“He looks a little serious this morning.” Lady Barton whispered, never taking her eyes off him for a moment.
“Well, he is to be the groomsman, is he not? It is a very serious responsibility.” Felicia smiled to herself when she saw how the Duke, standing nervously by the altar, looked constantly back at his friend for reassurance.
They really did seem to have such a close bond.
“Men and their responsibilities.” Lady Barton chuckled like a naughty child. “Really, he has only to reach into his pocket for two rings and hand them over. They do make such a meal of things.”
“Aunt Agatha, would you behave yourself!” Felicia said, trying to hide the fact that she was very amused.
All in all, those first few weeks of summer had done much to lift Felicia out of the pain of heartbreak. She was absolutely certain that there was not another person on earth who could have managed to improve her spirits as well and as quickly as her aunt.
When a little muttering rumbled through the small congregation, Felicia realized that the bride must surely be making her entrance into the church. Lady Barton obviously realized it at the same time but, fortunately for Felicia, she had seen the small movement of her aunt’s elbow and slid along the pew just a little before it had a chance to strike her again.
“Goodness, such blonde hair.” Lady Barton said as a tall and willowy woman with the palest hair Felicia had ever seen, walked gracefully into the church on the arm of none other than Colonel Merritt Wentworth.
“Is that the Colonel?” Felicia said incredulously, although it could be no other elderly man in such smart regimentals.
“I daresay he was given the role as a chance to shut him up about something.” Lady Barton said uncharitably. “He can be so overbearing that I can quite well imagine the Duke offering it to him just for the sake of a few moments’ respite from his perpetual barking.”
“Aunt Agatha!” Felicia hissed, although in truth she agreed with her.
She had no doubt at all that Colonel Wentworth was the sort of man who was appeased with all sorts of things wherever he went.
Felicia turned her attention away from the Colonel and back to the bride. Miss Meredith Mulholland certainly was a beauty and gave every appearance of being perfectly well aware of it. She was straight-backed and her chin was held high, her perfect blonde curls framing her face beneath a beautiful headdress of dried cornflowers.
Her gown was a paler shade of blue than the flowers themselves, but a well-matched shade. She looked a little from side to side as she walked as if surveying the congregation. For the briefest moment, Felicia felt that fine -looking woman’s attention on her. By reflex, she gave a little smile, but it was not returned.
No doubt the poor woman, despite her confident bearing, was so nervous that her stomach fluttered, and her heart pounded. At least that was what Felicia’s supposed.
When the pair finally reached the altar, the Colonel presented Miss Mulholland to the Duke of Scorton with a self-important flourish. The old soldier stood still for a moment, almost as straight-backed as the bride he was to give away, not moving as he drained the very last ounces of importance from his role.
Felicia could only see the side of the Duke of Scorton’s face, but his proud smile could easily be made out. The bride looked equally pleased and the pair simply stood staring into one another’s eyes as a hush fell over the small congregation.
The ceremony itself was the same as such ceremonies always were; a word for word set of vows from The Book of Common Prayer. Nonetheless, Felicia thought it was beautiful, for even if the words were the same every time, the couple were not. It was as unique to them as if it had been written for them, she was sure of it.
Felicia allowed herself to become wrapped up in the ceremony, fighting off thoughts of Charles Wilby at every turn. She tried to remember that a man who could be so easily swayed by the offer of more money was not the sort of man who truly deserved to spend the rest of his life with her. Still, whenever he did make his way into her thoughts on that day, her heart ached.
After Lord Beaumont had handed over the rings, he turned to make his way back to his seat. It was the best view Felicia had seen of him yet, and he certainly looked very handsome. His breeches and tailcoat were of the very blackest material, so nicely cut she thought his tailor must be the finest in all of England. His waistcoat was golden in color and his necktie was as high as always, making him look a little regal.
