by M C Beaton
“Do drink your chocolate,” urged Felicity.
“Tell me about your book, if it is a book, and I will drink it.”
“Very well, it is a novel and it is about a rake—but the rake is a woman!”
Frederica had raised the cup to her lips. She put it down untasted and stared at Felicity. “You do not hope to sell it, do you? No man is going to publish a book about a loose woman.”
“She is not precisely loose,” said Felicity, watching as Frederica’s hand reached for the cup again. “You see it is a satire on the double standards of our times. A man is a gay blade if he seduces many women, but a woman is a—”
“Prostitute,” said Frederica, holding the cup to her lips. She lowered it again and Felicity nearly groaned aloud. “Do you realize that if such a book were ever published, it would ruin your reputation?”
“You forget. I do not have a reputation to lose,” said Felicity. “Do drink your chocolate, Frederica. The night is cold.”
“Nonsense, it is close and warm. If I thought for one moment some bookseller would publish it, I should really fear for you. Still, I think it is monstrous clever of you to write a whole book.”
“Three volumes,” said Felicity proudly.
Frederica glanced at the clock and jumped to her feet. “Look at the time! I must be off.”
“Drink a toast to the success of my book before you go,” said Felicity desperately.
“A toast in chocolate? Oh, very well.” Frederica picked up the cup and took a great gulp of the hot, sweet liquid. “To your book. Goodness, that chocolate tastes odd,” she said. “Now, let me see, do I have everything? He wants me to leave the jewels and I am glad to do so. I had begun to detest those baubles. Kiss me good-bye, Felicity, and always remember…” She swayed and clutched hold of the back of the chair she had been sitting on to support herself. “I feel faint,” she said dizzily. “I cannot faint, now, of all times.”
“Lie down for a moment,” said Felicity. “He will wait.”
“No,” said Frederica thickly. “Must go.” She staggered toward the door.
Felicity leaped up and seized her. “No, you shall not go. He means to ruin you!”
With a tremendous effort, Frederica thrust her away, wrenched opened the door, and staggered into the passage. Felicity ran after her and caught at her skirts. Frederica tripped and fell. She made a heroic effort to rise, but fell forward again. Her eyes closed, and soon she was unconscious and breathing heavily.
“What is happening up there?” came Mrs. Ricketts’s voice.
“Nothing,” called Felicity sharply. “Go to bed. I fell over something.”
She waited until she heard a door close downstairs as the housekeeper went back to bed. Then she seized Frederica by the ankles and slid her along the uncarpeted corridor and back into the bedroom. “You will thank me for this one day,” she said.
She tugged down Frederica’s rumpled skirts and tenderly smoothed her tumbled hair back from her brow. Then she ran downstairs quietly to the library and gently eased up the window.
Lord Harry’s face looked up at her in the moonlight.
“Go away,” whispered Felicity fiercely. “She has seen sense. She has changed her mind.”
“Rubbish,” said Lord Harry loudly.
“Shhh!” admonished Felicity. “Go away. Shoo!”
And with that, she pulled down the window and left the astonished Lord Harry standing in the garden.
What on earth has she done to Frederica? thought Lord Harry. The deuce. I will get her out of that house this night if I have to break down every door.
He climbed nimbly over the wall, into his own garden, and round the side of the house and up the area steps to the street. Taking a deep breath, he marched to the Waverley door, seized the knocker and hammered on it so hard that his carriage horses in the square behind him whinnied and shied.
Mrs. Ricketts opened the door. “What on earth, my lord…?”
“She was to meet me in the garden, but now Felicity tells me she has changed her mind. Where is Mrs. Waverley?”
“Not returned, my lord.”
“Then we have only Felicity to blame. Lead the way, Mrs. Ricketts. You have my permission to tell Mrs. Waverley I threatened you.”
Mrs. Ricketts hurried up the stairs holding an oil lamp, while Lord Harry followed. Felicity heard them coming. She darted into Frederica’s bedroom and locked the door.
