‘Of course I still have it!’ said Benedict, offended. ‘It is yours. And a Captain’s pay leaves quite enough to carouse. Spanish duennas are unbribe-able, I’m afraid, but they are trick-able.’ He grinned, so much like his old, boyish self that Genevieve grinned back. ‘I did borrow a hundred, which I shall repay next quarter day,’ he said, more seriously. ‘The situation of many army brides is shocking. If they are not English, they are not permitted to follow their husbands here, and they are left with children — sometimes quite unsupported. I am ashamed to say that some husbands seem to forget their very existence once they have returned home. There was a widow of a friend, Boffy’s actually. I wrote to his family of their situation but they repudiate her and their grandchildren entirely.’
‘Oh! How shocking, Dickie. We women are never told of such things. Of course, there must be many such marriages during the years of the wars. It is quite dreadful.’
‘It is. Women can go from perfect respectability to starvation in a month. I used some of your money to buy the cottage Boffy’s wife lived in. And gave her some more that will keep her for some years, I hope.’
‘I have none of Frederick’s drains on the estate now. I have the additional income from the stud too, and we are very comfortable, I assure you. Next year I will be free of any debt, I hope. I could never accept that money, though it gave me strength to know it was there at a very difficult time. ‘She leaned forward and clasped his hand once more. ‘We know what to do with it now, do we not, my friend? We shall start a fund for those soldiers’ wives. And perhaps we could raise more in London.’
‘Stay that, Jenny. There is no desire in the Beau Monde to see the pain Wellington’s heroes leave behind. We shall have to do so quietly, or we shall be ostracised before we start.’
Genevieve perceived her young friend was looking brighter at the thought of action and she was glad.
‘Have you seen my sisters? How does married life suit them? I cannot imagine them apart from each other.’
Genevieve laughed. ‘But to be sure, they are not. They dine as a four every night as far as I can see, it hardly mattering if in Bassington or at Upton Manor, Scribster’s house. On one evening, a particularly difficult game of billiards seemed in dispute between Allison and Scribster and as we ladies joined them, Serena urged them to resolution by duel, using boots for swords. I had to declare the winner, as the most impartial of the observers, and from the whole tone of the evening, I gathered such romping around the hallowed halls of the great house was quite the done thing. The change in Gus Scribster is remarkable. He smiles all the time, and he looks really very handsome.’
‘The romping will be Serena’s influence,’ said Benedict Fenton knowledgeably.
‘I do not know — amongst outside company, Honoria is still the well-mannered and even-tempered girl she always was. But among the four, I am sure she is just as pert and naughty as her sister.’
‘I could tell from their letters that they were both very happy. I am delighted to hear you confirm it. I hope to see them both soon. I rather miss them and the rest of my annoying little brothers and sisters.’
It was at this point that Felicity called on them, and Benedict, a trifle reluctant to end this comfortable conversation, whispered, ‘Tomorrow in the Park!’ to Jenny who nodded.
Lt Sloane smiled at Felicity, who was by now quite comfortable in his presence. ‘This could be construed as taking a young lady aside in a most improper way — if I were a gallant young suitor.’
‘Oh, no,’ smiled Felicity, ‘I am within sight of my duenna, as you see. I have made a careful study of such things, for I would never like to disappoint my dear Mr and Mrs Fenton.’
He smiled. ‘I am not to be feared, I assure you.’
‘No indeed,’ said Felicity. She paused, then asked, ‘Are you one of Wellington’s heroes? Were you at the great battle?’ he nodded, but grimly, ‘it must have been so excit—’ she stopped as she realised how his demeanour had changed. ‘I am so very sorry, that was thoughtless. Is that how your leg—?’
He was surprised at this, for well brought up young ladies affected not to notice his lameness, even while their eyes sought his leg. ‘Yes, my horse crushed it. But he was the more unfortunate, for he did not survive.’ He was amazed at himself, but there was something so open about this shining young girl, so unaffected, that he found himself confiding in her. He changed the subject, however, and looked over at the others. ‘Your chaperon does not seem quite old enough for that cap.’
‘So I tell her, but she has the most troublesome hair, and I can see the argument that it saves it escaping from the pins. And she says it gives her some dignity.’
