by M C Beaton
***
In her guise of Miss Callow, Felicity sat in her darkened drawing room the next day and waited for callers. Mr. Anderson would come and she would see if she, as her own aunt, could get him to offer to take her “niece” on a drive.
But the first person to arrive was the Marquess of Darkwater. Felicity shrank back in her winged armchair and asked to be excused for not getting up.
“I came to pay my respects to Miss Felicity,” said the marquess, sitting down opposite.
“I am afraid my niece is lying down,” said Felicity.
“A pity. Last night was a sad romp, was it not?”
“Quite disgraceful,” said Felicity sternly. “I would not have believed the ton capable of such shocking behavior. Felicity told me there were many loose screws present.”
The marquess blinked and then said, “I trust she spoke favorably of me.”
“She did not mention you at all,” said Felicity maliciously. “But she did meet a most charming young man. A Mr. Anderson.”
“Oh, yes?” said the marquess. “I do not know him.”
“Well, you wouldn’t. He is not fast.”
“What a low opinion you have of me and on such short acquaintance. Besides, it is ladies who are fast, not men.”
“Lady Artemis Verity,” announced Mrs. Ricketts.
Lady Artemis sailed into the room, both hands outstretched in welcome. Felicity felt every bit like the grumpy old lady she was supposed to be. Lady Artemis was wearing a dashing bonnet and a high-waisted morning gown with long tight sleeves ending in pointed lace cuffs. Her face was glowing, and her lips were delicately rouged.
“My niece is resting,” said Felicity before Lady Artemis could speak.
“What is happening to these young girls, Lord Darkwater?” said Lady Artemis. “No stamina.”
“That is true,” said Felicity. “One obviously toughens up with age.”
Lady Artemis ignored her. Her eyes were fixed on the marquess. She began to talk about the ball, about the crush, and about how disgracefully everyone had behaved. The marquess replied pleasantly that at least the Knoxes had had their first success. Any affair where so many women fainted, so many coachmen fought outside for places, and so many gentlemen were carried out drunk was always deemed a success.
While he talked, Lady Artemis studied his handsome face. Here was a man who would make her an ideal husband. Not Mr. Fordyce, who had managed to get into her bed after the ball and had left her feeling peculiarly degraded. She had had several affairs since her husband died. Now she craved respectability. She had tried her best to be discreet, but she knew there were many whispers about her.
She urged the marquess to talk about the West Indies and listened to him eagerly, interrupting every now and then to say she longed to travel, to see such countries. Felicity sat hunched up in her chair behind her wrinkles, feeling forgotten.
At last the marquess rose to take his leave, and Lady Artemis rose as well. “We shall all need to be on our best behavior now, Miss Callow,” said Lady Artemis. “After that ball, you know. Society has shocked itself and will become very prim and proper for a while.”
“I shall tell Felicity of your call,” said Felicity.
After they had left, she sat and brooded. She was just about to rise and go up to her room, when to her surprise, Mrs. Ricketts entered to say that a Mrs. Anderson had called. “I did not usher her up, miss, for she looks bad-tempered.”
“I shall see her,” decided Felicity. “Draw the curtains a little more, Ricketts.”
Mrs. Anderson had come to see Felicity for herself. She was alarmed because her son had turned peevish on the subject instead of being his usual malleable self. Mrs. Anderson was a fairly rich woman in comfortable circumstances, but she was greedy and, being a doting mother, had an inflated idea of her son’s attractions. Bernard should marry an heiress—on that she had her mind set.
She was startled to be told by the housekeeper that Miss Felicity was lying down but that her aunt, Miss Callow, would receive her. Now Bernard had mentioned the existence of this aunt, but Mrs. Anderson had not believed such a creature existed. No one had noticed any chaperon with Felicity at the ball.