“Go away!” she shouted as the doorknob began to rattle. “You shall never have her.”
“Bless me,” said Mrs. Ricketts in high irritation. “I’ll burn all that young lady’s novels tomorrow, see if I don’t.” She fumbled with the great bunch of keys hanging at her waist. Mrs. Ricketts always carried the keys with her, even sleeping with them, the chain that held them firmly fastened over her red flannel nightgown.
“Here we are!” she said triumphantly. She put a key in the lock and turned it. The door swung open. Felicity stood over Frederica’s unconscious body.
She flew at Lord Harry and tried to claw his face. Mrs. Ricketts darted forward and caught hold of Felicity with powerful arms. “You silly, little girl,” she said furiously.
Lord Harry gathered Frederica up in his arms. He looked at her sleeping face and then his gaze fell on the two cups on the table, one nearly empty and one still full of chocolate.
“Drugged,” he said bitterly. “You hellcat.”
While Felicity kicked and struggled, he bore Frederica out of the room. Mrs. Ricketts held fast to Felicity until she heard the street door slam.
Then she released her. Felicity slumped down on the floor and began to cry.
“Fool!” said Mrs. Ricketts. “Do you not know when a man is desperately in love? You have behaved wantonly, disgracefully, and callously… and were nigh close to ruining Frederica’s happiness. Dry your eyes and come down to the drawing room and we will wait for Mrs. Waverley—and if it pleases you to ruin me by telling her of my part in this elopement, you are welcome.”
Felicity wearily dried her eyes. “Mrs. Waverley made me promise to protect her. She said she knew Lord Harry to be a lecher and a rake.”
“Lord Harry Danger is as pretty a gentleman as I have ever met,” said Mrs. Ricketts. “Use the common sense God gave you. Did Mrs. Waverley not do her uttermost to stop poor Fanny marrying an earl? And would she not do her uttermost to spoil Frederica’s chances, no matter what?”
“I shall come with you and wait for her,” said Felicity, getting up, “but I shall not betray you. Your punishment will be to find out how you have helped to ruin poor Freddy!”
“Oh, come along,” said Mrs. Ricketts, exasperated.
Together they went down to the drawing room. Mrs. Ricketts set down the oil lamp and then went and lit the fire. She poked a taper between the bars and then lit branches of candles on the mantelpiece with it until the room was flooded with a soft light. Frederica’s workbasket was lying open beside a chair, the colored silks hanging over the side.
Mrs. Ricketts walked over to the long windows and drew back one of the curtains to see if there was any sign of Mrs. Waverley returning. She shook her head and let the curtain fall. “I wonder what has become of the mistress?” she said. And then she saw the letter and title deeds on the desk.
With a feeling of wonder, she picked everything up and carried it over to Felicity. She soundlessly laid the letter and the title deeds in Felicity’s lap.
Felicity broke open the letter and began to read. “I cannot believe this,” she whispered. “She has gone and left us. She has gone forever. She says she does not care what becomes of us. She has left the jewels and the house, although she says such generosity is too good for us. She says we never cared for her, never loved her.”
Mrs. Waverley took the letter from Felicity’s limp hand and carried it closer to the light. “I should have known,” she said at last. “She’s gone off with that colonel, that’s what. She only wanted you girls because she hadn’t a man and was frighte
ned of getting one. But now she’s got one at last, she don’t need nobody else.”
“That I will never believe,” said Felicity, white to the lips. “I can understand her leaving us, I can understand her distress at what she considered to be our lack of affection, but leave because of some man… nonsense.”
“Go to bed,” said Mrs. Ricketts wearily. “You’re the mistress now, but this night, obey me and go to bed. You’ll see sense in the morning.”
***
Mrs. Waverley had a splendid time after her arrival in Shropshire. She bullied the colonel’s servants, upset his housekeeper by checking the household books and pointing out several mistakes, and had the furniture in his drawing room rearranged.
