Emily Greenwood by A Little Night Mischief Read Free Book Online Page B

on hers, and with a pricking of unease she saw an intensity in them that conveyed a deeper meaning to his words. “How could I not be? I’ve worried ever since that night, when we shouldn’t have…”
    She tugged her hands away and clasped her fingers tightly in front of her skirts. “Yes, Crispin, we shouldn’t have,” she agreed firmly. “But that’s in the past. And there it must stay.” Her own memories of that night were locked away, and she had not the smallest wish to probe them.
    He crossed his arms, his eyebrows lowering. “You can’t just dismiss what happened, Felicity.”
    “But I have. There’s nothing to say about it.”
    “Oh yes there is,” he said insistently with a look of growing resolve. “Something important.” He glanced around them, frowning. “But this isn’t a good place.”
    She didn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t want to remember that time in my life. I want to focus on the present. Mr. Collington has offered me a stipend to oversee the care of the orchard, which will take care of our financial needs for now. And I’ve written to a lawyer to have the wager that lost Tethering examined. I firmly believe that before long we will have Tethering back.”
    His eyes shot open. “What?” he cried, drawing a few stares their way.
    She could sense Mr. Collington’s eyes on them, and she glared at Crispin.
    He returned her look with his chin lifted, not backing down, though he spoke in moderated tones. “This is just the sort of thing you should not be doing. What you need—” he began.
    But at that moment, to her intense relief, Mrs. Rossiter called for everyone’s attention. The annual vicar’s tour of the garden would begin in five minutes. Would the vicar please come forward?
    He pressed his lips together. “We’ll finish this conversation later. I have to see to the tour.”
    He made his way to the head of the group that was forming, and Felicity watched him talking with the garden ladies, his features softening into a congenial look. Feeling herself relax, she realized how tense she had grown during their conversation. It was not as if she didn’t trust him—he was a vicar, for goodness’ sake, and moreover a thorough gentleman. But that was the problem. The last thing she needed was for Crispin to be determined on doing his gentlemanly duty.
    They’d grown up together, their families being close, and Crispin, being two years older, had been the leader on many a childhood adventure and buried treasure hunt with Felicity and her brother, Simon, and Crispin’s younger sister, Susannah. But Felicity didn’t need Crispin to guide her now. Nor did she want him worrying about her, telling her what young ladies ought not to do, or trying to help. She would take care of things herself.
    She found a seat on a stone bench behind which a tall row of arborvitae created a natural wall. The lemonade table was on the other side of the shrubs, in the shade of an overhanging tree, and as she sat peacefully contemplating the garden, she could hear the pleasant sounds of people filling cups of lemonade, like a sporadic fountain. Presently she realized that someone on the other side was discussing James Collington.
    “Yes, my dear,” a woman’s voice trilled, and Felicity recognized Augusta Tulkingham. “Our new neighbor will be quite an addition.”
    “I do agree,” sighed Miss Pimble. The spinster’s soft, girly voice sounded dreamy. “I envy Miss Felicity, living so close to him.”
    “Jemima!” Mrs. Tulkingham scolded. “Miss Felicity deserves our pity but certainly not our envy. The Wilcoxes have never done things properly, and now they’re in a right state. Their standing has utterly plummeted, and that can mean nothing good for a young, unmarried lady, pretty or not. Her father should have seen to her marriage long ago.”
    “Quite right, dear,” Jemima Pimble agreed meekly.
    Felicity’s eyebrows snapped together. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. Pity!