When she entered, she curtsied to the old lady in the chair. But at first Mrs. Anderson’s covetous eyes did not even notice that disfiguring birthmark. They had fastened on the old lady’s jewels. Felicity was wearing fine kid gloves with rings worn over the gloves and heavy bracelets encrusted with jewels at her wrists. Six strands of the finest diamonds blazed at her neck. An oil lamp had been cleverly placed so that although Felicity’s face was in shadow, the jewels caught fire and blazed with a wicked light.
Mrs. Anderson gulped and sat down. “Is Miss Felicity present?” she asked.
“No, Mrs. Anderson,” said Felicity, taking an instant dislike to Bernard’s mother. “She is lying down. My niece is a delicate flower, Mrs. Anderson, and was vastly shocked at the behavior of the guests last night.”
“As was my son,” said Mrs. Anderson. “He was fortunate enough to be of assistance to your niece.”
“So Felicity told me,” said Felicity. “He was all that was kind and helpful.”
“Society does gossip so,” said Mrs. Anderson with a false little laugh. “I was led to believe poor Miss Felicity had been abandoned and was unchaperoned.”
“I am surprised you should listen to malicious gossip,” said Felicity sternly. “Felicity is very well protected by me. She is plagued by fortune hunters … of course.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Anderson weakly, looking at those glittering jewels.
“Apart from her own wealth,” said Felicity, “which is considerable, she will, of course, inherit my fortune on my death.”
Mrs. Anderson felt more wretched by the minute. Why had she not let Bernard call? She must make her escape and send him round immediately.
“Why did your son not come with you?” asked Felicity. She still thought kindly of Bernard but put his mother down as an avaricious, vulgar creature.
“He sent me … because he is very shy, don’t you know … to get me to beg you to give him permission to take Miss Felicity on a little drive in the park. But she is not feeling at all the thing, so …”
“I am sure if he calls at five o’clock, my niece will be glad to take the air with him,” said Felicity.
Mrs. Anderson beamed. “I shall go and tell the poor boy immediately. To be frank with you, Miss Callow, I have never before seen him quite so taken with any lady.”
Felicity bowed her head in assent.
Mrs. Anderson rose in a flurry of silk, anxious to take her leave.
As soon as she had gone, Felicity cast a worried look at the clock. Four o’clock! She must work hard or she would never manage to transform herself back into Miss Felicity Waverley in time.
At five o’clock, Mrs. Ricketts was posted in the hall with instructions to tell Mr. Anderson that Miss Callow was lying down, and then summon Felicity.
Felicity had been wondering whether Bernard was worth all the trouble. Surely such a mother must have passed on her greedy traits to her son. But when she saw him standing in the hall, looking shy and awkward yet so very happy to see her, she was glad he had come.
They had a sedate drive in the park, Felicity carefully confining her conversation to observations on the people she saw and the inclemency of the English weather. Because of Bernard, Felicity began to contemplate the idea of marriage for the first time. Here was no man to bully her or enslave her, but a pleasant fellow who would allow her to run her own household. It would be a relief not to feel alone in the world. Of course, his mother was a problem, but Felicity felt sure she could easily put that lady in her place. It was the thought of the irregularity of her position, her lack of parents, her lack of support, that made Felicity feel quite weak. For the first time, she realized why even women of independent means finally crumbled and preferred to be married rather than to face the rest of their lives alone. At one po
int, the Marquess of Darkwater’s face seemed to float in front of her eyes, his gaze searching and mocking.
But the marquess was a powerful and dominating personality. He would not allow her any freedom. Nor would such an aristocrat wish to ally his name to a girl with the background of a foundling hospital and orphanage. “And yet,” said a treacherous voice in her head, “both Fanny and Frederica managed to find men who did not care about their birth.”
Bernard was seeing Felicity Waverley as no one had seen her before, shy and grateful for each little attention and compliment.
Lady Artemis was driving round the square when Felicity arrived home. She saw Bernard Anderson tenderly helping Felicity to alight and saw the warmth and admiration in the young man’s face.
She felt a stab of pure jealousy. Those Waverley girls always managed to get men to fall in love with them. She would find out the name of that young man and see if she could draw his attention to herself. She had flirted with Darkwater, but he had remained cold and uninterested. She was only twenty-seven, but she felt much older. She had always been secure in the power of her beauty. It became important to her to prove she could take at least one man away from Felicity.
