From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  Richard frowned, then strode across the room, taking her by the shoulders.

  ‘Do not belittle yourself. You are the Countess of Stanton. You have the correct number of arms and legs, eyes and ears, do you not? Your body works as you wish it to work, and you are unscarred, unlike poor Yvette. If you do not judge her by her appearance, why do you judge yourself? You have a good heart and a bright and enquiring mind. And...’ his eyes bored into her ‘...you are an attractive, passionate, vital woman.’

  As his head lowered, sick fear clutched Felicity even as her blood heated and her treacherous lips parted, ready for his kiss. This was not their bargain. Lust was urging him to kiss her. Nothing more. She felt it too, that lust. But already her heart skipped a beat whenever she saw him, or heard his voice. She must confine their intimacies to the bedchamber, where they belonged, or she would be lost. During the day, all she required was polite co-existence.

  About to claim her lips, Richard hesitated. His eyes searched hers. ‘What is it? What is wrong?’

  Felicity tore from his grasp. Oh, she wanted him. But how would she survive when—as was inevitable—he turned his attentions elsewhere? Her bed would feel deserted and cold enough but if she had become accustomed to his attentions during the day as well, that would be too much to bear. She dragged in a breath, hardening her heart even as she stretched her mouth into a smile, holding her courage against his stormy expression.

  ‘Nothing is wrong, Richard. You are right, I should hold myself in higher esteem. You do not need to kiss me to bolster my confidence. Your words were more than adequate. Thank you.’

  She hurried from the room, willing her legs to stop shaking.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Two days later

  Richard grabbed Felicity’s hand as she reached for the door handle.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’ Felicity tugged her hand free.

  Richard paced the library, hot anger surging through his veins. He came to a halt in front of his wife. ‘Did I wed twins? You are a different woman by night and by day. I cannot fathom you.’

  He had come into the library, and Felicity had been seated by the window, reading. He had smiled; made small talk; invited her to walk with him by the lake. She had been cool, monosyllabic, polite as she had rebuffed his every overture. Then he had reached to stroke her hair and she had flinched from him. Flinched. What did she imagine he might do?

  She had stood up. He had taken her in his arms, but she had ducked, evading him, and made for the door. Which is when he had grabbed her.

  He studied her expression. ‘What are you afraid of?’

  ‘Nothing. I am not afraid. We have a bargain.’

  ‘And my part of that bargain is to leave you entirely to your own devices all day every day?’

  She nodded.

  His teeth clenched so hard he feared they might crack. ‘Very well. There is no need for you to go. I shall leave you in peace.’

  He stormed into his study and strode to the window where he stared unseeingly at the view, his temper still simmering. His bride was an enigma. They had been wed a week and, by night, she was passionate, willing and generous: all soft gasps and breathy screams. But, by day, she held him at arm’s length, shunning intimacy and shunning, it seemed, friendship and companionship too. Was it merely lust she felt for him? But, if so, where did that lust disappear to as the sun rose every morning?

  Her confidence in her appearance was low—thanks to her mother—but she discouraged any attempt to bolster her self-esteem. Was he too impatient? Expecting her to change overnight, when she had spent many years seeing herself through her mother’s eyes?

  Women! Who could understand them?

  Exasperated by his circling thoughts, Richard strode for the door. He was in dire need of fresh air and physical exercise and he needed to keep Thor fit for the race on Saturday.

  * * *

  Felicity sat in the library, her restless fingers drumming a tattoo on the arm of the chair as her equally restless mind pondered her marriage. What was she to do? It would be so easy to accept Richard’s attentions and intimacies, but it would be all too easy to become accustomed to them. They had no meaning to him, despite his anger—they were empty words and empty gestures calculated to smooth the path of their marriage of convenience. He was being kind. Nothing more.

  She had only to remember her mother, and poor Emma, to know what pain and despair lay ahead if she failed to protect her heart. It would be easier once in London, with more distractions. If she could just hold her nerve until she was with child, mayhap she could survive with her heart intact.

  The telltale bustle of arrival in the hall roused her from her brooding. Visitors—just the thing to take her mind off the conundrum of her marriage. It was not long before a knock at the door announced Trick.

  ‘My lady, his lordship’s cousin, Mr Durant, has arrived. I have shown him into the salon.’

  Richard’s cousin? She had no recollection of meeting a Mr Durant during her rare forays into society.

  ‘Thank you, Trick. Where is Lady Stanton?’