‘She is in mourning for her husband, I hear.’
‘Yes. I believe so. She does not dance.’ Felicity had a fair idea that Lady Sumner had already been living separately from her husband when he died and that her husband had been something just short of a villain from one of her novels, by the tones her host and hostess used whenever his name came up. ‘She is quite beautiful, but has no opinion of her own virtues, you know.’
The lieutenant looked at Lady Sumner in surprise. She was a slender, wiry woman with a long face and nose, certainly not the usual pattern of feminine beauty. But as she sat talking with his friend, her face as open as his own companion’s, he could understand Miss Oldfield’s opinion. She was rather beautiful, though he would never have thought so before. There was something about war that reduced the glitter and glamour of the ballroom they had just left to its proper place in the world and allowed one to see things — like the steady regard in Lady Sumner’s eye as she strove not to show her concern for his friend Benedict too obviously. She was listening intently, and in just that, he saw her beauty.
He looked back at his companion, absolutely the epitome of the world’s idea of beauty, with her gold flecked dark eyes and ripe lips. But it was in her openness that he saw her beauty.
‘Have you danced much since you arrived?’ she asked him.
He looked at her, his mouth dropping, feeling wounded but knowing that was not her intent. ‘I cannot now dance, of course. I would not make my partner such a figure as to try, only to have all the world gawp at us.’
Felicity frowned. ‘Are you in pain, then, Lt Sloane?’
‘I am not.’
‘Then of course you can dance the country dances at least. I have regarded your gait closely as we walked and you do not drag the leg. There is no paralysis?’
‘No. I merely lost some bone that means one leg is now shorter by some portion of an inch.’
‘Oh then that is no impediment to a country dance! Whoever looked elegant dancing a reel?’ She leapt up and held her hand out gaily. ‘Listen, a Scotch Reel is playing now. We shall practice! Lady Sumner! Mr Fenton! Come and join us! We are practising the Scotch Reel with Lt Sloane.’
Seeming to shake off a mood, Mr Fenton got up gaily and led Lady Sumner towards them, Sloane now standing, but continuing to complain.
‘Give in, Sam, I see Miss Oldfield is a force to be reckoned with.’
There was some giggling as they arranged themselves, Lady Sumner also complaining that she did not dance, but Mr Fenton was ranged on the side of Felicity. ‘Now Jenny, you can romp with the best of them. I know you are in mourning, but no one can see us, after all.’
The four made up their small set and got into a laughing tangle at the lack of other partners.
‘I know! Lord and Lady Sparkle are beside Lady Sumner and Mr Fenton,’ said Felicity waving at the air beyond them, ‘and we are beside Mr and Mrs Markle.’ Thus they continued, doing figures with the imaginary Markles and Sparkles and kicking their heels in joy. Lt Sloane did stumble on one or two occasions, and his serious face looked conscious, but as they all laughed at him unaffectedly, and each made their own blunders, he soon lost his self-consciousness and they continued in their set.
‘I am very admiring of Lady Sparkle’s grace, though she is as wide as she is long,’ sai
d Captain Fenton.
Felicity gurgled. ‘And Mr Markle has the most elegant bow!’
The silliness continued, and the dance was ending when they heard a high feminine voice say, ‘My dear Jane, did you see Miss Gosford’s ankles? As thick as her father’s.’ A trilling laugh replied.
Felicity gave a start, she did not know why. The four stopped the dance as two young ladies entered the terrace. Miss Jane Friel and a tall beauty in a pale blue silk gown the same colour as her large eyes, open at the front to reveal an underdress trimmed richly in Valenciennes lace, a delicate diamond tiara atop her shining chestnut hair.
‘You!’ said Lady Letitia, ‘Hans Place.’
Felicity gasped and reached for Lady Sumner’s hand, finding instead Lt. Sloane’s.
‘You know Miss Oldfield?’ asked Jane Friel, relishing the tone in her friend’s voice that bode no good for her enemy.
‘Lady Letitia—’ croaked Felicity, hardly able to breathe at the animosity beneath that young lady’s superior air.
‘Hardly at all. I certainly did not expect to see her here. She came to London to reside in Hans Place, you know. As a governess.’ Her sharp eye had caught the hand clasp, which Felicity had dropped as soon as she realised her mistake. ‘I see her behaviour is no better than the last time I met her; on that occasion she drove off on her own with my cousin Durant.’