She had told the colonel firmly that no announcement of their marriage was to appear in the newspapers. The colonel merely said, “Yes, dear,” and told his servants that no newspapers were to be allowed anywhere near Mrs. Waverley for over a week. He had already sent the announcement off to the newspapers. It would appear on the same day as the wedding. All he wanted was that title. Once Mrs. Waverley was his wife, he could set about putting her firmly in her place. Once Mrs. Waverley was his wife, he could find out what it was about her the Prince Regent so disliked and feared.
They were quietly married in the local church, the colonel not yet using his title until those precious papers arrived from London.
His new wife became more soft and cajoling and feminine as her wedding night approached. But the colonel would not come to bed. He sat by the window of his study on the ground floor, still dressed in his wedding finery, watching and waiting for that royal messenger. What if the prince had tricked him? He broke out in a cold sweat at the thought.
When his bride finally and sulkily fell asleep alone in his great bed upstairs, he sat on, waiting and waiting through the long night, until a pale dawn light filled the room and the birds began to twitter sleepily in the ivy outside. The sun rose higher in the sky. He heard Mrs. Waverley getting up and rose and locked his study door and resumed his vigil.
He could hear his new wife’s voice raised in anger outside and several times she banged angrily on the study door, but he paid her no heed. His eyes were just beginning to droop when suddenly he heard the sound of a horseman, riding hard up the drive leading to the house. He leaped to his feet and unlocked the door, ran through the hall and stood on the steps, one hand to his fast-beating heart.
How haughty and contemptuous these royal messengers were! But the colonel seized the huge packet and carried it back into his study and locked the door—without so much as a thank you or an offer to the messenger to rest his horse or take some refreshment.
With trembling fingers he opened it and the documents fell out. The prince had kept his word.
The new baron was so happy, he burst into tears. Then he dried his eyes, unlocked his study door, and called for his wife.
“Good day, my baroness,” he said. “My precious darling.”
He held out the documents. A slow thaw set in on his wife’s stern features.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” said the colonel and yawned.
“I think I’ll join you,” said his wife.
He smiled at her and winked, then slapped her on the bottom.
Arm in arm, they went upstairs to the bedroom.
***
Frederica awoke in total darkness. She felt groggy and slightly sick. She stretched and turned in bed to go back to sleep again, and then her memory came rushing back. The chocolate! Felicity must have drugged the chocolate. In cold panic, she sprang from the bed and groped her way to the window, pulled back the curtains, and tugged open the shutters. The cool, green expanse of Hyde Park lay below her.
She wondered for one mad moment whether she was dreaming. She swung round as the door opened and then cried out with relief as Lord Harry walked into the room.
“Thank goodness you are awake at last,” he said. “We are getting married in an hour’s time.”
“Where am I? What happened?”
“That wretch, Felicity, drugged your chocolate and came down to the library window to tell me you had changed your mind. Fortunately, Mrs. Waverley had not yet returned home, which left me only Felicity to battle with. While the redoubtable Mrs. Ricketts held her, I carried you off. You are in my mother’s house.”
“I will never forgive Felicity. Never!” said Frederica bitterly.
“Oh, I am sure time will take the sting out of her actions. She is very young. Come, my sweet. Time is passing. I hope you do not mind. I have invited Miss Caroline James to our wedding. I promised her she should dance at my wedding, and although there is to be no dancing, I would like her to be there.”
“As you will,” said Frederica shakily. “But do not talk to me again of Felicity. How could she do such a thing?”
“Misguided affection and bad teaching on the part of Mrs. Waverley. I will send the maids to dress you, my sweet. Do not keep me waiting. Would you like some breakfast?”
“No,” said Frederica. “I feel sick.”
“Do try not to be sick until after we are married,” he said callously.
A lady’s maid came in, carrying a wedding gown, followed by the duchess and two other maids.
