Page 44 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

44

Epilogue – Felicity

F elicity and Ash stepped through the doors of the ballroom at Chesterfield Hall, her brother, Felix, and her mother ahead of them currently being announced by the Chesterfield butler. Her fingers dug into Ash’s arm and she released a slow breath as they stepped up to the butler.

“His Grace the Duke of Devonford and Her Grace the Duchess of Devonford.” The servant’s deep baritone resonated through the crowded ballroom. The crowded ballroom that went quiet in a wave of ceasing sound.

Felicity lifted her chin, her smile unbreakable. The best way to fight the gossips, the tongue-waggers, was to be as polite and proper and boring as ever. She and Ash made their way through the receiving line to the Chesterfields, every eye in the ballroom on them, the gazes as searing as a branding iron.

“Are you well?” Ash murmured for her ears alone.

“Yes.” She turned to face him, her smile momentarily fading as she put all her love into the gaze she sent his way. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side.” Her lips curved up in a half-smile. “They could toss me out on my arse and I wouldn’t care. As long as I am with you, I have everything I need.”

His face flashed in a rare, devastating grin. Not so rare anymore. At least not with her. Gasps surrounded them. One woman swooned. Felicity barely prevented the roll of her eyes. The ladies of London were unused to her reclusive duke’s presence.

“Fortunately, there is no risk of that. Chesterfield is an old friend. He was only two years behind me at Eton.”

She playfully bumped his shoulder with her own and waggled her brows. “That and their love story isn’t much less scandalous than ours.”

He let out a low hum. “True, at least we meant to get married.” He caught her gaze from the corner of his eye, his lips turning up in a smirk.

“What are you grinning about, Devonford? Rumor has it that you don’t remember how.” Lord Chesterfield’s rich, friendly tone drew her and Ash’s attention to their hosts.

Lord Chesterfield was a handsome man with blond hair that, even at his age, fell in roguish waves, a touch of silver glinting at his temples. Ash clasped hands with their host and nodded in greeting. “I may have more reason to as of late.”

Felicity’s heart melted.

Lady Chesterfield fanned herself and shot Felicity a wink, the red and orange feathers adorning the woman’s rich brown hair fluttering like flames with the movement. The woman’s warm brown eyes sparkled with a fire similar to the one evoked by her coiffure as she and Felicity exchanged greetings and curtsies.

“Congratulations on your nuptials, Your Grace,” Lady Chesterfield said. “I cannot put into words the delight I experienced when Your Graces accepted our invitation and granted us the honor of being the first to host you two in London.” Lady Chesterfield leaned forward and murmured, “We love to embrace the scandal, as you very well know from our own marriage that caused quite the stir. And I have to say, the way that man looks at you?” She let out a small shiver. “Every woman deserves to be looked at like that. We stand behind you. If anyone gives you trouble tonight, you let us know.”

“Thank you, Lady Chesterfield. We Jennings have always valued our families’ shared ideals, and now, in this, the Duke and I are especially grateful for your support.”

“I hate to intrude, Lady Chesterfield, but I must steal my wife away,” Ash said.

Lady Chesterfield shot Felicity a knowing look as Ash whisked her away.

“You had to steal me away, husband? Whatever for?”

Ash leaned close to her ear, his breath skimming over the sensitive skin. “I find myself desperate to be touching you and remind this sea of presumptuous coves exactly who you belong to.”

Felicity’s gaze whipped to his. Not once in their year together had Ash ever said anything so possessive. And she couldn’t say she hated it.

“Did you know, Your Grace,” she said softly. “The Chesterfield balls tend to…inspire all sorts of unseemly behavior? I have heard of the wildest things happening in their drawing rooms.”

His deep blue eyes darkened to ocean black. “Are you propositioning me, Duchess?”

She lifted her brows and sent him a sly closed-lipped smile. “Perhaps.”

Felicity’s gaze caught on a flash of bright yellow in the crowd, and her face split into a grin. Lady Rutledge sauntered toward her, lips kicked up in a knowing curve, nearly blindingly yellow skirts drawing quite a few stares. Or perhaps it was the coiffure, which was decorated with vines and greenery and brought to mind the image of Eve in the garden of Eden.

Ash turned iron-stiff next to her and her gaze immediately went to his. And then followed his stare to the man next in line to be announced by the Chesterfield butler.

“Go,” she murmured.

His stare darted to hers before shooting back to Sam. “Will you be well? On your own?”

A soft snort escaped her, and the corner of his lips tugged the tiniest amount. “Oh please, love. Am I your goddess of war or not? Pray, don’t insult me.”

He turned back to her, a full smile spreading across his face. “My Freya.” He reached up and drew his knuckles down the curve of her jaw. He held her like that, chin cradled in his hand, gaze trapped in his smoldering blue eyes. The height of impropriety, scandalous .

