Page 69 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Feeling her cheeks warm, Felicity looked at the other woman with open surprise which she could not help but voice. “Truly? You think of me as a friend? I am only Daphne’s aunt.”

“No, my dear. You are a kindhearted woman with a most excellent taste in parasols.” She smiled with good humor. “And, indeed, I hope you count me your friend.”

“I certainly have wished to,” Felicity admitted, a hand touching her heart. “Thank you. I have enjoyed your company, too. All of our conversations have lifted me, giving me comfort and guidance. Please, call me Felicity from now on.”

“Then you must call me Rose. Now, Felicity, you are officially my friend. Tell me, please—what troubles you?”

Her shoulders fell. “It…it is not my burden to share, I am afraid. But that you noticed and wished to help, that eases my mind greatly.”

Rose nodded slowly, her expression still kind. “I understand. You will tell me if I can help you, will you not?”

“Of course. For now, I am best helped with distraction. We must find something pleasant, some exciting topic to—” Before Felicity could attempt to redirect the conversation, a light knock sounded at the door and a footman stepped inside, holding a carefully wrapped parcel.

“A delivery has arrived, Miss Price.”

Felicity frowned slightly. “Oh?”

The footman nodded. “From Madame Bisset’s dress shop.”

That was peculiar. She had not ordered Daphne anything recently. Setting down her teacup, she took the parcel from the footman, untying the string and unfolding the brown paper wrapping.

A gown was nestled inside. A stunning one.

The fabric was soft beneath her fingertips, finer than anything she had commissioned before. The color—a rich, deep green—was striking, the embroidery at the hems delicate and elegant. It was surely not Daphne’s. The colors were too bold for a young woman in her first Season.

“My, but that is exquisite,” Rose said, peering into the box beside her. “And how lovely. I cannot think I have seen many in this color yet this Season. You’ll be setting a trend.”

“I think there must be a mistake,” she said, her traitorous fingers running along the neckline. “We did not order such a thing for Daphne, though I did admire the cloth when we were in the shop.” Like a prickle up her spine, a slow dawning realization settled over her. She turned to Daphne, who was grinning in a way which immediately set her on edge. “You did not order this for yourself, did you?” Felicity asked, holding up the sleeve of the gown.

Daphne laughed, shaking her head. “No. The Colonel and I placed the order…but we did it for you.”

Felicity froze. Edward had done this? For her? She tried to find the words, but her friend spoke first, amusement in her voice.

“Well, well.”

Felicity turned her head sharply, half expecting censure. Instead, she found her new friend Rose looking at her with something close to approbation.

Felicity, startled, could not stop herself from asking, “You—you approve?”

Rose sipped her tea, the very picture of serene amusement. “My dear,” she said, setting down her cup with a delicate clink, “we cannot control when the right person comes into our life—or how. But we should certainly seize the chance for happiness when they do.” She reached out to take Felicity’s hand where it rested on the soft fabric of the beautiful gown. “If this is what you fretted over, you ought not. I think he is a fine gentleman, and you will look stunning in green. This may be your moment, Felicity. Seize it.”

Felicity’s breath caught. Seize the chance for happiness. She looked down at the gown, running her fingers along the buttons in the back, heart pounding.

* * *

Edward had never considered himself a man prone to romantic notions. He had spent most of his life focused on duty, first to his family, then to Pamela, then to his regiment, then to his household, and now to Daphne. Duty was what defined him. He had told himself, in the quieter moments, that he was content with that; that whatever other men sought in marriage, in love, in companionship, was not something meant for him. Especially not since his spectacularly terrible youthful mistake.

And then had come Felicity Price.

She had upended his life in every way imaginable: challenged him, infuriated him, and somehow, without his consent, had become a fixture of his world. And now, standing at the foot of the staircase, waiting to escort the ladies to the theater, Edward was utterly undone. He knew it. He knew himself a hopeless cause. Word had come through the servants that the gown from the modiste had arrived earlier that afternoon, but neither Daphne nor Felicity had said a word about it at dinner.

Both of them had been rather quiet, actually. Preoccupied by their thoughts, which had left Edward somewhat nervous. Had she not liked the gift? He had nearly asked, but decided it best to let her broach the subject. What if she had found it too personal? Daphne had reassured him that since it was from both of them, there was nothing inappropriate about it, and the idea of Felicity in a beautiful gown had appealed to him.

But if it had been a mistake, he would certainly apologize and⁠—

“Oh, Edward. There you are.” Felicity’s voice came from above, and he glanced up the stairs with a half-formed apology ready on his lips.

There it stayed until he swallowed down his fear. Unexpected wonder filled him in its stead as Felicity descended the stairs at an unhurried pace, her gloved hand resting lightly along the banister.