From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

‘We are home,’ he repeated. ‘Fernley Park.’

  ‘Home?’ She straightened and her hands flew to her head, patting at her hair. ‘Where is my bonnet?’ Felicity’s bonnet, and a warm cloak, had been placed in the carriage before their wedding, ready for their journey.

  Biting back a grin at her agitation, Richard grabbed the bonnet from the opposite seat.

  ‘Allow me,’ he said, and she sat obediently whilst he pinned the hat on to her head and tucked stray hairs neatly away.

  The carriage door opened. Beyond the coachman, Richard could see Trick silhouetted in the front entrance. He climbed out of the carriage, stretched, then turned to hand down his wife.

  His wife. How strange that sounded.

  ‘Trick, this is your new mistress, Lady Stanton. My dear, this is Trick, the butler.’

  ‘Good evening, Trick,’ Felicity said with a smile.

  ‘Good evening, milord, milady. I trust you had a pleasant journey.

  Richard laughed. ‘“Pleasant” is not quite the word I should choose, but it was uneventful.’

  ‘Which is all one can hope for,’ Felicity commented as she entered the hall and gazed around.

  ‘Indeed.’ Richard eyed his bride. It was their wedding night. She looked exhausted and he felt no less fatigued. ‘Is my mother in the salon?’

  ‘Yes, milord.’ Trick crossed the foyer and entered the salon. Richard led Felicity in his wake. ‘His lordship and Lady Stanton have arrived, milady.’

  His mother, impeccably dressed as always, stood to greet them, poker straight, unsmiling. Richard silently mocked himself for daring to hope his marriage might have softened her; might have, somehow, bridged the chasm that had yawned between them ever since his father’s death. She had never been a relaxed and loving parent—a result of her strict upbringing—but neither had she been this aloof.

  How had they become virtual strangers?

  ‘Stanton. You are home.’

  His mother scrutinized Felicity from head to toe and Richard knew, with a sinking certainty, she would find much to disapprove of in his actual marriage, despite her constant nagging at him to wed.

  As Felicity’s fingers tightened on his, the familiar, complicated muddle of emotions he always experienced in his mother’s presence continued to churn deep in his gut.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Felicity battled her fatigue, sensing this first meeting with her mother-in-law could be crucial to their future relationship. Lady Stanton, tall and slim, her steel-grey hair scraped back from her face, stood erect and unsmiling, her eyes raking Felicity. Determined not to be intimidated, Felicity squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  ‘Mother, I should like to present to you my wife, Felicity. Felicity, this is my mother, Lady Stanton.’

  Felicity curtsied and smiled. ‘I am pleased to meet you, my lady.’

  ‘You may address me as Mother.’ No words of welcome. No congratulations. No smile. ‘You had better sit down.’

  Mother! Something close to hysteria bubbled and swirled inside and Felicity clamped her teeth shut lest it escape. Richard squeezed her hand, and she steadied. Was her mother-in-law really so indifferent to her son’s marriage? Cousin Leo had suggested Lady Stanton would be delighted her son had finally wed, but the reality appeared somewhat different.

  ‘We have come to pay our respects, Mother. Felicity is exhausted and will retire immediately. There will be time tomorrow for better acquaintance.’

  Felicity stared at Richard’s clipped, formal tone. Why were they so awkward and formal with each other?

  ‘Come along, my dear.’

  Felicity resisted Richard’s attempt to turn her around. Despite her tiredness, she had every intention of establishing her own relationship with her mother-in-law: she would not become a mere extension of her husband, with no opinions of her own.

  She held the dowager’s steely gaze. ‘Goodnight, Mother,’ she said. ‘I apologize, but Richard is right. I am very tired and I am, I fear, incapable of conversing in anything approaching an intelligible manner tonight. Please forgive me.’

  She then allowed Richard to escort her to the door.

  ‘One moment.’

  They paused. The dowager glided towards them. ‘Stanton. There is a matter I wish to discuss, before you retire.’

  ‘Of course, Mother. Allow me to ensure Felicity is cared for first.’

  A kind-eyed, middle-aged woman awaited them in the hall.