***
The Marquess of Darkwater was sitting in his club, wondering about Felicity Waverley. He could not get her out of his mind. She was an odd contradiction. Had she really written that book? Or had that ugly and sinister aunt of hers written it for her?
His mind turned to the aunt. Unlike Lady Artemis and Mrs. Anderson, he had not been put off by the birthmark or dazzled by the jewels. She was remarkably like Felicity and with the same young, hazel eyes. Felicity had remarkable eyes, he mused, golden brown with green flecks. There was a nagging little suspicion about that aunt somewhere in his mind. He remembered the room, how it had been darkened and how the light had been carefully placed so as not to shine on Miss Callow’s face. Like a theater scene.
He decided to call unexpectedly on the following day to find out who would receive him … Felicity or Miss Callow.
Chapter Three
Felicity awoke the next day with a feeling of anticipation. She lay in bed, enjoying that rare sensation and wondering dreamily what was causing it. Then she remembered Bernard Anderson. She was looking forward to seeing him again.
She did not have any romantic thoughts about him. Rather, she looked on him as a newfound friend. She need not dress up as Miss Callow and call on the parents of eligibles. Bernard would court her and, yes, she would very likely marry him and settle down to a contented life. She would invite Frederica and Fanny to the wedding and hope they had forgiven her. Perhaps they had not been in love either, but had merely wearied of the unnatural life they had been leading under Mrs. Waverley’s protection. Should she ask Mrs. Waverley? Felicity’s face hardened. Mrs. Waverley had not really cared for any of them. She had bought herself a family out of an orphanage, and the minute a husband had appeared on the scene, she had forgotten all about them. But, Felicity mused, she had left the house and all the jewels. Yes, it would only be fair to ask Mrs. Waverley.
She rose and dressed, ate a light breakfast, and sat down to work on the first chapter of her new novel. She had decided to use the same heroine, but her female rake had been left in the last book on the point of reform, and on the point of marrying her plain but honest hero. Clorinda, as the heroine was called, must now jilt the hero and continue her amorous adventures. Felicity needed a new villain. The Marquess of Darkwater’s face rose before her mind. She began to write busily.
The day wore on, and when she looked up, it was three in the afternoon. With an exclamation, she dropped her pen and began to change into one of her finest morning gowns. Bernard would surely call. But no sooner had she dressed than Mrs. Ricketts knocked at the door to say the Marquess of Darkwater was waiting in the hall.
Felicity bit her lip. She did not want to see him, but, on the other hand, he was now her villain and she should study him closely.
She opened the door and told Mrs. Ricketts to show the marquess up to the drawing room. She was to say that Miss Callow was out on calls.
“You can’t see him alone, miss,” said Mrs. Ricketts severely.
“Oh, yes, I can,” retorted Felicity. “Leave the door of the drawing room open, and be on hand in case I want you.”
Felicity ran to the mirror and checked her appearance. Her gown of palmetto green satin with long sleeves and a Vandyke ruff looked rich and stately. Her hair was dressed high on her head with little tendrils being allowed to escape and fall round her cheeks.
The marquess rose at her entrance and bowed and said he was sorry not to have the pleasure of seeing Miss Callow.
“Why?” asked Felicity curiously.
He raised his thin black eyebrows. “I find her a most interesting lady,” he said. His eyes were mocking, and Felicity wondered whether he had penetrated her disguise on his previous visit.
“I have just come from Harvey, the bookseller,” he went on. “You said you had read that novel The Love Match. Harvey hopes to have a new book from the authoress shortly.”
Felicity feigned a yawn of boredom. “I have little time to read these days, my lord.”
“But he told me a most interesting thing. It appears that perhaps our bold authoress gained her knowledge from Greek and Roman classics rather than from life, if you take my meaning.”
“No, I don’t,” said Felicity rudely.
