Page 43 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

He stepped closer, so the tip of her parasol pressed against his chest, right above his heart. “A sad fate for a man who survived the war with the French. Yet if you think it necessary, I submit myself to this most dishonorable death.”

Felicity gasped, then nearly choked. The man had teased her! In the next moment, a grin broke free on his handsome face, with a low chuckle that turned into a soft laugh, a most entrancing sound that pulled an answering smile onto her face.

Laughter bubbled up with her, too. “You are terrible, sir,” she said at last, shaking her head.

Edward tapped the parasol still pressed against his chest. “Truce, Miss Price?”

“Truce,” she agreed, dropping the parasol to her side. “I did not know you could be ridiculous.”

“Really?” He tilted his head to the side. “I am convinced you must often think me so.” He held out his arm, glancing toward Daphne’s group of friends. “Come. You have had your way, and Daphne has enjoyed her independence. But I should like to walk in that direction, in case she has need of me. Of us.”

Us. At the sound of that word from his lips, that comfortable warmth wrapped itself around her heart again. She took his arm as he smiled, and Felicity realized the sight of his smile stirred an odd, hopeful feeling in her chest. Her cheeks warmed, and she swiftly turned to watch a swan glide across the water.

Something rather strange, and certainly quite dangerous, was unfolding in her heart. She needed to put a stop to it—for Daphne’s sake, if not for her own. She had resigned herself to spinsterhood, accepted it long before she had met the Colonel. Once Daphne’s future was secure, there would be nothing left for Felicity except a quiet set of rented rooms near the seaside, and the occasional Christmas visits to her niece and, hopefully, her children. That was her future.

The warmth faded into cold certainty.

Colonel Halstead was a necessary ally until then, and nothing else. He could be nothing else.

Chapter Fourteen

“Forty-nine days,” Edward murmured, staring at the reading room shelves. He sat in Blackstone’s, of course, whiling away the hours while Felicity and Daphne paid polite calls in London’s finer neighborhoods. Despite his estate’s nearness to Town, he had no intention of sending them off on visiting days without him. When they were ready to depart for home, they would bring the carriage and the coachman would fetch him.

Mr. Harold Marlowe, the man responsible for Edward’s introduction to Lord Blackstone, looked up from his book. They were not yet friends, in truth, but they did not mind one another’s company. “Did you say something, Colonel?”

Edward shook his head. “Oh, nothing of consequence. It has been forty-nine days since I received the letter about my ward.” In forty-nine days, his whole life had changed. His responsibility to Daphne necessitated a complete adjustment of his priorities, putting her well-being first and foremost in his mind and plans.

He only hoped Anthony Price’s trust hadn’t been misplaced.

The same amount of time had passed since he learned of Miss Felicity Price, a woman who had immediately set about to prove he had no idea what it meant to provide for her niece; a woman who by turns frustrated and fascinated him as they learned to work together for Daphne’s sake. Captain Felicity Price had never shied away from speaking her mind to him, from being direct; instead she squared her shoulders and delivered her thoughts to him as though used to facing down men far more intimidating than himself.

Of late, he could not seem to get the image of her out of his head. If Edward looked out the window, he remembered the day he put his coat on her shoulders while she argued vociferously with him. If he trained his gaze anywhere indoors, especially in his study, he pictured her sitting across the desk with her slight, knowing smile and intelligent eyes.

Thank goodness for Blackstone’s. In a place full of gentlemen, he did not need to think about Felicity. Nor did he need to worry overmuch about Daphne while she was out making social calls. Instead, he refocused his mind on his own business: tasks at the estate, the progress of his investigator⁠—

The door to the reading room burst open and several men spilled in, most of them holding glasses of spirits and the one leading the fray grasping a familiar tome.

The club’s betting book.

Every gentleman’s club in London had one, though not all were treated as holy books. Blackstone’s book in particular seemed to be more a bit of fun than something to seriously concern oneself with.

“What are all of you doing in here?” the man with the book, one Lord Henry Philbrook said. “The Season has started properly, and we must get down all the names of the poor souls the mamas of the ton have in their sights.”

Marlowe groaned and sank into his chair. “Not this again. Every single year…” He held his book closer to his face in an attempt to hide.

The man with the book sighted him. “Marlowe, dear fellow! Haven’t you a cousin on the list of bachelors?”

“The boy is only twenty,” Marlowe said, snapping his book shut and shaking a finger at them. “Far too young to wed, no matter what the scheming women of London may think.”

“A good age for a debutante,” someone argued. “Better an eighteen year old wed a man of twenty than someone old and feeble, like Colonel Halstead.”

A round of laughter filled the previously silent reading room.

Despite his finer feelings, Edward forced himself to chuckle and shook his head. “I assure you, I have no intention of robbing schoolrooms or nurseries—nor do I have any plans to wed this Season or any other.”

Several of the men booed, a few cheered, but Lord Henry opened the book and took out a sharpened pencil. He ceremoniously licked the tip of it, grinned at Edward, and spoke aloud as he wrote. “Colonel Edward Halstead, bachelor of mature—nay, advanced age.” He looked around at the other men. “Who thinks he will be the target of the mamas themselves? Perhaps a widow with six children?”

Mr. Norman walked into the room then, looking about as he ran a hand through his hat-flattened hair. “What is all this noise? I heard you lot bellowing like bull calves as I came in downstairs—the neighbors will complain to Lord Blackstone again.”