  ‘Mrs Jakeway, please take Lady Stanton to the Countess’s suite. My dear, Mrs Jakeway is the housekeeper here.’

  Mrs Jakeway bobbed a curtsy. ‘Welcome to Stanton, my lady.’

  Felicity smiled, murmuring her thanks.

  ‘Your luggage arrived an hour since, milady, so it is all unpacked ready for you. Would you like a bite to eat in your room? Shall I ask Cook to send something up?’

  Mrs Jakeway glanced at Richard as she spoke, and he said, ‘I am sure her ladyship can manage a little something. Please do so.’

  While Mrs Jakeway sent a message to the kitchen, Richard drew Felicity aside. She suddenly realized, with a resounding thump of her heart, that it was her wedding night and that this man could now visit her in her bed whenever he pleased. Her suddenly sensitive skin glowed, and her mouth was sucked dry as fear and anticipation swirled in a heady mix.

  ‘Felicity?’ Richard bent his knees, bringing his face level with hers. ‘I will see you soon.’ He held her gaze until she nodded her understanding. He smiled, lifted her hand and pressed warm lips against her skin.

  As Felicity followed Mrs Jakeway up the long, curving sweep of the stairs, she glanced behind her. The dowager had joined Richard in the hall and they stood face to face, postures identically strained. They made no attempt to lower their voices.

  ‘Where is her maid?’

  ‘Indisposed.’

  ‘Shocking! Jaunting around the countryside without a maid in attendance. Do you expect one of the household staff to fill the gap?’

  ‘For a day or two only, Mother. I shall send to Winchester tomorrow to appoint a lady’s maid. I am sure the house can spare one of the maids for so short a time.’

  Felicity paused on the landing. It was wrong to eavesdrop, but they were being so indiscreet she had no compunction in listening to more.

  ‘Lady Felicity Weston. Baverstock’s daughter. And how old is she? Not in the first flush of youth, by the look of her.’

  Her mother-in-law’s voice dropped, but Felicity still caught some of her comments.

  ‘...expected you to do better...dab of a girl...well bred, I suppose...’

  ‘That is enough! You will kindly not criticize my wife, either to me or to anyone else.’

  They disappeared inside the salon. Felicity joined Mrs Jakeway, waiting along the landing.

  The Countess’s bedchamber was spacious, decorated in restful shades of cream and blue, with tall, south-facing windows. The fireplace had a carved oak surround and the room was furnished with elegant rosewood furniture. The bed itself was massive, as wide as it was long, with posts at each corner, and a tester overhead, but no hangings to draw around for privacy and warmth as there would have been in earlier times. The bed dated, Mrs Jakeway informed Felicity, from the sixteenth century, and countless generations of Countesses of Stanton had slept there.

  Two doors led from the bedchamber and Mrs Jakeway led her first to an adjoining sitting room with a chaise longue by one of the three windows and a sofa before the fire. There was a delicate escritoire, for correspondence, and a small round table with two chairs was set before the centre window.

  ‘When the old master was alive, Lady Stanton spent much of her time up here,’ Mrs Jakeway said.

  ‘I do hope Lady Stanton was not obliged to vacate these rooms on my account?’r />
  ‘Oh, no, milady. Don’t you be fretting about that. Her ladyship moved out after the old master passed away, and insisted his lordship moved into his father’s apartments immediately. He was barely seventeen, poor lad. It was...’ The housekeeper clamped her lips shut. ‘Come, I will show you the bathroom.’

  She led the way across the bedchamber and through the other door into a small antechamber, dominated by a large bathtub, half-full of water. Steam gently curled into the air, scenting it with violets and a fire flamed in the grate, a wooden airer hung with towels nearby.

  Felicity eyed the warm water longingly. ‘Is that for me?’

  ‘His lordship’s orders,’ Mrs Jakeway said. ‘He sent word from Bath as to what time to expect you. The bed is aired and ready, however, if you prefer not to bathe tonight?’

  ‘Oh, no, Mrs Jakeway, it is just what I need. Thank you for going to all this trouble. Could you send a maid to assist me, please? I’m afraid my own maid was unable to travel.’

  ‘No need for that, milady. I shall help you tonight.’