“It appears that instead of being the work of an experienced lady of the ton, it may instead be the work of a highly imaginative and well-educated innocent.”
“Unlike you,” said Felicity, “I do not have the necessary experience to judge the book.”
“You surprise me.” He held up his hand as Felicity glared at him. “I mean,” he went on smoothly, “that Mrs. Waverley had the reputation of being a great educator. ‘Tis said you and the other two ladies were better educated than many men.”
“Perhaps,” said Felicity.
There came the sound of a carriage stopping outside. Felicity rose and hurried to the window. But it was not Bernard Anderson, only a young man who had stopped his carriage to talk to a passerby.
She returned to her seat, looking downcast. The Marquess of Darkwater realized with a little shock that Miss Felicity Waverley was most definitely not enjoying his company. In fact, she was clearly waiting and hoping for the arrival of someone else. It was a new experience for him. His title, his looks, and his fortune had always insured that women looked on him with glowing admiration and hung on his every word.
“Perhaps you would care to accompany me on a drive tomorrow?” he found himself saying.
“No, that will not be possible,” replied Felicity firmly. “I have other engagements, oh, not only for tomorrow but for weeks to come.”
The snub was obvious. He rose to take his leave. “I am sure,” he said, “Miss Callow would welcome a visit from me. Present my compliments and tell her I will call on her.”
“I do not think that is a good idea,” said Felicity.
“Why, I pray?”
“I regret to inform you, my lord, that Miss Callow took you in dislike. You must forgive her. She is old and set in her ways and not likely to change her mind.”
He was suddenly very angry. Yet did not he himself firmly dismiss people he considered tiresome?
But he found his anger was so great he could barely take a civil leave of her.
***
At that moment, Bernard was sitting in the Green Saloon of his mother’s house in Cavendish Square, and feeling miserable and awkward. He had been all set to go and call on Felicity with his mother’s blessing but Lady Artemis Verity had come to call. Being a widow, Lady Artemis enjoyed the freedom of being able to call on Mrs. Anderson on her own. A young miss would have had to be taken along by her mother or chaperon.
Mrs. Anderson was flattered by the visit. She was even more excited when she noticed the melting glances Lady Artemis was throwing in the direction of
Bernard. Mrs. Anderson knew Lady Artemis was rich. Even better than that, she had a title and was well-established in the ton, unlike Felicity Waverley who was of doubtful birth and social standing to say the least.
And when Lady Artemis, with another flirtatious glance at Bernard, said she would be delighted if both mother and son would grace her box at the opera that evening, Mrs. Anderson was already mentally preparing her son for his wedding.
Bernard was terrified of Lady Artemis. She was undoubtedly very pretty in the accepted mode. She had rich brown hair with glossy ringlets falling on either side of her face. Her complexion was fashionably pale, her pansy brown eyes large and sparkling, and her features piquant and delicately formed. But Bernard was twenty and Lady Artemis was twenty-seven, and she appeared to him a terrifyingly older and sophisticated woman. He longed for the fresh and undemanding company of Felicity Waverley.
As soon as she had taken her leave, Bernard rose to his feet. “Where are you going?” demanded his mother.
“Thought I would call on Miss Waverley,” mumbled Bernard.
“Nonsense, my son. Lady Artemis is a catch, and did you mark how she looked at you? Forget Felicity Waverley. No breeding there and no title either.”
“But, Mother …”
“Do as you are told, Bernard!”
So, as usual, Bernard did what his mother told him.
***
After a week of isolation, Felicity would have welcomed a visit even from the uncomfortable Marquess of Darkwater. The London Season was well underway, yet she sat in the great house, ignored and alone.
She summoned up her courage, put on the disguise of Miss Callow, and went to call on one of Mrs. Waverley’s acquaintances, Lady Dexter, a lady who had claimed to share Mrs. Waverley’s radical views.
It took a great deal of courage to emerge into the daylight as Miss Callow, but Felicity felt it was the only way she could get invitations for herself and to find out what had happened to Bernard Anderson.