Page 17 of One Night to Remember
Chapter 3
The next morning, dawn had barely broken as Felicity marched down the dark corridor leading from the town house to the carriage house. Attempting to forget the Curricle King’s clear dismissal had only resulted in a sleepless night as their final words repeated again and again in her head.
She opened the latch and pushed open the door. A dust-speckled shaft of early morning light swept into the corridor along with a gust of cool, spring air. Usually, Felicity barreled eagerly over the threshold, straight to one of the carriages.
Today, she lingered in the doorway.
As much as she loved the opulence of the town house, the carriage house was where she had always felt most at home. It was supposed to be her private space, her secret haven, and it had been… until Cole invited a usurper. The unbearably arrogant, wildly attractive,I-work-alone Giles Langford.
Even though all outsiders were now forbidden from the carriage house, her pantalettes and worn dress no longer felt like a sufficient disguise. These clothes had never been comfortable. Now they didn’t even feel safe.
More than ever, she wished for a man’s shirt and thick trousers, and a woolen cap to shove her hair out of sight. She wished Cole hadn’t forbidden male clothes. In a carriage house, she still felt more comfortable dressed as a lad than a lady. Her delicate kid half-boots felt glued to the tile, unable to step onto the sawdust.
“Good morning,” said one of the stable boys as he passed. “Off to the races?”
The back of Felicity’s neck heated. She stepped out of the corridor and shut the door behind her.
“No,” she assured him quickly. “Today I’m going to work on—” She stopped, reconsidered his words, and narrowed her eyes. “What races?”
“The races,” he said, gaze shining. “You usually don’t start work until later in the morning, so I figure the reason you’re down at dawn is to see who wins.”
Races at dawn could only mean wealthy gentlemen wagering over the fastest horse or lightest chariot over in Hyde Park.
Felicity had never attended. Such attractions weren’t open to respectable ladies, although the right clothes and the early hour would provide cover enough.
But she had better things to do. Like prove to Giles Langford she was every bit as competent as he was.
“Who do you think will win?” she asked the stable boy.
He gave her a strange look. “The Curricle King, of course. What I wouldn’t give to watch him in action.”
By the way that moniker was constantly bandied about in the carriage house, if Felicity’s brother wasn’t paying his stablehands handsomely, every one of them would be lining Rotten Row right now, hoping for a glimpse of Giles Langford.
And if the increased tempo of Felicity’s heart was anything to go by, a tiny—very well,large—part of her found this to be an excellent idea. She gave in to temptation.
“Come along,” she said as she grabbed an oversized pelisse and a straw bonnet from a basket in the corner. She always kept coins in her pocket in case of emergency.
The boy hurried after her. “Where are we going?”
“To hail a hack,” Felicity answered as the limp brim of the ragged bonnet flopped down over her face. It was perfect.
“A hack?” The boy gestured over his shoulder. “You have seven different carriages.”
“Colehaven owns those.” Although Felicity regularly drove her brother’s many carriages under cover of night, morning had broken, and she could not risk being recognized. She hurried down the alley toward the main street and held out her arm to flag a passing hackney. “Come on. You and I are just two ordinary citizens, off to the races.”
His eyes lit up and he leaped into the hack behind her with a wide, gap-toothed smile on his freckled face.
If Felicity could have worn trousers, she wouldn’t have needed a chaperone. To be honest, she probably didn’t need one now, not in this unassuming garb—but she didn’t have the heart to leave the starry-eyed boy behind.
“Rotten Row,” she told the driver, and settled onto the squab.
“Are you excited to see the Curricle King?” the boy asked.
More than Felicity dared admit.
Langford was an enigma. Reading about his exploits in scandal columns could not possibly compare to witnessing his conquests firsthand. The baffling man had unconditionally accepted a female mechanic, only to imply in no uncertain terms that he had little use forLady Felicitytaking up his precious time or space once he realized just who the stable lass truly was.
“I’d trust him with any carriage,” she answered at last. “But in order to design modifications to best complement a driver, I first need to see that driver in action.”
