From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  As she made her way downstairs it was apparent there was no one else up, other than servants, but that suited Felicity: the only person she wished to speak to was her mother, unlikely to be awake at this hour. Felicity crossed the library and let herself out on to the terrace, where she had strolled with Lord Stanton the previous evening.

  She paused at the spot where they had kissed. Her pulse quickened at the memory even as the ever-present fear wormed through her belly. Unrequited love. She could not, would not risk it. It was unrequited love that had so wrecked Emma’s life that she had climbed to the roof of Baverstock Court and...

  Felicity turned abruptly from the spot and headed for the flight of stone steps that led down into the garden, laid out in a formal style dissected by stone-flagged paths. There were gardeners already at work, weeding and collecting leaves, so she did not linger but followed the central pathway to an arched gap cut into a tall beech hedge. Through the gap was another pathway, and she turned left, knowing the stables were to the right. They, like the garden, would be a beehive of activity at this time of the morning.

  A short distance along the path she reached the small rustic gate she remembered from her childhood. It led to a grass path that wound through a copse of ornamental trees before opening on to a vista of Cousin Leo’s lake. Water always soothed her. When she eventually wed she would have, if not a lake, then at the very least a pond, preferably near to the house, so she could see it every day; a large pond, with water lilies, and fish, and a bench to sit on. Daydreaming pleasantly, Felicity continued towards the lake.

  ‘Good morning, Felicity Joy.’ The deep voice startled her from her reverie.

  ‘Oh!’ Her heart leapt into her throat as she looked around.

  Lounging at one side of the path, broad shoulders propped against the trunk of a copper beech, was Lord Stanton.

  Felicity felt her face heat. Why must I blush now? She could never blush prettily, like her mother or Emma. Then she gritted her teeth. Why should she care how she blushed? She could never impress Stanton with her appearance, and she was not about to try. Besides, had she not already decided he was not for her?

  ‘Good morning, my lord. You are up early. I had not expected to see anyone out and about quite yet.’

  ‘I am sorry if I startled you. I had a restless night. It is not every day a man meets his future wife for the first time.’

  Felicity eyed him with suspicion. Was he poking fun at her? ‘It is not too late to change your mind.’

  His dark brows snapped together. ‘And what, precisely, do you mean by that, Felicity Joy?’

  He pushed away from the tree and prowled towards Felicity, his attention never leaving her face. She resisted the urge to retreat.

  ‘You sound as though you might welcome a change of heart.’

  ‘Why were you leaning against that tree?’ Felicity asked. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’

  ‘You.’ Stanton was close now, gazing down at her.

  She held his gaze, her heart pumping a little too fast to be explained away by her walk. He was so handsome. Too handsome.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice sounded breathless. It reminded her of her mother, which fuelled her irritation. She had no wish to flutter every time a man paid her any attention. She cleared her throat. ‘You could not possibly have known I would be walking here.’

  He grinned. ‘I was returning from a stroll by the lake. I saw you coming from a distance, so I thought I might wait for you. And see when—indeed, if—you would notice my presence. It seems I am not the only one who is preoccupied. You, too, appear to have much on your mind, and not all of it pleasant, judging by your expression.’

  ‘And if I maintain that is my normal expression?’

  Stanton crooked his arm. It would surely be churlish not to take it. They continued towards the lake.

  ‘Then I should say that your life is, perhaps, not very content. I should like to see a smile on your face always, Felicity Joy.’

  He halted, tugging her around to face him. He lifted her chin with one finger, and Felicity was instantly transported back to the night before. She tensed. Was he going to kiss her again? His sensual lips curved, and she tore her gaze from them with an effort. His head dipped. If she was not marrying him, she should pull away, and yet...without volition, she swayed closer, relishing the heat radiating from his body. Her entire body softened as she breathed in his scent: a heady mixture of soap, fresh air and maleness.

  He studied her, his expression serious.

  Goodness, what must I look like? She really had not expected to meet anyone this early. She had splashed cold water on her face, pulled on the closest gown to hand and dragged a comb through her hair before roughly plaiting it, too preoccupied with her dilemma to worry about her appearance. How she wished it was possible to return to her childhood, when she had visited Cheriton Abbey and spent many carefree days exploring the grounds without a care as to how she looked.

  The gentle sweep of Stanton’s thumb beneath her eye broke into her thoughts.

  ‘It appears I was not the only one who slept ill last night. What is it that troubles you? I can tell you are not overjoyed at the prospect of marrying me, but I confess I am at a loss to understand it. It seems to me we should make a successful partnership. We both, as I understand it, want children. Will you not confide in me about your doubts? I have no wish for a wife who feels she has been pressured into a union she actively dislikes.’

  Her heart stuttered. ‘It is not that I would dislike being married to you.’ Far from it, if she was truthful. She recalled her words to her mother the night before. There was enough truth to sound believable. ‘I have seen you enough times in London, sir. You are popular. You are always at the centre of attention. I specifically asked Mama to find a quiet, retiring gentleman for my husband.’

  Stanton’s brows drew together. ‘Do you mean you wish to retire to the country entirely?’

