Chapter One
Wellesford, England
December 1815
“Will you join us for Christmas supper, Miss Billings?” Lady Poppy, Countess of Welles, asked, clutching the books she’d just purchased from Felicity’s bookshop.
Felicity smiled at the newlywed countess, genuinely touched she’d come to the bookshop in person to make the request when she could have merely sent a footman to deliver the invitation or not invited her at all. What other humble shopkeeper could boast of friendship with a countess? It still amazed Felicity that she was also friendly with Olivia, the Duchess of Hartford, and Penelope, sister to the Earl of Welles.
Those three lovely ladies seemed to have taken her in as one of their own, and she truly adored all of them. She shook her head and laughed softly. “I would love to.”
“We’ll see you at Sherbourne next week then. I was hoping you weren’t otherwise engaged. It will be a small gathering, only about thirty friends and family. Don’t lace your corset too tightly, for there’ll be plenty of food.” Poppy gave her a quick hug and hurried out, climbing into her waiting carriage, a sleek, black conveyance embossed with the Welles family crest. “I’ll send our carriage around to pick you up. It won’t do to have you walking through the snow. Feels like a big storm brewing, doesn’t it? I can feel it in the air. I don’t want you ruining your gown and slippers. You’ll stay over, of course, if the festivities run late.”
Felicity had followed her to the door and waved as the carriage rolled off, laughing with pleasure when Poppy stuck her head out the window and continued to chatter about the party even as the driver turned the corner and her conveyance rattled out of sight.
Now alone, Felicity inhaled the chill air, letting it out in a soft breath that formed a vapor in front of her lips. Snowflakes were beginning to fall, and the scent of freshly baked raisin cakes from Mr. Holland’s bakery across the street carried in the air.
For the most part, she enjoyed this time of year, loved the bite to the air, the scent of chestnuts roasting on the fire, and the smiles on everyone’s faces as they hurried past on one errand or another. The festive suppers were also a treat. Her favorite dish happened to be roast goose, but it wasn’t something she ate other than at Christmas.
Often, she ate alone. This was the part she enjoyed least, for holidays were a time for family and she had none. Sometimes she would return to the Birdsong Orphanage to share the holiday meal with the other orphaned girls, but she hadn’t been able to visit much lately. Her bookshop, The Bee Hive, had become a favorite meeting place for the ladies of Wellesford.
Duchess Olivia often jested that the place was abuzz with activity. Felicity hadn’t wanted to suddenly close up shop and leave for a week to travel to the orphanage when everyone was counting on her to be here. Besides, as a businesswoman, she knew it was folly to close her shop the week before Christmas when it was always the busiest time of the year.
“Miss Billings!” the vicar, Adam Carstairs, called to her as he ran by on his way to the vicarage. “Did you just get your invite to the big house?”
She waved to him. “I did.”
Although she kept her voice cheery, she could not hold back the bittersweet feeling now taking hold of her. She’d been raised in the orphanage, had never known her parents or ever been told who they were. So, while everyone rushed about town purchasing little gifts and making preparations for their family celebrations, she had only herself and the books on her shelves to keep her company.
She had just sent off a box of woolen mittens, hats, and a few books for the orphans, and knew she would receive a note of appreciation in response. It would be enough to sustain her until next year. She supposed it was not in the spirit of the season to wish, just once, that she’d be the one receiving a gift.
It wasn’t for the gift, but for knowing someone was thinking of her.
The vicar paused beside her, his breath short. “I’m glad you were invited. I was hoping the Sherbournes would think of you. I’ll be there as well. They’ve invited the Plimptons and the doctor, of course. He’s everyone’s favorite. And I hear the dowager duchess Matilda will attend as well.”
He tossed off the names of a few more lords and ladies. Felicity’s eyes widened in surprise. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to ward off the icy wind, too curious to end the conversation and retreat into the warmth of her shop. “I’m not certain how I fit in with such exalted company, but they’ve always made me feel most welcome. Oh, dear. I’ll have to find something suitably fine to wear.”
“You’ll look lovely in whatever gown you choose.” He arched a devilish eyebrow, drawing her gaze to his exquisite blue eyes. They stood out, but were a perfect complement to his dark hair and boyishly appealing features. It struck her as quite odd that a man as pious as this vicar should also look so wickedly tempting.
All the women in town fancied themselves in love with him.
She didn’t, of course.
He was too young for her.
Not that she was old, but…well, a spinster of nine and twenty years was considered old by most standards. Certainly on the shelf. What man would desire an old maid like her? The vicar could not have been more than twenty-six or twenty-seven years old. Everyone suspected he had secretly been in love with Lady Poppy and was bereft when she’d married Nathaniel Sherbourne, the Earl of Welles.
He bid her good day and continued on his way.
Once he was out of sight, she hurried back into her shop and firmly shut the door. The place was empty now, the last of her customers having hurried off before nightfall. The sun disappeared early at this time of year.
Since she lived in a set of rooms within the same small house that contained her shop, she had no need to travel any distance to reach home. All she had to do was step behind the floral curtain separating the shop and her kitchen. She crossed into the kitchen to warm her hands over the brazier.
A chill had seeped deep into her bones, but the weather had nothing to do with this particular ache. As the holidays approached, it marked yet another year coming to an end for her. Another year she’d be alone without family.
Another year she’d be alone without the prospect of marrying or having children of her own.
She was so lost in thought, she failed to hear the bell above her door tinkle.
“Miss Billings? Are you all right?” A man’s deep, rumbling voice startled her out of her idle musing.
She turned, recognizing Wellesford’s handsome doctor, Angus Carmichael. His voice carried just that lilting hint of a brogue. Only a hint, however. Although he’d been born and raised in Scotland, he’d lived in England for many years and had acquired a cultured smoothness to his accent. “Oh, Doctor! I do beg your pardon. I was woolgathering and hadn’t noticed anyone come into the shop.”
“Then I apologize for startling you.”
“No need. Um, I suppose you came for the medical book you ordered last week.” She clasped her hands together, fighting the urge to pat her hair or bat her eyelashes at him as though she were a love-struck schoolgirl.
What was it about this man that made her heart flutter whenever he was near?
She tried to gather her scattered thoughts before he noticed they were on him and no longer on the brazier or on restocking her shelves with the new books just arrived from London and still sealed in their packing box.