “All I wish is to spare Daphne from such potential pitfalls, to ensure her safety and well-being.”

“We cannot protect her from everything,” Felicity murmured. “Even if we wished to do so—and your mistakes will not be hers, Edward. Surely.” She hesitated a moment, then said quietly, “It seems to me that you are still carrying the weight of your past mistake with you. They must be grave indeed to remain prevalent so many years later.”

He sat back. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Indeed. But such is none of your concern. Some things are not meant to be spoken of, Miss Price.”

She raised her eyebrows. So, she was Miss Price again? She tilted her head to the side, studying him. “And yet some things weigh heavier when carried alone, Edward.”

* * *

Edward pulled in a startled breath. Her words settled over him, a warm compress on an old, aching wound. Surely, she was not asking him to speak of his past? She could not be offering such a thing. They barely knew one another. And yet…

“I cannot deny the truth of your statement.” Edward watched her, noted her still pale countenance from her illness and its contrast with the stubborn tilt of her chin. Her eyes, dark and intelligent, remained leveled on him. Waiting. “It is not your burden to bear, Captain. Felicity.” It was so easy to say her name, to let it leave his tongue, and he wanted to examine why. He had only called one other woman unrelated to him by her given name.

Pamela . The woman he had ruined with his own recklessness. His selfishness.

Her focus moved to her lap, and he relaxed even as he felt a prickle of disappointment. She hadn’t really known what she asked. Truly, how could she want to know any details of his past beyond what was necessary for them to work together in the present? No, there was no more to be said on the matter. She would apologize for her intrusive question. She would leave the study. They would argue about handling Daphne’s social forays later, after this awkward ceasefire had passed.

“I fell in love when I was Daphne’s age,” Felicity said, her words startling him for all that they were softly spoken. “I loved, I pined, for a full year, dreaming of the one I cared for coming to see that I was the best choice for him. I put off my coming out into Society so I could stay in his vicinity, in the country. I told my parents, I insisted to them, that I was not ready for an experience in London.”

She looked up at him again, a sad smile curving her lips. “Finally, he noticed me. His approach was cautious at first. He was a younger son, I thought he was shy. But now…now I wonder if he was merely reluctant. He was a younger son, for one thing, and though my dowry was of decent size, a marriage settlement would be much less. Not enough to live on in the way he was accustomed.”

Ought he to stop her words? Tell her she need not relive something that obviously pained her? But Edward had not asked a question to lead to this. Felicity revealed her past of her own volition…and the more she spoke of this younger son, of her first love, the more intrigued he became.

“I told him I would wait for him.” A laugh with a note of bitterness escaped Felicity’s lips before they pressed together in a grimace. “As long as it took. I believed I loved him enough to wait, that his mutual affection would in turn be patient. He accepted my promise, and he went away. To stay with an uncle, to study the law. We were not permitted to write to one another directly, of course. I could only receive news of him from the letters he wrote to his family, and they were sparse indeed. My parents thought him weak willed. They spoke against him in my hearing…but they loved me, and they wanted my happiness. It was a difficult balancing act, especially with Anthony going away to fight in the war and men like…like him remaining home. Younger sons fill the military, as I am certain you know.”

He felt himself agreeing with her parents, given he already suspected what the end of the story would be.

Felicity sat before him, unmarried still, after all.

When she looked up at him, he felt he should smile, should respond; he had been silent for so long while she unearthed a painful history to him. Edward cleared his throat. “I am aware. Anthony was quite an exception to that. Despite his place as eldest son, he truly believed he fought for the good of others, that it was a duty and a calling.”

“I miss him,” Felicity said, pulling her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “I wish he had been home when my…when the man I thought I loved came home at last. Unexpectedly. Already married.”

Edward hadn’t expected that ending. He sat straighter in his chair, hands splayed on the desk. “What? I thought you were going to tell me he had died!”

She blinked up at him, eyebrows furrowing in evident confusion. “No. No, he’s quite alive. And married. She was a young widow, her husband died at war, and she had a substantial income.”

“The cad,” Edward said, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “You were waiting for him, honorably and patiently, and he returned home already married? Without warning? Felicity, why do you still mourn him?”

She blinked. “I…I do not mourn him.”

“You looked heartbroken the moment you began the story,” Edward pointed out, looking into her eyes heavy with emotion. With… “No. You cannot still wish for him? Not a man who would behave so dishonorably toward you.”