  ‘No. I enjoy country life, but I also enjoy spending time in London as I have interests there. I take little pleasure in society balls and parties, however.’

  ‘Then I see no reason why our union should not prove mutually beneficial, Felicity. I would never insist we live in each other’s pockets, particularly once an heir is born. Many marriages are conducted in such a fashion, with discretion. I would be happy for our marriage to be the same.’

  But I would not. Not with you.

  She was so afraid she would grow to love him, particularly now, when he had shown such gentle—and unexpected—understanding. And his words—his expectations of their marriage merely reinforced her fears. She was to be used as a vessel to produce an heir. And, without doubt, a spare. Like a brood mare. None of which she really objected to. Indeed, it was what she wanted: a quiet husband to live on the periphery of her life. But Stanton was not, and never could be, he.

  ‘What do you say, Felicity Joy? May I pay my addresses to you? I should like to propose in the customary manner —and to hear your reply—and not just drift into an understanding.’

  Chapter Seven

  Felicity bit her lip. She would regret her decision either way, but better to suffer disappointment now, and be done with it, than to live in lonely suffering and heartache for the rest of her days. She did, however, need to talk to her mother again first.

  ‘I am sorry to be indecisive, but might I give you my answer later? I should like time to think about what you have said.’

  Stanton stepped back and bowed. ‘Of course you may. I would not for the world wish to rush you. It is a momentous decision.’

  ‘Thank you. If you do not object, I shall return to the Abbey now. And I will give you my answer later this morning, if that will suit you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Felicity walked back along the path through the trees. She rounded the bend, and
her heart sank. Her stepfather, Quentin Farlowe, had just stepped through the gate into the copse. It was too late to turn back, for he saw her almost immediately.

  ‘There you are, miss,’ he called.

  Felicity cursed under her breath. He strode towards her, frowning, his thin lips barely visible.

  As he reached her she lifted her chin. ‘I am on my way to see Mama. There was no need to search for me.’

  ‘I disagree. You have worked your mother into the devil of a state. What can you possibly object to in Stanton?’

  ‘I will discuss it with Mama and my guardian.’

  Farlowe’s fingers bit into her arm. ‘We will settle this now. I will not have your mother upset.’

  No, of course you won’t. No doubt it disturbed your sleep. How Felicity longed to throw those words at her stepfather, but she refused to stoop so low. ‘I have no wish to upset Mama either. I am sure we will reach some accord.’

  He dragged her close, glaring down at her through narrowed eyes. Felicity coughed as a wave of Farlowe’s pungent hair oil pervaded her nostrils. The sickly smell contrasted sharply with Stanton’s fresh, spicy scent.

  ‘You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since I married your mother, looking down your nose at me. Why do you not want Stanton?’ He bent his head close to hers, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered in her ear. ‘Is he too much the man for you, miss? Are you scared of your wedding night? Mayhap I can be of assistance? Provide a little tutoring so you will not—’

  ‘Let me go!’ Felicity struggled against his viselike grip on her arm. ‘When Mama hears what you—’

  Farlowe laughed. ‘But she won’t find out, will she? You forget—I know you, Lady Felicity. You won’t say a word to your mama because you hate to upset anyone—’

  * * *

  ‘Farlowe!’ Stanton’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

  Farlowe looked round, but did not release Felicity as Richard strode towards them, fury pounding his veins.

  ‘Merely a familial misunderstanding, Stanton; nothing for you to concern yourself with.’

  The rogue didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. Richard wondered what he had whispered to Felicity. Judging by her expression, he had not been sharing a friendly word of advice.

  ‘Oh, but I am concerned, Farlowe. Anything that distresses Felicity distresses me. Take your hands from her.’

  ‘We have not finished—’

  ‘Yes, we have.’ Felicity twisted her arm free. ‘I told you, sir, that I will discuss the matter with my mother and the duke. They are my guardians, not you.’

  Richard levelled a long look at Farlowe, who blanched. Good. The savage anger in his breast must be reflected in his expression. He would have dearly loved to draw the scoundrel’s cork, but would not do so in front of Felicity. Next time they met, though, Mr Quentin Farlowe would have a few questions to answer.

  Glancing at Felicity, Richard was struck once more by her forlorn expression. Much as he would like to place all the blame for her dejection at Farlowe’s door, he could not deny she had been troubled even before the incident with her stepfather. Was Leo mistaken? Was a marriage of convenience not Felicity’s choice, but at the instigation of her parents?

  ‘Would you be so good as to escort me to my mother, Lord Stanton?’

  ‘My pleasure, Lady Felicity.’

  When she took his arm, Richard noticed she leant on it a little more heavily than before as they headed back to the Abbey.

  ‘Are you quite well, Felicity? Farlowe...he looked a little rough back there.’

  Felicity’s fingers tightened on his sleeve. ‘He is not a particularly nice man,’ she said. ‘It is one of the reasons I asked Mama to find me a husband.’

  So it was her choice. Her doubts, then, were definitely about him.

  ‘Your mama is happy with him, though? He is not...cruel in any way?’