She was sure tongues were wagging even more so about them now. But all she felt was pity for those poor people. Because they would never know what it was to experience a love so potent, so profound, that it spoke without words, conveyed with unmistakable clarity with nothing but a gaze.

“The Right Honorable, The Earl of Dalreoch.” The butler’s voice boomed through the ballroom and yet again whispers and conversation ceased.

“Go,” Felicity said quietly, and gave Ash a push.

He strode off, and she turned just as Lady Rutledge stopped before her, a willowy young blonde woman with startling blue eyes at the vivacious woman’s side. They curtsied, Lady Rutledge sinking especially low, gaze downcast. Felicity’s chest bloomed with warmth. She knew exactly what Franny was doing. Showing deference to the new duchess. Felicity lifted her chin, nodding to the two women in greeting.

“Your Grace,” Franny greeted, green eyes sparkling. Her gaze flitted to Ash and then back. “If that wasn’t a stare to swoon over, I don’t know what is. I must express my deepest… felicitations .”

Felicity’s hand flew up to cover her snort. “That was terrible, Lady Rutledge. But thank you.”

Lady Rutledge beamed. “I couldn’t help myself. I have a weakness for terrible puns. Especially regarding names.” She and the woman at her side shared an amused glance. “May I present to you, Your Grace, Lady Dunmore? Lady Dunmore, Her Grace, the Duchess of Devonford.”

Felicity’s jaw dropped. Popped right open. She hastily snapped it shut, gaze bouncing between the two women like a boxer’s fists trading jabs. She stepped forward and grabbed Lady Rutledge’s arm, eyes locked on the blonde-haired blue-eyed woman who looked near angelic. “I must have misheard, Lady Rutledge. You can’t possibly have said Lady Dunmore .”

There was absolutely no way that Lord Dunmore, the rogue who was known for only ever bedding a woman once, would marry. And certainly not to a woman who appeared as though the heavens had opened and delivered one of their angels to earth. Said angel’s lips twitched, a subtle gleam in her eyes that spoke to more devilry than innocence.

“You heard correctly, Your Grace,” the supposed Lady Dunmore said, her soft voice melodic and amused. “Congratulations on your nuptials as well.”

“Congratulations,” Felicity parroted dumbly, and Lady Rutledge snickered.

“Oh, you have missed so much, Your Grace, whilst ensconced with your duke in the countryside.”

“I’ll say,” Felicity murmured. “This is a story I must hear.” Goodness, the next thing they’d tell her is that the Duke of Ironcrest fell upon the marriage sword as well.

“Let us adjourn to the terrace. I believe we have quite a few stories to tell, yes?” Lady Rutledge said, already herding their small group toward the glass doors leading to the terrace.

It took everything in Felicity’s power not to bounce as she walked. Oh, how she delighted in a juicy story. “Where is Lady Pennington?” she asked, regarding Lady Rutledge's missing best friend, as they moved through the doors onto the torch-lit terrace.

Lady Rutledge and Lady Dunmore exchanged another glance, one that spoke of a knowledge only the two possessed. Felicity frowned. Well, she wanted to know too! She let out a small huff as they passed the scattered guests enjoying a reprieve from the stifling ballroom.

They gathered at the low stone-wall edging the terrace and Lady Rutledge turned, resting leisurely against the balusters. “It appears you have been completely consumed in newly wedded bliss, Your Grace. Though I can’t say I blame you.”

“Oh, enough Your Grace-ing, Franny,” Felicity said impatiently, waving off the formality with a flick of her hand. “We are in private now. You can stop pretending you are the epitome of propriety.”

Franny grinned and nodded toward Lady Dunmore. “This is Livy. She, Phi, and I became fast friends last season.” Franny pouted. “All of which you missed out on because apparently you were running off and marrying your betrothed’s father.”

Felicity’s lips quirked up. “I promise to provide all the details. But…” She paused, her gaze darting between the two women. “You two are much more in the know about my scandalous story than I am of whatever it is that keeps passing between your”—she wiggled her fingers at the ladies—“little mysterious glances.” Her gaze snapped to Livy’s. “You can call me Felicity, or Fliss, by the way. Any friend of Franny’s is a friend of mine.”

“Felicity,” Livy murmured, her lips and eyes smiling. “I have heard lovely things about you from Franny and Phi.”

“Speaking of Phi,” Felicity said. “Will one of you tell me where she is? Where is she and”—Felicity wrinkled her nose—“Lord Pennington.” Phi’s husband was the most odious man. Absolutely vile.

“Lord Pennington is dead,” Franny said quietly.

Felicity’s eyes flew wide. “ What?”

She glanced between the two women, who were sharing another frustratingly wordless conversation. Felicity growled and Franny’s lips pressed tight as she fought a smile. “What happened, Franny? Livy? Someone pleeease tell me.”

Livy and Franny shared another glance and then Livy leaned forward. “He was murdered.”