Page 16 of Felicity Cabot Sells Her Soul (Scandalous Sisters #3)

F elicity blew out an exasperated breath and used the sleeve of her coat to scrub the mist of condensation from the window of Ian’s carriage as it carried her away from the school and back toward his home once more.

Nothing yet from Charity, nor even from Mercy.

Nothing at all, in the nearly two weeks now that she had been married.

Charity was not a particularly faithful correspondent; she tended to write only when she had some particular news to impart.

In point of fact, the last letter that Felicity had received from Charity unprompted had been regarding their father’s death.

But Charity had also never failed to promptly respond to a letter which had been sent to her.

Mercy, at least, had the excuse of being a relatively new mother to a young daughter.

But still—two weeks without even a letter, when she had begged her sisters’ help.

The headache she had been nursing most of the day burned behind her eyes.

It had been a long and difficult day. According to Miss Hargreaves—the new deportment teacher—Dorothea had been caught in possession of a note from one Elias Marchant, though God alone knew how she had received it, since nothing had come through the post for Dorothea just lately.

Naturally, Miss Hargreaves had confiscated the note and passed it along to Felicity immediately upon its discovery.

But upon questioning, Dorothea had merely tipped up her exceptionally long nose and refused to utter a word about it.

And no amount of pleading, of Felicity’s explanations that she owed a duty of care to every girl enrolled, or of stressing that she was only concerned for Dorothea’s well-being and reputation had held even the slightest sway over the girl.

Felicity had had no choice but to restrict her to the house for the rest of the Christmas holiday, which had, of course, made Dorothea deliriously angry.

At the very least, Felicity could be certain that the staff would keep a close watch over the headstrong girl.

These problems were now hers to manage, and yet it felt rather hypocritical of her to do so in this fashion, given that in her younger days she had successfully nipped out of the house more times than she could count, with Nellie none the wiser for it.

But who better, she supposed, to guard the girls in her care from such mistakes than one who had already made them?

Her stomach churned as the carriage took a turn and the lamps lining the street streaked past her eyes in a dizzying, frenetic blur.

It had been well over a week since she’d last received one of those queer, vaguely-threatening letters—but she’d felt rather more watched lately than usual.

She’d been more grateful for the use of Ian’s carriage than she had wanted to be, if only because the distance from the door of the school to the safety of the carriage—which could always be found parked upon the street directly in front whenever she was done with her duties—was a short one.

So much shorter than the walk to Ian’s house would have been, and far less fraught with the shadows that had seemed, in recent days, to grow increasingly ominous.

Anything might have lurked within them. Any one might have lurked within them.

She didn’t think she had been followed since that first night she had returned to the school from Ian’s home, but she could still remember the shape of the man she’d seen so briefly.

Somehow it was worse that she had not been able to clearly see his face.

He’d been built like a dockworker, but that was true of any number of men.

She could have passed the man a dozen or more times upon the street and been none the wiser for it.

Another disorienting shift of the carriage as it turned once more down Ian’s quiet street.

Felicity braced her feet on the floor, prepared to vault out of the carriage the moment it came to a stop.

She cast open the door even before the driver had managed to climb down from his perch, and the light pouring through the windows of the house seared her aching eyes.

Her knees trembled as she climbed out onto the pavement.

“Evening, Mrs. Carlisle,” the driver called.

“Yes,” she said. “Good evening.” She still wasn’t certain what his name was, but then she’d only met a handful of Ian’s staff.

Many of them performed their duties during the daylight hours when she was away at the school, and had been relieved of their duties by the time she returned home.

Butler, however, was a constant, and he had clearly been waiting for her return.

The door opened before she had even reached it, and Felicity breathed a sigh of relief as she made the house at last and the door closed behind her.

“You look like hell.” Felicity shrieked, and the sound sailed around the high ceiling, careened down hallways and reverberated back to her ears.

One hand clutched at her chest as if she might calm her racing heart with the pressure of it.

“You frightened me out of my wits,” she accused in a hiss as she caught sight of Ian standing beside the door.

“I thought you were Butler. Where is he?” “Taken ill,” he said.

“There’s some sort of sickness going about.

Half the staff is afflicted. As a result…

” Ian paused to slip his hand into his pocket and remove a paper-wrapped item, which he tossed to her.

Felicity caught it one-handed. “What is this?” “Dinner. I’m afraid our cook is ill as well, and the kitchen staff besides.

I wasn’t certain whether or not you’d eaten at the school, but I didn’t care to leave it to chance.

It might not be hot any longer, but it should at least be moderately warm.

” It was hot enough still to warm her fingers through the paper.

Carefully Felicity peeled back the wrapping, and a tiny burst of steam carried the yeasty scent of bread redolent with rosemary and garlic toward her nose.

A beef pasty. Despite herself, her mouth watered.

They’d been a rare treat years ago, and had somehow become rarer still lately—even if she had the funds to afford them, she’d so rarely had the time to obtain them.