  The faintest of sighs murmured past his ears and he had to tilt his head to catch her words. ‘No, not overtly cruel. But there is cruelty and there is cruelty.’

  Richard pondered that statement. After half a minute, when he was no wiser, he said, ‘I fear that statement is a little obscure for this early in the morning. What do you mean?’

  Felicity’s head snapped round, her eyes stricken. ‘Oh,’ she gasped, ‘I am sorry, I had quite forgot...that is...what I mean is that Mama has high expectations of my stepfather. I do not think he has the character to meet those expectations. Does that make sense?’

  ‘I suppose it does. Your mother, if you will forgive me for saying so, is a lady who would require her husband to dance attendance on her. I surmise, from your explanation, that Farlowe does not view his role in quite the same way?’

  ‘No, indeed. His role—in his opinion—is to live as high as possible, doing precisely what he wishes, with Mama’s money. Oh! I do beg your pardon. That was most unbecoming in me... I’m afraid my stepfather brings out the very worst in me, despite my best intentions to let his shortcomings fly over my head without comment. Somehow—’ she smiled, ruefully ‘—my basest nature seems to rear its head whenever he is involved. I think we shall never live comfortably together.’

  ‘Which is why, as you say, you seek a husband. And, yet, you seem reluctant to accept my suit. I am beginning to feel quite deflated, Lady Felicity.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She stopped walking and turned to Richard, her eyes big with concern. ‘Please, no, I do not want you to think...to believe... Oh.’ Her protestations ceased and her eyes narrowed. ‘This is quite ridiculous as well you know, my lord. We both know very well that no other woman would view your suit with the slightest hesitation. The reasons for my indecision are...well, they are... Oh, I cannot say more than I have already. You said you would wait for my answer until later this morning, and I must ask you to honour that.

  ‘Thank you for your escort. I shall be quite safe from here.’

  Richard stood at the bottom of the main staircase, watching as Felicity climbed the sweep to the next floor.

  ‘Good morning, Stan. Enjoying the morning air with your betrothed?’

  Richard did not turn to look at Leo. ‘I am not sure “enjoying” is quite the right word, Leo. And neither, if I read the lady correctly, is “betrothed”. I must confess to a certain bemusement. Lady Felicity—if I have understood our, at times, quite muddled conversation correctly—is about to turn me down flat.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Now hear this, young lady, and hear it well.’

  Lady Katherine stalked up and down her bedchamber, gesticulating. Until this very minute, Felicity had not dreamed she might fail in her attempt to avoid marriage to Lord Stanton. She sank onto a chair by the window, her legs unaccountably shaky, as her mother continued to pace.

  ‘You asked me to find you a husband.’

  ‘Yes, that is true, but—’

  ‘No buts. I have found you an eminently eligible man, one who must be far beyond anyone you could have hoped for.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  Her mother quelled her with one look. A feeling of unreality washed over Felicity. This determination in her normally persuadable mother was new, and she knew who to thank for it. Why, oh, why did Mama marry that man?

  ‘I have spoken with the duke this morning—yes, already, at this unearthly hour—and he has confirmed his belief that you and Stanton will suit. He knows you both. He will hardly match one of his closest friends with someone unsuitable.’

  ‘I do not believe Stanton and I will be compatible, Mama.’

  ‘I have discussed this with Farlowe...’

  Felicity sprang to her feet. ‘I might have known he was—’

  Her mother continued as though Felicity had not spoken. ‘...and we are agreed. You have a choice.’

  ‘A cho
ice?’ Felicity stared at her mother, hope stirring. ‘Who?’

  ‘Not who. What. Our conversation last night left me vastly unsettled, Felicity, and I was still awake when my dear Farlowe retired. I told him of your stubbornness, and he suggested—’

  ‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’

  ‘Farlowe. My darling. Such a valiant but wasted effort on your part, searching for this wretched girl. But no matter, for she is here now, and I am about to reveal her options.’

  Felicity caught Farlowe’s smirk. Cold sweat prickled over her back. He wanted her out of their lives as much as she did. What was her mother’s alternative? A nunnery?

  Oh, please. We are not living in the pages of a Gothic novel. ‘Very well, Mama. What is my alternative?’

  ‘You said you wanted a family and we have found you a perfectly eligible suitor. You either accept Stanton or you will never wed. You will end your days living with us as my companion and, after I have gone, you must depend on the charity of your dear brother. You will forever be the poor relation.’

  Felicity’s knees threatened to buckle. She grabbed the back of a chair.

  ‘You cannot prevent me finding a husband of my own,’ she said.

  ‘And you have proven yourself oh-so successful in that endeavour to date, have you not, Felicity?’ Farlowe said. ‘And do not think you will be permitted to squander good money on those urchins and thieves you are so fond of. You will have no need of such a generous allowance as your mother’s companion.’

  She could not win. In order to find herself a husband, she would have to allow herself to be courted. She must risk her heart whichever way she chose. The alternative: remaining with her mother and Farlowe—to have to endure his leers and his constant crude remarks about virgins—was simply intolerable. And she would not even have the release of involvement with Westfield.