From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  He hoped he concealed his true feelings with more success than Lady Felicity. Her expression as she came through the door, and their eyes met, was one of sheer horror.

  What was so very special about Lady Felicity Weston to suggest the Earl of Stanton was not a good enough match for her?

  Chapter Four

  Richard had no further opportunity to study his bride-to-be. Lady Katherine sailed past her daughter and captured his hands, standing so close her floral scent made his nostrils twitch. She gazed up at him through fluttering eyelashes. Already knocked off balance by Felicity’s reaction to him, Richard’s muscles quivered with the effort not to snatch his hands from her mother’s soft, moist grasp. From the corner of his eye he caught the resigned look that passed between Leo and Felicity. Mayhap he was not the only person who found Lady Katherine a touch overwhelming.

  ‘My dear, dear Stanton. Such joy...oh!’ She giggled breathlessly. ‘How droll am I? Joy is my dear girl’s middle name: Felicity Joy. Does that not suit her a treat, Stanton? I am certain she will bring you as much joy as she has brought to me and her dearest papa—God rest his soul—and now to my beloved Farlowe.’

  Richard extricated his hands. ‘Indeed.’ He shot a baleful look at Leo, who shrugged and grinned before manoeuvring Lady Katherine to the sofa facing the fire. He then proceeded to engage her in conversation, leaving Richard to get to know his intended.

  Which proved to be as difficult as drawing blood from the proverbial stone. Felicity, her face quite colourless, had taken her place beside her mother, her attention firmly on the flames as Richard sank into the nearest chair. Her expression was hard to read but her rigid posture and tight fists told their own story. Something—something about him, he must conclude—was not to her liking. Contrarily, her seeming reluctance fanned his determination to proceed with the marriage.

  ‘Well, Lady Felicity, who could have guessed when we met on the stairs last year that we would be here now, discussing our forthcoming marriage?’

  ‘Indeed, my lord.’ Still she avoided eye contact, staring into the fire.

  Richard, momentarily nonplussed, continued to study her. Nondescript was the most fitting adjective he could conjure up. She was a touch taller than average, with a slight build. Another woman of her stature might be described as willowy, but, somehow, Felicity was not quite tall enough, and not quite slender enough, to earn that accolade. Her features were regular, her complexion dull. Her oval face was a shade too long and her chin a touch too determined, for delicacy. Her nose was straight, but a little too strong to be considered dainty, and her mouth was... Richard paused in his appraisal. The compression of her lips did little to disguise their rosy fullness. They, at least, could be declared alluring.

  Her brown hair was pinned up in the Grecian style, with curls—already wilting—framing her face. Her eyes were a striking amber and, at this moment in time, they stared dully ahead as Felicity sat straight-backed, her hands white-knuckled in her lap.

  What was she thinking? According to Leo, Felicity had asked her mother to find her a husband, but her reaction to Richard almost suggested she would be entering the union against her will. Richard hoped not. Now he had made his decision he was impatient to proceed. He vowed to win her over.

  ‘It’s a pleasant evening, Lady Felicity. Would you care to stroll on the terrace?’

  She looked directly at him for the first time since she entered the room. Try as he might, he could not read her expression. Before she could answer him, though, Lady Katherine intervened.

  ‘Of course she would, Stanton. Go along, Felicity. I am sure you do not need chaperoning if you are with your intended. I declare I have never been so happy in my life—except, of course, when my dear Farlowe proposed. Who would have thought that I would be mama-in-law to the Earl of Stanton. I shall be the envy of everyone. I cannot wait to see their—’

  ‘Mama, please.’ Felicity cut across her mother’s monologue as she stood up.

  Richard rose to his feet with a guilty start. He had been on the brink of becoming mesmerized by Lady Katherine’s inane chatter.

  Felicity, cheeks splashed with colour, shot a glance at him before lowering her gaze. ‘Thank you. I should enjoy a breath of fresh air.’

  She took his arm and they left the library via one of the French doors. It was dark outside on the terrace, but lamps at intervals along the balustrade cast weak pools of light to soften the shadows.