Felicia could see that his hair was a little shorter and thought that his barber, in his attempt to tame that beautiful thick mane, had made his master look a little boyish. Felicia smiled to herself; she preferred his hair as it was, but the boyishness was a very pleasing look.
Perhaps her aunt had been right; perhaps the grieving for a lost love and the diversion of a handsome man really did go hand-in-hand after all.
When the ceremony came to an end, the bride, groom, and witnesses, including Lord Beaumont, disappeared from the front of the church and into the vestry for the writing of the wedding lines. Knowing that they would be gone for some minutes, Felicia turned to her aunt, certain that she would have observations that she was determined to give voice to.
“I must admit, I had formed an impression that Miss Mulholland was a shy and sensitive creature. I do not know why; I just had.” Lady Barton said and Felicia knew it was her aunt’s way of saying that she thought the new bride to be a little too confident and a little too proud for her liking.
“I did too. I suppose it was the way that the Duke spoke of her. And in any case, we do not yet know that she is not a shy and sensitive creature. Perhaps her bearing is because of nerves and nothing else.” Felicia ventured, immediately recognizing the look on her aunt’s face and knowing that such an explanation would never do for Lady Barton.
“Perhaps.” Lady Barton shrugged, and Felicia stifled a laugh.
“I am very much looking forward to the wedding breakfast, Aunt Agatha.” Felicia said, realizing just how hungry she was.
She had not eaten much at breakfast, thoughts of the summerhouse and the idea that witnessing a wedding would be too much for her heart to take, had ruined her appetite somewhat.
“Yes, I am looking forward to the celebrations myself. As long as you and Lord Beaumont do not get yourselves into any trouble, that is.” She raised one eyebrow.
“We will be careful, I promise.” Felicia grinned wickedly. “And in any case, I thought you wanted me to spend a little more time with the handsome Earl.”
“Not alone in the summerhouse searching for blood, child!” Lady Barton said a little more loudly than Felicia would have liked.
She let her eyes sweep this way and that to see if anybody might be listening. At that moment, however, the bride and groom returned from the vestry with their witnesses in tow and a great celebratory rumble rolled through the congregation.
Chapter Twelve
“You look very nice, Lady Felicia.” Lord Beaumont said later, taking her by surprise.
After pausing for some time for the Duke to thank the well-wishers from the village waiting outside the church after the ceremony, the wedding party made their way back to Scorton Hall.
A fine breakfast had been set for them in the smaller of the dining rooms, the very same room in which Felicia had first encountered Daisy Marlow.
There was toasted bread, hot rolls, eggs, ham, and fruit, not to mention hot chocolate. The wedding cake looked rich, and the liquor-laced dried fruit which filled it made the entire dining room smell wonderfully festive.
“Thank you, Lord Beaumont.” Felicia said distractedly as she took a sip of hot chocolate.
Most of the guests had eaten and they were now seated about the dining table locked in smaller conversations.
All who had been guests at the fated gathering at Scorton were there; Lord and Lady Greystone, the Woolworths, Lord and Lady Harker, Sir Graham Wharton, Lord Bailridge and, of course, the ever-voluble Colonel Wentworth.
Lady
Greystone was already in deep conversation with Felicia’s aunt, whilst Lady Harker and Mrs. Woolworth renewed their burgeoning alliance.
“Are you all right?” Lord Beaumont persisted, having moved to sit down next to her at the table. “Or are you already plotting our escape to the summerhouse?”
“Forgive me, Lord Beaumont, I suppose I am plotting a little.” In conversation with anybody else, she might have felt embarrassed.
With Lord Beaumont, however, she felt no embarrassment whatsoever; he already knew all of it and he was every bit a part of things as she was.
“Well, I cannot think we will have a chance just yet, we have only just eaten the wedding breakfast and you have yet to be introduced to the new Duchess of Scorton. Perhaps you might relax for a while and enjoy things instead.”
“I absolutely must get to the summerhouse at some point, though.” She suddenly feared he had changed his mind.