“Your defense of my feelings is kind, Edward.” The puzzlement on her face made him sink back into his chair. “But it is not necessary. I know he did not behave honorably. Truly.”

“Yet you remain unwed?” He winced. “That is truly none of my business, I apologize.”

Felicity’s lips twitched upward and the darkness in her eyes receded a little, making way for a twinkle of amusement. “No, it is not. You see, by the time that gentleman—” Edward snorted at that term, for surely it could not apply to such a scoundrel, “—returned home with his bride, and after I recovered from my hurt, I did not wish to face more disappointment. Not right away. I was but three and twenty.” Her somber expression returned, a flicker of pain passing over her face. “Around that time, Anthony’s wife, Margaret, fell ill. Daphne was only seven years old. I stayed with them to help, and Margaret died a few months after Anthony came home from the war. I stayed on, for my brother and niece’s sake. My parents passed away a few years ago. I had made myself so useful, Anthony said I ought to continue on with him until Daphne wed, and…that brings us to now.” She gestured with both hands, palms up, to the study and then to him.

“To this very moment.” Edward took in her soft features, the set of her chin, the dark hair that framed her face and the plain gray gown she wore. He had yet to see her outside of mourning colors. The sharp lines of her face, the depth of her eyes, the delicate movements of her hands, were enough to make her a stunning woman. But what if she wore the deep greens he was himself fond of?

He cleared his throat. That thought had no business in his mind. It did not matter what she wore; all that mattered was that they worked well together to set Daphne on a path of success and happiness. In honor of her father’s memory, and for the girl’s own sake.

“Thank you for sharing your history with me, Felicity.” He had not expected that sort of confidence from her. She had struck him almost as an adversary in their first days and weeks together; fierce in her defense of Daphne, in her demands for her niece’s needs, but never asking for anything for herself.

That realization struck him hard in that moment. He had taken each of her demands, her instructions, and honored them, but always with the feeling that he was capitulating, giving in to her wants and her ways. But in truth, everything she asked for was on Daphne’s behalf.

“What do you need?” he asked, moving to the edge of his chair.

Felicity blinked at the abrupt shift in conversation. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“Surely there is something you need that you have not expressed. You have been here a month with your niece, and I have seen bills for her upkeep and her wants. But what of you? What do you need, Felicity?”

As her shoulders relaxed, the woman before him shook her head. “I need nothing from you, Edward. Nothing except your trust.” She stood and a slight smile, not precisely warm but at least not adversarial, curled her lips upward. “Let me know which of those invitations are acceptable soon, please. Daphne’s schedule is important.” Without another word she curtsied and left the room, with him staring after her.

Edward remained seated, the memory of Felicity’s story lingering in the stillness of the study. He stared at the door through which she had vanished, grappling with the shift in their relationship.

What she shared: it had peeled back layers of her own guarded past, revealing vulnerabilities he hadn’t expected to discover. It wasn’t the past itself but the simplicity with which Felicity had shared it that unsettled him. Her raw honesty was a thing he often avoided within himself. Though an honorable man, Edward kept much of what he felt to himself. Let the world see his good cheer, not the dark shadows of his history, of what the war had done, what life had done. What he had done to himself.

The room seemed somehow emptier after Felicity had left. As if her presence had filled it more than her slight form ever could. Why was he so often in this single room, alone, when he had a whole house at his disposal? A house he could easily fill with friends and neighbors. But instead he sat behind this desk, his back to his garden and the rest of the outside world.

Edward rubbed his temples where the beginnings of a headache throbbed. A physical manifestation, perhaps, of the emotional pains the conversation had stirred.

“Trust,” he murmured to himself. The word hung heavily in the air. It had been neither a challenge nor a plea when the word had fallen from her lips. No. Felicity’s request was simple.

He stood, pacing to the window, where the view of his gardens brought little comfort. Even though the roses had put out new growth, they remained without blooms. Roses made one exercise a great deal of patience, a thing he had thought he possessed in abundance before Felicity and Daphne entered his life.

How was he to reconcile what Felicity asked for and still keep Daphne safe?

His thoughts wandered back to Pamela. How different things might have been if there was better oversight; had his parents cared what he did, had they kept watch over him. And here was Felicity, sharing the pains of past regrets with him yet still standing resiliently, still willing to support her niece with all she had.

Resting his forehead against the cool pane of glass, Edward closed his eyes and wondered once again why Anthony had chosen him as guardian to his child…and why he could not seem to dismiss thoughts of Felicity Price’s soft smile, even in the midst of one of their disagreements.