  Richard placed his hand over Felicity’s, where it lay on his arm. It was chilled, despite the mildness of the evening.

  ‘You are chilled, Lady Felicity. Shall I fetch your shawl?’

  ‘I am warm enough, thank you, my lord.’

  ‘Richard. Please. We need not stand on ceremony with one another; unless, of course, you have doubts about our marriage?’

  Her eyes flicked to his face, then returned to their contemplation of the flagstones at their feet. Richard stopped beneath one of the lamps and took her hands in his.

  ‘Forgive my blunt speaking, but you do not appear happy. Am I ousting a preferred suitor?’

  ‘No, there is no other, although I had not thought... I did not realize... Oh, heavens, I cannot find the words.’

  Felicity tugged her hands free and turned to stare into the darkness of the surrounding gardens. Her arms were wrapped around her waist and she looked somehow very vulnerable, standing there alone. It crossed Richard’s mind that she was self-contained: she gave the impression she was used to relying on her own resources. He shook his head in self-deprecation. Harriet would be impressed. She was forever castigating him about his lack of insight and yet, here he was, analysing his bride-to-be as though he had known her for years. He thrust away all thought of his mistress. It felt, somehow, disloyal to think of her whilst in the company of his future wife.

  He put his hands on Felicity’s shoulders, the bones fragile beneath his fingers. ‘Try. I won’t bite, you know. I should prefer to start off with honesty between us, if we are to live together with any degree of comfort.’

  Her shoulders tensed as she inhaled. Then she turned, and regarded him, her eyes as rueful as her smile.

  ‘This is ridiculous. You are right. If we are to wed, we need to understand one another. And, I admit I have doubts. Not about you. Well, that is...’ She paused, her brows drawn together in a frown. ‘No, that is untrue. It is about you, but it is about me, also. You and me. Together. You see, I hadn’t thought...I never presumed to be presented with such a...such a...catch, if you do not object to my calling you that?’

  Richard bit back a smile. He had been called a catch many times, he was aware, but never to his face before. And never by an earnest-faced female who appeared to believe herself unworthy of a ‘catch’ such as he.

  ‘You may call me what you will,’ he said, ‘as long as you promise not to use such insultingly offensive terms that I shall be forced to take umbrage.’

  She laughed, revealing a glimpse of white teeth. ‘Umbrage? I always thought that to be a state applied to elderly dowagers. Do you sporting gentlemen consider it a fittingly masculine trait, my lord?’

  This was better. The spirited girl he remembered from last year had surfaced, her face alive with laughter, her eyes bright.

  ‘Perhaps umbrage does not quite convey the precise meaning I hoped to convey,’ he conceded. ‘Which word, in your opinion, should I have used, if I am to portray a suitably manly image to my future wife?’

  Disquiet skimmed her expression, then vanished. Had he imagined it? Was it the bald reminder that she would be his wife that had disturbed her? Her countenance was now neutral, but her eyes remained watchful and she made no attempt to answer him.

  ‘Would you have preferred me to use “offence” perhaps, or “exception”?’ He leaned closer to her, and said, ‘I do not, you notice, suggest “outrage” for that,
I fear, would not meet with your approval any more than “umbrage”. It is too synonymous with spinsters, would you not—?’

  Felicity stiffened. ‘Do not make fun of me, sir. I may be a spinster and, therefore, in your eyes, a poor, undesired thing, but I have feelings and I have pride.’

  ‘Felicity, I promise I intended no slight. The thought never crossed my mind that you might think I was making fun of you. I was...I was... Oh, confound it! Come here.’

  He had run out of words. He clasped her shoulders and drew her close. A finger beneath her chin tilted her face to his. He searched her eyes. They were shuttered. She was rigid in his arms. Was she scared? Had she never known a man’s kiss? The thought, strangely, pleased him: knowing his wife had never experienced another man’s touch. But he must take care not to frighten her. He lowered his head, slowly, and put his lips to hers.

  He almost recoiled in shock. He had expected ice. What he felt was fire.