“I know, Lady Felicia, and I intend to keep my word, no matter what.” He laughed and she could almost feel it.
It was a deep and comforting sound, not to mention its most attractive richness.
“You must find me terribly driven and tedious, Sir.” She said and turned to look squarely into his face. “I do not think I am always so, but I have such a burning determination to help Daisy.” She looked down into the hot chocolate. “I suppose you think that’s silly.”
“No, I do not find you tedious and no, I do not think you wanting to help Daisy is silly. There is no other help to be given to the poor woman now but the chance of the truth. It is little enough, but I believe it to be as important as you do.”
“Thank you.”
“Was that the answer you were hoping for?” His smile was lazy and amused all at once.
“I was not looking for it, Lord Beaumont, but I am glad to hear it, nonetheless.” She perked up and focused her attention on him fully now. “Is that the response that you were hoping for?” She smiled with mischief.
“Touché.” He laughed just loudly enough to earn an inquisitive look from Lord Harker, who thought everything in the world was his concern.
“I think we are all to retire to the drawing room.” Felicia let her eyes stray to Chester, the butler, as he looked set to make an announcement.
When he had everybody’s attention, he drew himself up to his full and sadly inconsiderable height before enunciating in that way only butlers ever did.
“My Lords, Ladies, and gentlemen, drinks are now being served in the drawing room where the Duke and Duchess of Scorton await you.” He stood pompously in the doorway as he waited for the party to gather themselves and follow his lead.
Being the closest to the door, Felicia and Lord Beaumont were the first to follow. Lord Beaumont had instinctively held out his arm for Felicia to take and, as she did so, she felt a little flush of pleasure.
He was a good deal taller than Charles Wilby, which gave her the feeling of walking alongside a fully-grown man instead of a youth who had come of age. She almost laughed; was that really how she had seen Charles? Surely not, for he was four-and-twenty, just a year or two younger than the Earl must be. Still, there was a difference; perhaps in terms of masculinity.
When they reached the drawing room, Lord Beaumont made no move to immediately release her, and Felicia did nothing to prompt him. It was nice to feel that little intimacy, even if it existed largely in her head. After all, it was quite natural that a gentleman would lead a lady from one place to another. Felicia could not help but think that it was better kept in the imagination, for there it was safe for her to have a girlish dream. Safe without giving a good man an expectation that she was not entirely sure she would fulfill after the moment was done, not to mention safe from the idea he might no more want her than Charles Wilby had done. Yes, the imagination was a safe place and its contents should never make themselves manifest in the real world.
“Ah, Jonathan.” The Duke said brightly after a brief conversation with Lord and Lady Harker, who had miraculously made their way from the back to the very front of the group.
“A very fine day, I must congratulate you both.” Lord Beaumont said as he led Felicia to the newly married couple.
Standing there before them, Felicia felt a little vulnerable, a feeling she was not at all pleased about. The new Duchess, a little taller than Felicia, was looking down at her a little more determinedly than her extra height ought to have allowed for. Close up, the woman was even more strikingly beautiful than she had been in church.
“Lady Felicia, please allow me to introduce you to my wife, the Duchess of Scorton.” The Duke said, the novelty of the phrase very clear in his excited expression. “Meredith, this is Lady Felicia Markham, daughter of the Earl of Davenport.”
“Lady Felicia.” The Duchess said with a simple smile. “How charming to meet you.”
“I am very pleased to finally meet you, Your Grace.” Felicia said and could see the pleasure the young woman derived from the correct address.
“I am told you are here with your aunt, Lady Felicia.” She said, her eyes cool and the words sounding like an accusation of total failure in life.
The woman before her was a married one, a successfully married one, and Felicia was anything but. Still, she was unlikely to know anything of Felicia’s recent upset, so she fought a tendency to immediately dislike her.