Miss Friel gasped — in delight, Felicity was sure.
Lady Sumner’s brain was working fast. ‘Lieutenant, find Lady Aurora!’ she whispered, and Lt Sloane, coming to from the shock, disappeared through another set of French windows.
Lady Letitia’s eyes took in Felicity’s finery. ‘I did not know her name of course, Durant never introduces me to that sort of women.’ She laughed. ‘But she is rather better dressed than the last time we met when my cousin had to borrow my hat and pelisse to make her respectable enough even to drive off with.’
Miss Friel, not wishing to stem the flood of reputation-destroying allegations, merely said, ‘I always thought she lacked refinement. I scarcely knew how far from that state she had fallen.’
‘Stop!’ Lady Sumner ordered, in a tone she might use to a runaway horse. This horse had run far too far already, and in her shock, she had not found her voice soon enough. ‘You will take your ill-natured falsehoods and go, Lady Letitia and Miss Friel. No one who could hear your remarks could think that either of you deserve the name lady at all.’
Humiliation and shock was writ large on Lady Letitia’s face. No one, save Durant, had ever addressed her so before.
‘Hear, hear!’ said Benedict Fenton.
‘You should be ash—’ continued Lady Sumner wrathfully.
Felicity grasped Lady Sumner’s arm. ‘No. She does not lie, not—’ but she had pulled away, and ran from the terrace and into the ballroom.
At the same moment Lady Aurora and Lt Sloane arrived through the other doors to the terrace.
‘Where is Felicity?’ She asked Genevieve and Benedict.
‘Mrs Fenton, I believe,’ said the cold tone of Lady Letitia. ‘And you claim friendship with that young lady?’ Lady Letitia, still flushed and enraged by Lady Sumner’s impertinence, had a voice that dripped venom.
Miss Friel was ever helpful. ‘That young person,’ both Genevieve and Aurora stiffened at this description of Felicity, ‘resides with Mrs Fenton, I believe.’
‘Fine protection!’ Lady Letitia spat the insult towards Lady Aurora but was quick enough to turn her heel and leave before a riposte, a triumphant Miss Friel trailing behind her.
‘We must find Felicity, but leave the ballroom as discreetly as possible. We will not give faggots to the fire,’ said Genevieve, close to tears herself. She looked at the confusion on her beautiful friend’s face. ‘It is bad, Aurora. Very bad.’
Chapter 6
Disaster
The sight of a young girl running through the long room, brushing past dancers as she did so, naturally excited attention of the worst kind. As she pushed past the throng, Viscount# Durant looked up and spotted her. The little girl from the stagecoach, surely. But no! It couldn’t be. He followed her, inviting gentle speculation which, when tonight’s news was circulated, would elevate to red hot scandal.
As he left, his hostess’s eyes followed him, saying to her companion. ‘Who is the child who ran from the ballroom? Wasn’t she with the Fenton’s party?’
‘A Miss Oldfield, I believe. Niece of old Lady Ellingham,’ said Mrs Jensen.
‘Try to find out what occurred, will you?’
‘These young girls—,’ began Mrs Jensen. Then, when she remarked her grace’s expression, she added, ‘Certainly!’
The Duchess raised her head and continued to glide around the room, with a smile for everyone, but rather colder than usual. The Viscount of Durant had just seen fit to end their affair, and chosen tonight to inform her, a humiliation she had swallowed with ill will. Now she suspected that the distressed young beauty was the reason for her lover’s defection.
Durant caught up with Felicity and grasped her arm just as she had achieved the grand marble hall before the front exit.
‘Miss —? It is you isn’t it? — I don’t remember your name.’
‘You! You never asked it,’ she said distracted enough to be blunt.
‘I beg your pardon, but leave that aside. Whatever distresses you?’
‘I must leave, ‘said Felicity with desperation, ‘Let me go, you are making things worse, I assure you.’
‘You cannot run out in the street without your cloak at least. There is a niche over there.’ He nodded to a footman, leading her to it and pressing her to sit down.
‘Bring Miss — Miss’s cloak.’ The footman disappeared.