  Chapter Five

  Felicity’s heart clamoured in her chest as Richard’s lips claimed hers. One arm swept around her back, the other hand cupped her head. His lips were warm, surprisingly soft and tasted of brandy. They slid, slowly, tantalizingly, over hers and she felt her own lips soften and respond. A tingling thrill shot through her, all the way to her toes. Her fingers tightened on his sleeve as her belly squeezed in a strange but not unpleasant way. That kiss ended too soon for Felicity and as the reality sunk in—that this man would indeed be her husband, would be entitled to kiss her and caress her and much more—her heart faltered.

  How could she resist falling in love with such a man? She was under no illusion that he might ever love her. Unrequited love had caused far more beautiful women than she to suffer. She saw an image of her future—lonely and desperate—stretching before her.

  Richard smiled down at her. She searched his face. It confirmed her fears. Even in this dim light, she could read the amusement that lurked in the depths of those velvety eyes. And why would he not be amused? A naive spinster and the experienced man about town: would that not set the precedent for their marriage? Could she protect her heart? Through the lit windows of the library she could see her mother and the duke, deep in conversation. She must tell them as soon as possible that she could not marry Lord Stanton. She peeked at him again. He looked bored. That settled it, then.

  ‘Perhaps we should go back inside. Mama will be wondering where we are.’

  His lips twitched as he glanced through the window. Felicity felt a lick of heat, deep inside, remembering their warm, silken caress.

  ‘I suspect your mama has forgotten our existence for the moment.’

  Nothing would prevail upon Felicity to admit he was right. ‘Nevertheless, I think we have been out here long enough.’

  Richard sketched a bow. ‘As you wish, my lady.’

  Felicity studied him surreptitiously as she took his arm. Starkly handsome, his close-fitting black tailcoat and trousers emphasized his masculinity. Not only was Stanton one of society’s most eligible bachelors, but Felicity was aware he was also widely acclaimed for his sporting prowess. The hard muscle of his arm under her hand attested to his strength.

  He seemed not unkind.

  He had a sense of humour.

  He was nigh on the perfect man.

  Just not for her.

  * * *

  Felicity wrapped her shawl closer around her and knocked on her mother’s bedchamber door. She glanced along the corridor, praying no one would see her. The sick dread churning the pit of her stomach would not go away. She must speak with Mama and tell her of her decision, or she would never be able to sleep that night. The sooner she halted Lady Katherine’s inevitable runaway enthusiasm for this match, the better.

  She heard a faint voice from within, and entered. Lady Katherine was in the massive four-poster, reclining in a sultry pose against the stacked pillows. When she saw her daughter, she sat up, pouting.

  ‘Felicity. I thought you were my darling Farlowe. What is it? Will it take long?’

  Thank goodness her stepfather was still downstairs with the other men. It would be hard enough to persuade Mama to understand without Farlowe there to stir the pot.

  Felicity perched on the edge of Mama’s bed.

  ‘Mama, I cannot marry Lord Stanton.’

  ‘What?’

  Felicity flinched, her mother’s piercing shriek loud in her ears.

  ‘I am sorry...’

  ‘Sorry? You are the most ungrateful little... Why? You asked me to arrange a marriage, and I have set up an alliance with the most eligible bachelor of our acquaintance, and you have the boldness to suggest he is not good enough for you? Oh! Where are my salts? You infuriating, stubborn girl...’

  Lady Katherine’s face was pink with fury. Felicity found her mother’s smelling salts and watched her wave them beneath her nose.

  ‘Mama, I am sorry to distress you, but if you will listen to me—’

  ‘Listen to you? I listened when you asked me to arrange your marriage. Finally, I thought...finally, Felicity is behaving as a modest young woman ought. But I was mistaken. You still imagine you are too good! Too good for the likes of Stanton, of all people.’

  ‘I do not believe I am too good for him,’ Felicity said, heart sinking. Once Lady Katherine had worked herself into such a state, she was unlikely to heed anything other than her own point of view. How Felicity wished Beanie was here to confide in.

