Refining Felicity by MC Beaton Page B

biscuits.
    ‘How did you find me?’ asked Felicity sulkily.
    ‘If you saw those ridiculous whiskers of yours in the clear light of day, you would know they are as red as a Runner’s waistcoat. There were many people on your road to the City who remembered an odd-looking fellow with scarlet whiskers. I caught up with you just as you were being pressed into service. I decided to follow you, for tempers were running high at that point and I did not want to risk ruining your reputation by unmasking you. I waited until you had returned to the armoury and then picked my moment.’
    ‘I was going home to Sussex,’ said Felicity, hanging her head.
    ‘And you were making sure to do it in such a way as to cause the most distress and trouble,’ he said severely. ‘That chambermaid you gulled with that farrago of lies. Did you never think of her? She thought you had been killed and was prepared to follow you to the grave. She nearly lost her job, which in these days would have been tantamount to killing her. There is no future for a chambermaid turned off without a reference.’
    ‘I did not think she would have told anyone anything about being party to my escape,’ said Felicity, enraged with guilt.
    ‘You did not think of anyone other than yourself, and you never have,’ said the marquess. ‘You are a colossal bore. Unwomanly women always are. You will go back to the Tribbles and you will behave. Do I make myself clear?’
    ‘You have no right to interfere in my life,’ said Felicity.
    ‘I do not want to have anything to do with you,’ snapped the marquess. ‘But I do not like to see the Tribbles tormented and teased by a spoilt brat like you. You have neither looks nor charm nor wit. Try to do as they say and keep your mouth shut and perhaps some poor fool will marry you for your dowry, for you have nothing to offer a man other than money.’
    Felicity gasped with shock and rage. ‘I’ll show you,’ she said, between her teeth. ‘Just you wait! I shall drive some man mad with passion.’
    The marquess leaned back in his chair and began to laugh. Finally he said, ‘If you could only see how you look, sitting there in that horse-collar with those ghastly whiskers and vowing to drive some man mad with passion.’ He was so amused he did not realize Felicity had begun to cry. Salt tears dribbled down among her whiskers. She took a mouthful of coffee and managed to control herself.
    Now she hated the marquess more than the Tribbles, more than anyone in the whole wide world.
    Outside, the marquess hailed a hack and directed it to Holles Street.
    He leaned his head back and thought of Miss Betty Andrews.
She
would never dream of masquerading as a man. She was soft and curvaceous and beautiful, and he liked the pretty confiding way she had of shyly putting a dimpled hand on his arm and smiling up at him. She would never cause him a day’s upset or distress. He knew she would be in London for the Season, but, all in that moment, he decided to propose to her before she left Sussex.
    Lady Felicity was in bed, and the marquess had just finished telling the Tribbles of Felicity’s adventures over a late supper. Effy clucked with shock and distress, but Amy remained silent. Amy thought it was terribly brave of Felicity to go through with allowing herself to be armed and pressed into service as a special constable. Amy also thought it must be wonderful to wear whiskers and stride free down the streets.
    ‘So, ladies,’ said the marquess, ‘to turn to pleasanter subjects: will you dance at my wedding?’
    Hope shone in Amy’s eyes. ‘Oh, you monster,’ she said, ‘to plague us with your disgust of poor Felicity. Of course we will dance at your wedding. She is young and headstrong, but I knew all along you, above all, would be clever enough to see the gold there.’
    ‘I fear Lord Ravenswood does not mean Felicity,’ said Effy quietly.
    ‘No, of course not,’ said the marquess. ‘I mean to wed Miss Betty