There were others milling in the hall — most arriving, but late enough to have missed the reception line. He gestured to another lackey. ‘Fetch Miss — the lady’s party from the ballroom, she is clearly unwell.’ One could trust the servants to know the parties who had entered together, even as he did not.
There were tears coursing down the young girl’s face and her nose was red and possibly running. Durant inserted his bulk between her and the late arrivals to disguise her tears.
‘Don’t you even have a handkerchief?’ He chided gently, which drew a small smile from her, offering her a large square of silk. He was uncomfortable, aware of eyes on him, but he did not think he could, in conscience, leave her.
Felicity was shaking now and one noisy sob escaped her, causing the glances to become more fixed.
‘Oh, please leave me, sir,’ she begged, ‘you can have no notion of how much worse you are making it.’
He wanted to escape with a will. He should never have followed her. This was just the sort of speculation he detested. But he was duty bound to stay until some friend of hers was brought back by the footman. And he wished to know her name.
He had not long to wait. A phalanx of people came towards him, some of whom he knew intimately, one being Lady Aurora Fenton, previously Countess Overton when he had frequented her gambling establishment. Also her husband Wilbert Fenton, intimate of the Prince Regent. Mr Benedict Fenton was there too, he remembered him because of his resemblance to his beautiful sisters, as well as another young buck, and a woman he vaguely recognised as Frederick Sumner’s widow.
‘Mrs Fenton, Lady Sumner.’ He bowed.
‘It’s you is it? Go away at once, do,’ said Lady Aurora, with none of her usual social charm.
Durant stiffened. ‘I found Miss — Miss in distress and I-’
‘Good God. This isn’t Durant is it?’ said the widow in the cap, ‘It could not be more unfortunate.’
‘What on earth—?’ Objected Durant.
Wilbert Fenton stepped forward with a grave look on his face. ‘Take yourself off now Bastion. I’ll call on you tomorrow morning.’
‘I leave for Newmarket at dawn—’
Lady Aurora had now wrapped her cloak around Felicity’s shoulders, and drew her upright a
nd the party moved off towards the door.
‘Be there.’ Fenton said shortly.
‘I might pay a visit to my Lord Durant,’ said his handsome nephew, significantly.
‘Stay the heroics until we know what has occurred…’ his uncle advised.
With a hard look from the other young man, whom he had never even met, the doors were open and they were gone.
Durant stood stock still for a moment, wondering what had just happened. His night had not gone well. Her Grace had taken his defection from their arrangement more badly than he had expected. His visits had become so few, surely she had guessed? But she affected not. And now this, whatever it was.
Suddenly he thought, ‘Letitia!’
Mr Fenton let drop the blinds on the closed carriage where the three ladies were aghast and silent, and turned. Felicity was seated between his wife and himself, and had hidden her head on his lady’s shoulder.
‘So Sebastian Durant was your first abductor, my dear?’ he said, with gentle humour.
Felicity turned to him, throwing herself in to his embrace, weeping.
‘There, there, my dear, I’m not sure what has occurred, but I am sure it will not be as bad as you feared.’ Genevieve was seated opposite and she met his eye, her expression grim. ‘I told you I would fathom the mystery,’ he said into Felicity’s hair.
His tone was so smug that she gurgled, but then a wave of wracking sobs hit and Mr Fenton was left to grasp her closer.
‘You need not talk now, my dear. Wait until we are home,’ soothed Lady Aurora.
Genevieve looked at her. ‘If I were a man I would shoot him. And his vile cousin.’
‘I blame myself!’ said Samuel Sloane to Benedict as they walked the dark street back to Sloane’s lodging. ‘I was nearest and should have prevented Miss Oldfield from leaving the terrace before she had composed herself.’
‘Well, as to that, I think we might have had to wait out the ball, for the state she was in when we handed her into the carriage was pitiful. I doubt she has stopped yet.’ Said Benedict with an attempt at levity. ‘It’s the most damnable thing. Everything has converged to make the worst situation possible. Her refusal to deny, her extreme reaction, the rank of her accuser, at the largest ball of the season, and then Durant giving the vague claim solidity by following her and letting the whole world know there was a previous connection.’
Felicity and the Damaged Reputation: A witty, sweet Regency Romance Page 9