The Butterfly Bride by Vanessa Riley

Author:Vanessa Riley
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Entangled, Amara, Historical Regency Fiction, Historical Romance, Historical Romances, Multicultural Romances, Multicultural & Interracial Romance, Holiday Romance, Regency Historical Romance, Regency Romances, Historical British Fiction, Women’s Historical Fiction, British Historical Literature, Diverse, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Regency, 19th Century, Bodyguard/Protector, Holiday, POC, diverse romance
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-09-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Candidate Number Three

Frederica sat in the parlor at Nineteen Fournier, watching Ester and her husband, Arthur Bex, practice lines of Cleopatra. The two were so stinking cute; Bex, tall and dashing, climbing up on a chair like it was a stage and Ester gazing upon him, a cross between a woman in love and a completely stricken audience.

When Bex as Marc Antony grabbed his Cleopatra, Frederica turned her head to the burgundy-papered walls, the white trim and fleur-de-lis, anything to not be a voyeur to their love.

The sounds of a kiss sent Frederica to the window, hoping for Hartwell’s carriage. There were too many lovey-dovey feelings here. It could be infectious, and then her jaded eyes would see sunshine, and rainbows, and hope, even on this foggy day.

Where was the red-haired cynic when she needed him?

He was with his daughters, as he should be.

“Miss Burghley,” Bex said in his deliciously dreamy voice. “I’ll leave you to my wife. Fitzwilliam-Cecil says you two still plot with his wife upon occasion. I’m not one to stop such rebellious activity.”

He bowed, picked up his laurel leaf headpiece, and left the room.

Ester squealed with delight. She was so cute and happy.

And Frederica had never felt more alone and small and jealous in her life. “Slap me hard, Ester. I need a good one to get my head thinking properly.”

Ester put a hand to her hip, wrinkling the lace of her burgundy gown. “Dear, whatever for?”

“Because you and Bex are so lovely, and I’m intruding. Know that no matter how green my face looks right now, I’m happy that you and Bex are in love.”

“We are.” Ester reached her hands out and clasped Frederica’s. “I wish you were, too.”

“Don’t I look happy?”

“No. No, you don’t. Lord Hartwell looked upset.”

“He’s trying to help, but I doubt he understands.”

“Frederica, he likes you. If you concentrated your charms on him, he’d—”

“What? We’d chase each other around the room quoting Shakespeare? He barely stays awake at plays.”

“Until you have been chased by a professional thespian, don’t scoff. It can be quite liberating.”

Frederica laughed and sank into the comfort of the tapestry-covered couch. “Maybe it will be good and dark before he returns for me. I want to pretend to be asleep and not answer any more of his questions. I don’t want to see his pity or hear him apologize for the ills of the world, like it’s his fault that Lady Thorpe or the others snub me.”

Ester stood and went to the pile where her mother’s newspapers were stacked and retrieved blue stationery letters. “I wish you two could get along better. But these came for you.”

Hand shaking, Frederica reached for the familiar notes. “When did these come?”

“About a week ago.” Putting the letters on the table, Ester turned and put her palm to Frederica’s forehead. “You’re so pale, Frederica. Are you sick? The winter fever has been rampant. My sister Ruth and my mother are just now getting over it. And poor Papa didn’t know how to help.

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