“Is this not all beautifully irregular?” The duchess beamed. “Such a rush getting this gown ready. You poor thing! Drugged, I hear. How lucky you are. I never have any adventures.” She talked on in her soft voice while the maids bathed Frederica’s face and arms with rose-scented water. Still feeling groggy, she stood passively while she was washed and dressed. Then the hairdresser arrived, fussed and flurried because he had so little time. He exclaimed in horror at Frederica’s unfashionably long masses of hair and tried to persuade her that one of the new short crops was all the thing, until the lady’s maid told him sternly that he was wasting time.
Frederica’s hair was put up and a tiara of pearls arranged among her curls. Her wedding gown was white and simple, but the train was of fine lace and yards long.
“Who is to give me away?” asked Frederica as she finally was seated in a carriage next to the duchess and borne off to a church in the Strand.
“I don’t know,” said the duchess vaguely. “But Harry’s sure to have organized something.”
“It is very good of you, ma’am,” said Frederica shyly.
The duchess patted her hand. “Not at all. It is, however, slightly tiresome that I shall have to leave town for a little while, for when the announcement of your marriage appears in the newspapers tomorrow, Harriet and Michael will descend on me, foaming at the mouth. You will meet them on the return from your honeymoon, which will not be at all a pleasant experience for you. Mrs. Waverley will no doubt be calling on me today, but I have told the servants to keep her out.”
“It will seem like a sad return of all her generosity,” said Frederica quietly.
“Well, you know, once you are married, I am sure she will forgive you.”
Frederica shook her head. “She never forgave Fanny.”
“Odd woman,” said the duchess, dismissing Mrs. Waverley.
The church was cold and dark. An elderly relative called Sir Geoffrey Harper had been summoned to give Frederica away. Caroline James was maid of honor. Frederica felt a flash of jealousy, which she quickly suppressed. She and Lord Harry, having had no rehearsal, stumbled painfully through the words of the marriage service under the cold eyes of a jaded vicar. The vicar had been drinking deep the night before and was feeling every bit as ill as Frederica.
They were finally pronounced man and wife after an extremely long sermon, the vicar having become aware of his duties and the sum of money he was being paid for performing them.
Frederica began to feel better as she left the church. The sun was shining and a mischievous wind sent her long train spiraling up to the heavens, and the duchess and Caroline had to help her catch the billowing folds.
“Married at last,” said Lord Harry. “Back to mother’s, change, and then on o
ur way.”
“Where to?” asked Frederica.
“Paris first. We will stop tonight at an excellent posting house.”
At the duchess’s home, the maids changed Frederica’s bridal gown for a pale blue muslin dress and a blue silk, fur-lined pelisse. Caroline James stood on the steps with a basket of rose petals, which she threw at the newly married couple as they set out on their journey. She watched them rather wistfully until the carriage had disappeared from view.
Frederica slept for most of the first day’s journey and felt fully restored to health by the time they stopped for the night.
They ate dinner in a private parlor and then went to their bedchamber.
Frederica felt desperately shy of this new husband, and fearful of the night to come.
“It’s only me, Harry, you know,” he said, his green eyes glinting with laughter.
“I’m frightened and cold,” said Frederica miserably.
He picked her up in his arms and carried her fully dressed to the bed. He lay down beside her and began to murmur endearments as he unfastened tapes and took out pins until she was naked. Then he slipped quickly out of his own clothes and gathered her in his arms. “Now,” he said, “let the night begin…”
At one point, Frederica looked up at him tearfully and said, “You hurt me.”
“So there are some facts my well-read bride does not know,” he said. “It gets better.” He pulled her back into his arms to energetically begin to prove his point.
The couple set out late the next day. Before they left the yard of the posting house, Lord Harry’s valet’s face appeared at the carriage window. “Morning Post, my lord.”
“I do not think I want to be bothered with the newspapers today,” said Lord Harry. “But keep it. It will contain the announcement of our marriage.”
The valet bowed and retreated to take his seat in the carriage behind. It was only when they were some way along the road that the valet realized he had let the newspaper drop in the posting house yard.
The rain began to fall gently on the announcement of Frederica’s wedding, and below that announcement, one stating that Mrs. Maria Waverley had married Colonel James Bridie.