Page 9 of Felicity Cabot Sells Her Soul
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Five minutes ago, she had been Felicity Cabot. Now she was Felicity Carlisle. And so she would be—forever, quite possibly. Or at least until Charity and Mercy received the letters she had sent off this morning on her way to meet with Ian. Unless they came, quickly, to rescue her.
She had known even last evening that there would be no way out of marriage; not without sacrificing Nellie and the school they had both workedso hard for. But at least she had managed to change the terms. Something not quite to her favor, but not nearly as much to Ian’s, either, and that felt…important. Significant. A small upset in the balance of power, which he had tried so hard to skew in his own direction, and which she had wrested back from such an uneven slant.
And he hadallowedit. Bargained, when he might have insisted.
As his carriage clattered across the cobblestone road away from the church, Felicity flexed her knuckles, squeezing the thin gold band between the vise of the fingers on either side. It had surprised her, somehow, that Ian had had one to hand when the reverend had called for one. Probably it shouldn’t have—she ought to have known that he would leave little to chance. He had planned for this, after all, and it stood to reason that he would have had a ring.
But the simplicity of it had been unexpected. Just a plain gold band with a few tiny stones set into the surface, which could probably have been had at any jeweler’s shop in town. Not the sort of band well-suited to the sort of man he was at present. A man with a massive house and a houseful of servants to go with it. A man who had clawed his way into the position in the world he now occupied, and seemed to have developed a taste for the finer things in life. Had she expected a ring of any variety, it would have been something far more ostentatious, far more gaudy and valuable.
Which hardly mattered, as she didn’t intend to wear it.
“Stop the carriage, please,” she said as she tugged the ring off of her finger. “I’ll walk back to the school.”
On the opposite seat, Ian’s head swiveled toward her, expression incredulous. “It’s at least a quarter of an hour away,” he said.
“I’m aware.”
“In the rain.”
“All of my clothes are there. I shall simply change when I arrive.” She held the ring out to him in cup of her palm.
He made no move to take it, though his jaw tensed. She sensed him running through a succession of responses in his mind, almost as if she could hear the click of cogs and gears spinning within. A muscle flexed in his cheek, and he swallowed—a great number of arguments, she hoped, given that if he made them, he’d be renouncing any claim to honor he had so recently made. With one hand he reached up and knocked upon the roof of the carriage, which swiftly began to slow.
“There’s an umbrella beneath your seat,” he said tightly. “Take it.”
It was in her head to refuse only to be contrary and disobliging, but as she cast open the carriage door once it had come to a stop, the pound of the rain on the pavement stilled her tongue. “I will,” she said as she reached beneath the seat to retrieve it. And then she uttered a begrudging, “Thank you.”
“I’ll send the carriage for you this evening.” And then, as she bristled anew at the autocratic tone he had adopted, he added, “You said someone had followed you. It was not at my instruction.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t let it slip her mind, exactly. It was just that she had more pressing concerns at present. She wasn’t certain she believed him entirely. But she wasn’t certain she didn’t, and that would have to mean— “I will take the carriage, then.” She gave a little gesture of her hand. “The ring—”
“You don’t have to wear it,” he said.
“Of course I don’t.” It had not been amongst the concessions she had made. Still he made no move to take the ring, and she heaved an exasperated sigh and tucked it into her coat pocket instead.
“I’ll send footmen to accompany the carriage,” he said as she opened the umbrella to shelter her as she exited the carriage. “If you haven’t found the time to pack your things before they arrive, they’ll assist you. And, Felicity.” His hand curled around her wrist with carefully measured strength. “Don’t dawdle this evening. You owe me an hour.”
Chapter Four
Felicity returned to the massive grey stone building just as the rain had begun to let up at last. Even the shelter of the umbrella that Ian had insisted she take had failed to save her from the worst of the rain which had, at a few points, seemed to come down sideways.
By the time she had made it back, her teeth had been chattering so severely in the frigid cold that she couldn’t quite remember the point she had meant to make with her insistence upon walking. It had been, in retrospect, rather shortsighted of her.
The school was quiet, as was to be expected over the Christmas holiday. She hoped the two students remaining at the school—Dorothea White and Annabel Parker—were engaged in some sort of leisure activity within the house, since the weather would not have allowed for anything outside of it.
But it was Nellie she wished to find, and swiftly. They’d had no chance to speak after Felicity had returned home evening last, nor even this morning. She only hoped that Nellie had not yet done anything rash in her absence.
Such as sending the girls home. Or dashing off letters to the rest of the families to announce the closure of the school. Or letting the remainder of the staff go. A nameless anxiety tied a knot in her chest as she shrugged out of her cold, wet coat, hung it upon the rack, and headed for the stairs.
The steps creaked beneath her feet, and Felicity winced at the reminder that there were still too many things in want of repair, too much that had gone undone for lack of funds. She could only hope that now that the crisis had been averted, they would have a bit of breathing room in which to recover. Perhaps it would still take some time to scrape together the funds to make certain repairs, but at least they had escaped the threat of the bank clawing back the school building.
The murmur of voices snagged her attention as she ascended the stairs. The door to the sitting room had been left ajar, and as Felicity paused there, debating whether or not she ought to simply proceed to her own small room to change her clothing, a man stepped into the doorway.
The fine hairs at the nape of her neck prickled. She’d seen the same man in Ian’s office only an hour or so ago. The bank manager.
Nellie appeared in profile just through the door, clutching a stack of papers to her chest, her lower lip trembling with emotion. “Thank you, Mr. Grantham,” she said, and the gratitude within her voice soothed a bit of Felicity’s apprehension.