  ‘Well, I should think not. Now, if it was poor, dear Emma who had caught the eye of such a man...mayhap she could believe herself too good for him.’

  Felicity thrust down the pain of once again being unfavourably compared to her sister.

  ‘May we discuss this in the morning, Mama?’ When you are calmer. ‘I am sorry to upset you, but I would try to make you understand why I must refuse Stanton.’

  Lady Katherine straightened in the bed, sparks shooting from her blue eyes. ‘I do believe you are serious, you ungrateful chit. You always were stubborn, and unbecomingly forward with your opinions. Well, we shall see what Farlowe has to say about this.’

  ‘My stepfather can have no opinion on my betrothal,’ Felicity retorted. If only you had never married him, I wouldn’t be obliged to marry anyone. ‘The decision is mine. You cannot force me to accept Stanton.’

  ‘But why, Felicity, darling?’ Her mother changed tack, wheedling. ‘I don’t understand. Most girls would swoon at the thought of catching such a man.’

  ‘The problem is that he is too good a catch, Mama.’

  ‘Too good? How can a man be too good a catch?’

  Felicity struggled to find the words. How could she possibly explain without insulting her mother and dragging Emma’s name into the argument? Her mother would—and not for the first time—accuse her of jealousy.

  ‘I wish for a quiet, retiring gentleman, Mama. Lord Stanton is popular. He is always the centre of attention. Please try to understand.’

  I am afraid I will fall in love with him.

  The words she could not say near choked her. A man like Stanton, in an arranged marriage, would develop the same carelessness her father had demonstrated towards her mother; the same indifference Farlowe was now beginning to demonstrate, a mere six months into their marriage. Such indifference in a marriage of convenience would be tolerable. But that same indifference, if she were to fall in love with her husband... A handsome face with warm brown eyes materialized in her mind’s eye and her lips tingled in memory of his kiss. She could never resist him. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.

  Stanton was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen, with his dark brown, wavy hair, his deep, soulful eyes, and his fine figure. Since their encounter last year, she had added those strong, muscular arms and the glimpse of dark chest hair to the tally of his attractions. And now she
had experienced his kiss—how could she ever withstand such an onslaught? She might be inexperienced, but she suspected that kiss had triggered only the merest hint of the passion buried deep within her. No, she dare not expose her heart to such a man. That way, for sure, would result in heartbreak and despair.

  ‘Well, I do not understand, you provoking girl. Oh, where is Farlowe when I need him? I need his support. No one understands my trials.’

  ‘Please, Mama, may we speak again in the morning, before the betrothal is announced?’

  ‘The duke and Lord Stanton have agreed to announce the betrothal after dinner, tomorrow evening. But do not think the delay will favour your case, my girl, for my mind is quite made up. Just think, I shall be the envy of all, when our news becomes known.’

  ‘Mama, I cannot marry a man merely in order that you can boast to your acquaintances.’

  ‘Oh! You would make me sound the most uncaring parent in the world, Felicity. Have I not always put your welfare and happiness at the very top of my priorities?’ Lady Katherine sank back against the pillows and waved her salts beneath her nose again, her eyes closed. Then they snapped open and she sat up, nailing Felicity with a triumphant stare. ‘The duke has approved the match. He believes you and Stanton will suit very well. Do you dare to question his authority?’

  If her mother was to start invoking the duke’s authority, Felicity knew she must concede her argument for now and try again tomorrow.

  ‘Goodnight, Mama. I hope you sleep well. I shall come to see you in the morning. Please try to understand—I want to be content in my marriage but I cannot believe Stanton will prove a comfortable husband.’

  She bent and kissed her mother.

  ‘Do not think I shall yield on this, Felicity. There are times when you must realize that your elders have more worldly experience than you and know what is best.’

  Chapter Six

  A bright morning saw Felicity up and about early, her determination not to wed Lord Stanton stronger than ever. He had prowled through her restless dreams, stirring strange and unwelcome yearnings deep within her. She had woken from those dreams, her heart racing, her skin hot and damp. And that was merely the result of a single kiss.