  Felicity was soon undressed and sank with muscle-soothing gratitude into the bath. She leaned her head back against the rim and closed her eyes, sighing with pleasure.

  ‘My hair was washed this morning, Mrs Jakeway, so I can manage now, thank you.’

  ‘Very well, milady.’

  Felicity heard the door open and close again. Her mind drifted, veering away whenever her thoughts ranged near Richard and the coming night. She did not want to think. She simply wanted to be. She slipped a little lower into the water, every inch of her from the neck down bathed in scented heat. She felt underwater for the linen washcloth and spread it, sopping wet, across her face. If only she could remain here and if only the water would stay this warm. She breathed slowly and deliberately, the washcloth moving in time with her breaths. It was already cooling. Reluctantly, she reached for it and pulled it from her face.

  A tap at the door behind her brought her crashing back to the here and now.

  ‘Who is it?’ Please let it be Mrs Jakeway or one of the maids.

  ‘Would you like your back scrubbed, Felicity Joy?’

  Her heart scrambled into her throat. Her arms thrashed, attempting to cover her nakedness, even though she knew he could see nothing.

  Yet.

  He had only to step a little further into the room. Her stomach churned as her flustered brain sought an escape, but there was no cover within reach.

  Nothing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Felicity!’

  The sharp command penetrated Felicity’s panic and she stilled.

  ‘If I had wanted to spy on you in your bath, I could have done so,’ Richard said. ‘However, I did, as you will recall, knock at the door.’

  He sounded amused, but was that also a hint of exasperation in his tone? Felicity peeked over her shoulder. He was in the open doorway, shoulders propped against the jamb, arms folded across his chest. He smiled at her, shaking his head.

  ‘I am not your enemy, Felicity. I did not intend to scare you. I met Mrs Jakeway on her way to fetch your supper and I came to see if you required any help.’

  His voice and his words were patient and soothing, much as one might speak to a horse set into a panic. Had she overreacted? From Richard’s point of view, no doubt she had done exactly that. They were man and wife. And yet...and yet...

  ‘Thank you.’ Her voice croaked and she coughed. ‘I believe I can manage.’

  ‘Shall I pass you a towel?’

  ‘I am not yet ready, thank you. I have not finished washing.’ Truth be told, she had yet to begin.

  ‘I shall ask again, in that case. Would you like me to wash your back for you? I can avert my eyes, if it will make you easier.’

  ‘I don’t...’ Felicity’s voice failed.

  ‘You don’t trust me? Very well.’

  There was a rustle and a muffled grunt behind her. Felicity risked another glance over her shoulder. Richard held her gaze as he tugged his neckcloth from around his neck. Oh, my goodness. Surely he is not...? He closed the door and held the neckcloth out, grinning.

  ‘Here. You can tie this around my eyes so I cannot cheat.’

  A squirm of heat snaked from the pit of her belly to the juncture of her thighs and she felt her nipples harden. Heavens. If the mere thought of him being close to her naked body could prompt such a reaction, how would it feel to lie together?

  The water sloshed around the bath as Felicity sat up. She hugged her knees close to her chest. ‘Very well.’ This time, her voice squeaked. From a frog to a mouse, she thought wildly, clamping down the urge to laugh, certain it would sound hysterical were she to allow it to escape.

  Richard shrugged out of his coat, and knelt by the bathtub, presenting his back. He lifted the neckcloth to cover his eyes and then reached behind his head to offer the ends to Felicity. She grasped them and tied a firm knot. He swivelled round to face her, and rolled up his sleeves. Felicity eyed his hair-roughened arms with hungry fascination. They were sinewy and lightly tanned—so different from her own pale, thin limbs.

  ‘Hand me the soap, Felicity.’

  His voice was husky. He reached out, palm up, and Felicity gave him the soap. Then he groped for, and found, her back and she saw his lips stretch into a sensual smile. Excitement spiralled through her body and her heart pounded as he began to stroke, his hand gliding over her wet, soapy skin.

  ‘So very delicate,’ he murmured, running one finger down her spine.

  Her lids drifted shut as Richard lathered her back, fingers spread, palm flat and gentle as he traced her ribcage around, under her arm, until the tips of his fingers rested against the gentle swell of her breast.