“Thank you,” she muttered, half-resentfully, as she bit into it.

“But I could have found something cold in the kitchen. If there’s sickness passing through the staff, they ought not to be sent out in this weather for such things.

” “I went myself,” Ian said. “Took a hack, since you had the carriage. Been taking quite a few of them lately.” A shrug pulled at his shoulders.

“Besides,” he said. “I know which shop you prefer, which pasties you like best. Can’t entrust such a thing to someone else, when they might make a hash of it.

” “Tastes often change,” she muttered. “It’s been ten years.

” “Yours haven’t.” The corner of his mouth had lifted in the barest hint of a smile.

Crooked, uncertain. As if he’d not had much to smile about in a good long while.

Blast . It had been so many hours since last she’d eaten, she’d somehow consumed half the pasty in only a few moments.

“I missed luncheon,” she said defensively.

“Acting as headmistress demands much of my time.” Time .

In her haste to consume her dinner, she’d forgotten it.

“What time is it?” “Just past eight.” Ian fished out his pocket watch and glanced down at the face.

“I’ve fifty-seven minutes left.” He eased away from the door, and for a moment Felicity could only be irritated that even at such an hour he looked remarkably put-together still, while she felt as though she’d been run through a box mangle.

Limp as wilted lettuce, and still with that headache pressing at the inside of her skull, burning her eyes.

At least the pasty had relieved her of a touch of her nausea.

“You were late today,” Ian said, and Felicity bit back a sigh.

Following the usual pattern, then, of casual comments that elicited not much of a response.

He always wanted to talk, often chattering on without her when she refused to engage, never seeming to take offense—even when she had meant to offend, which Felicity found rather infuriating.

“I don’t owe you an accounting of my time,” Felicity said as she finished the last of her pasty.

“That was never part of our bargain.” “It isn’t,” he said, “and you don’t.

But you do look like hell.” “I have a headache,” Felicity snapped, tucking the paper wrapper in the pocket of her coat.

“I have had, most of the day. You —” “I was only wondering if you merely had a difficult day, or if you might be falling ill. You do look a bit flushed, but that’s not particularly unusual.

You’re angry a great deal, and your complexion is fair enough to show it rather vividly.

” Felicity bristled anew. “I have every right to be angry!” “I don’t recall implying you didn’t.

It was an observation, not a criticism. I don’t begrudge you your anger.

I would rather your hatred than your indifference.

” But his brows furrowed as he scrutinized her face, and she wondered if he could read the pain upon it, in the pinch of her lips and the tightness of her jaw and the squint of her eyes against the light that seemed glaringly bright.

He glanced once more at the face of his watch and heaved a sigh.

“Pity,” he said. “And I had fifty-four minutes left.” “I beg your pardon?” “I’m not a monster,” he said.

“You’re clearly unwell, even if it is only a headache.

You should be in bed.” Bed . It sounded lovely, really.

And she couldn’t quite cull the hopeful lilt from her voice when she asked, “You’re letting me go for the evening?

On account of a headache?” “It would seem that I am—from time to time, when necessary—capable of generosity. On the condition that you go immediately to bed, I will surrender my remaining time this evening.” For once since their marriage, Felicity supposed she felt something akin to gratitude.

Or at the very least, she did not feel particularly inclined to argue only for the sake of being contrary and disagreeable.

“Thank you,” she said, for the second time that evening.

Likely more than she’d said it to him in the last two weeks combined.

She turned to go, making for the stairs.

“I will, however, take my kiss.” Felicity paused.

Turned round again. “I might be ill,” she said.

“I’ll risk it.” Ah, well. This particular evening it was a small price to pay in return for what he had already surrendered of his own volition.

Felicity crossed the floor, stretched onto her toes to plant the same brief kiss as always upon his chin and turned to go once more.

One night of peace. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she had expected of him.

More than that for which she had bargained.

It wasn’t until she arrived in the bed chamber that she realized that in order for Ian to have opened the door for her this evening, he had to have been lying in wait for her to return, taking Butler’s position there at the door.

But why? She’d kept her end of their bargain thus far, given him no reason to think she would violate it.

Even if Butler had not been present to conduct her to him— The paper wrapping she’d shoved within her pocket crinkled as she tugged her coat off of her shoulders and hung it over the back of a chair.

An odd little skirl of some nebulous emotion tweaked the very edges of her mind.

He’d too easily surrendered the fifty-four minutes she had owed to him for his presence there in the foyer to have been motivated by suspicion, by the desire to ensure she held up her end of their bargain.

But he had waited there for her anyway, for—well, for God alone knew how long, given that he could not possibly have known when she would return.

Only to ensure that, in the unexpected absence of the kitchen staff due to the illness that had ravaged the household, she would still have a meal waiting for her upon her return.

Her favorite beef pasty, purchased from her favorite shop, wrapped up and kept warm in the pocket of his coat, waiting for her just on the chance that she had not already eaten.