“Yes, the Dowager Countess of Barton,” Felicia said, the very thought of her aunt making her smile a much more genuine one. “She is currently in deep conversation with Lady Greystone, I am afraid.” Felicia relaxed into a more conversational tone and the Duchess appeared to relax likewise.
“I am looking forward to making her acquaintance.”
The little party of four talked for no more than a few minutes before Jonathan took her arm again and they made way for the next set of guests to be properly introduced.
Felicia silently chastised herself for her unexhibited displeasure, knowing that she was likely smarting from her own disappointment and seeing derision where there was none to be seen. Meredith Mulholland, or Tavistock as she now was, was not at all as she had expected. Her manner of speech was absolutely cut-glass, every bit the Englishwoman to anyone who did not know better. Felicia had fully expected a gentle hint of Scottish, an accent she adored, but there had been none. Still, even without a title, a wealthy family might well have employed such tutors and governesses as to remove any hint of difference. The result was, however, that the woman sounded almost too English to even be English.
“Well, what do you think?” Jonathan said when the two of them sat down, Felicia on a couch and Lord Beaumont in a chair.
“Of the Duchess? Oh, very nice.” Felicia hoped she did not blush and give herself away. “And very beautiful.” She added somewhat more truthfully.
“I did say that my friend has an eye for such things.” He chuckled.
Felicia thought of poor Daisy Marlow with her dull and lifeless brown hair and disfiguring mole. Even if the Duke had thought to have a last fling before marriage, surely it would not have been with someone like Daisy.
“I wonder when we shall get our chance to go out to the summerhouse.”
“Oh, you really are dedicated, I will say that for you.”
“You may mock all you wish, Lord Beaumont.” Felicia squinted at him humorously and he laughed.
“I would not dream of such a thing. However, I think we must wait a while yet. It strikes me that there are too few guests for our absence not to be immediately noticed.”
“Perhaps when the ball is in full swing this evening. That might be a better time to attempt it.”
“I agree. So, in the meantime, might we at least take this opportunity to enjoy the day?”
“Of course.”
“Perhaps you could tell me a little more of yourself.”
“Goodness, I can hardly think there is anything of note to know. You already have a good idea of my own failure in the marriage arena, so I do not have any interesting news to de
part.”
“There is more to you than a broken romance, Lady Felicia.” He said and looked at her steadily. “I am sure that the new Duchess did not mean to upend you.” Felicia looked at him with surprise; so, he had noticed it too.
She looked away from him to throw a pointless glare at the Duchess of Scorton’s back and he laughed again.
“What a weapon such a scowl might be if only the intended victim would turn around.”
“Forgive me.” She said, smiling ruefully.
“You do not need to be forgiven; you have amused me greatly and I rather like that.”
“I daresay I am being a little sensitive.”
“I doubt it.” He said cryptically and she was certain then that Lord Beaumont had not taken to Meredith Tavistock either.
“I am being a little intolerant, how could a woman fresh from Scotland know a single thing about my life in Buckinghamshire? After all, you had not heard of it and we are only one county apart.”
“I wish I had heard of it, Lady Felicia, for I would never have dreamed of saying something to upset you.”
“You do not need to search for forgiveness again, Lord Beaumont. None was needed at the time and none is needed now.” She said and laughed. “I am not really as sensitive as I currently appear. I suppose it is the whole idea of weddings and happiness. Not that I am at all opposed to other people enjoying such things.”
“And what about yourself?”
“I think it will be a good long while before I consider such foolishness again.”
“Foolishness?” His blue eyes were wide with amusement. “Goodness me, you are funny.”
“Well, I do not mean to be, Lord Beaumont. I mean what I say, I would certainly be very careful about such things in the future.” Despite her seriousness, the Earl was still laughing. “Oh, have it your own way!”
“Yes, I think I shall.” He said when he had regained his composure. “So, am I to be given the dance that I missed out on the last time we were here? If I promise not to propose to you at the end of it, of course.”
The Secrets of Scorton Hall: An Historical Regency Romance Mystery Page 9