  ‘Relax.’ The whisper danced across her moist skin, raising gooseflesh.

  Relax? How could she relax? She wanted...she needed...she did not know what she wanted, aware only that her mind was at war with her body.

  She heard him move, and his lips were on her hair. They traced a path to her ear and, with the tip of his tongue, he outlined the shell before soft lips nibbled at the lobe. Her head tilted, and he trailed warm, open-mouthed kisses down her neck to her collarbone as his hand slid across her torso, brushing the sensitive skin beneath her breasts.

  The urge to lie back was strong. Was she really about to succumb to his seduction so readily? But why should she not? If her body could take pleasure in his lovemaking, why should she not relax and enjoy it? It did not mean she must relinquish her heart.

  Her sigh murmured as she relaxed back, her thighs parting of their own volition. He could not see her. He had all the experience. Let him teach her of the pleasures of the flesh.

  ‘Give me your hand.’

  He pressed a kiss to her palm before washing her arm from wrist to shoulder, his touch gentle, mouth firm with concentration. As his hand moved across her chest, Felicity closed her eyes. He soaped each breast in turn, kneading. Her back arched, pressing into his touch, an unusual sensation tugging deep inside. Long sweeps of his hand soaped down the side of her body, along her ribcage, over the jut of her hip and down the length of her thigh. She drifted in a sensual haze, aware only of his touch, as he raised each leg in turn to soap them before lowering them back into the water. He lifted her foot, stroking the instep until her foot arched. Each toe in turn was enveloped by warm lips, and sucked gently.

  A breathy groan sounded loud in the quiet of the room. Hers. Felicity tensed.

  ‘Ssssshhhhh, relax.’ The soothing murmur hung in the air and her body responded.

  A large hand circled her stomach, the pressure increasing fractionally each time it neared the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. Her need climbed. His hand drifted up again, skimming around her breasts, barely touching the peaked, aching nipples. Despite t
he cooling water, Felicity’s blood pumped hot. Then he took one nipple between finger and thumb and rolled it, gently tugging. Desire streaked through her, setting her blood aflame, and she shifted restlessly.

  His lips were on her face again, feathery, butterfly-light kisses caressing her skin as his hand slid over her belly again to slip between her legs, caressing and probing the swollen folds. Her body arched, pressing into his touch. He stroked, and she whimpered.

  Then Richard leaned towards her. ‘Kiss me.’ A request, not a demand.

  Dreamily she half-rose from the water and met his lips. Soft, searching, sensual, his kiss inflamed her further. It was exquisite but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. She wanted passion. She needed passion...and she needed...need.

  His need.

  She wanted him to feel the same urgency that gripped her. She cupped his face in her hands and took control. He started in surprise, then responded and deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping between her parted lips. She wound her arms around his neck, urging him on wordlessly. One arm swept around her, half-lifting her, moulding her wet, naked body to him.

  The fine lawn of his shirt did nothing to shield her from the heat of his skin. Felicity tangled her fingers through his hair, her fingertips exploring the solid strength of his skull. She hesitated over the knot in the neckcloth that still covered his eyes, but she did not loosen it. She felt a strange kind of power, being naked with this man, this stranger, with him unable to see. She need not feel shame, or doubt, or inadequacy. She could just enjoy. For the moment.

  Her thighs opened wider as his fingers caressed and stroked the sensitive flesh between. Her head fell back as she abandoned herself to the sensations that whirled and intensified inside her until she felt she would shatter if she didn’t move, and shatter if she did. She trembled as hot lips nibbled the delicate skin of her neck then froze momentarily as Richard’s finger circled her entrance and dipped inside. Goodness. His finger slid full length inside her, withdrew, and was joined by another and Felicity abandoned herself to pleasure.

  As his fingers began to move Felicity kissed him again, clinging as she urged him on. His tongue and his fingers joined in rhythm, driving Felicity on, spiralling ever higher. He pressed lightly with his thumb and she gasped, the sound swallowed within the joining of their lips. All thought suspended as her spiralling passion wound tighter and tighter. She reached and reached, yearning, straining.