  ‘She is in her sitting room, my lady. I have sent Peter to inform her.’

  ‘And do you know where his lordship is?’

  ‘He went out riding a little over an hour ago.’

  ‘Thank you, Trick.’

  No doubt out on Thor again. She had now seen for herself the spirited stallion, and could understand her mother-in-law’s fears for Richard’s safety, but he seemed to delight in the challenge of mastering the animal.

  * * *

  When Felicity entered the salon, Mr Durant greeted her with a twinkle in his eye and a wide smile. ‘I take it I have the pleasure of meeting the new Lady Stanton?’

  ‘You do indeed, Mr Durant. I am pleased to welcome you to Fernley Park.’

  He was around Richard’s height—six foot—but there the resemblance ended, for Mr Durant was as slender as a whip, with blue eyes and fair, curly hair. He extended an exaggerated leg and bowed low.

  ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my lady.’ He glanced past Felicity and his grin widened. ‘And my dear aunt—you are well, I hope?’

  The dowager swept past Felicity and Mr Durant and sat, ramrod straight, in her favourite chair by the fire. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Durant. I do not believe we were expecting you, were we? To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?

  ‘Mr Durant is a distant cousin,’ she added, looking at Felicity.

  Uncomfortable with her mother-in-law’s frostiness, Felicity said, ‘Welcome to Fernley Park, sir. I look forward to becoming better acquainted. Am I to understand you are a friend of Richard’s as well as his kinsman?’

  ‘I like to think so and, as we are now cousins—albeit distant—I beg you will call me Charles.’

  ‘I have no objection,’ Felicity said, warming to him. ‘And I would be pleased if you will reciprocate and call me Felicity.’

  ‘Indeed I shall. I can see we shall get on famously, Felicity. My cousin is a fortunate man.’

  Felicity sat on the sofa. Charles immediately sat beside her.

  ‘You were about to enlighten me as to the reason for your visit, Mr Durant,’ the dowager said.

  Charles appeared impervious to the dowager’s inhospitable tone. ‘I was knocking around town at a loose end, dear Aunt, and thought I’d pay my favourite cousin a visit. Nothing whatsoever,’ he added, with a surreptitious wink at Felicity, ‘to do with my eagerness to inspect his new bride, I do assure you.’

  Felicity returned his infectious smile as two maids entered the room carrying trays laden with tea and cakes.

  ‘I am sorry Richard is not here to welcome you,’ Felicity said to Charles. ‘He is out riding, but I expect him to return very soon.’

  ‘Yes,
so I was informed, on that crazy stallion of his. And I hear he is racing it on Saturday.’

  Felicity tried to ignore the squirm of apprehension in her belly at the thought of that race.

  ‘I do wish you might do something to curb Stanton’s penchant for taking risks, Felicity,’ the dowager said, in a faint voice.

  ‘I beg you not to fret, dear ladies,’ Charles said. ‘The stallion is highly strung, but Richard is an excellent horseman. I very much doubt he will come a cropper.’

  ‘I am all gratitude for your unwavering faith in my abilities, Charles—’ came a dry comment from the doorway ‘—but I fear neither my mother nor my wife are likely to be reassured by your words.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Richard had tried to shake himself free of his unaccustomed fit of despondency with a fast and furious gallop on Thor but as soon as he turned for home his frustration with Felicity’s inconsistent behaviour had resurfaced with a vengeance. She had been reluctant to wed him from the first and, despite the ‘bargain’ of their marriage, her rejection hurt.

  He entered the salon, cheered by the news of Charles’s arrival, only to hear his cousin inadvertently fuelling the fears of Mother and Felicity over that blasted race.

  ‘Stan.’ Charles leapt to his feet and hurried across the room to clasp Richard’s hand. ‘You must believe I had no intention of scaring the ladies... Oh, you know me, Coz—my mouth runs before my brain at times.’

  ‘Worry not, Charles, they were both in a fret about it before ever you arrived. It is good to see you.’

  ‘I am relieved to hear you say so. I did wonder...with your so recent nuptials...if I am in the way, you only have to say.’

  ‘You are welcome, Charles. I see you have made Felicity’s acquaintance.’

  ‘I have, and we have been getting along famously, is that not so, Felicity? Oh, do not take offence, dear fellow. I begged your lady’s permission before making free with her name.’

  Richard glanced at Felicity, whose eyes were firmly fixed on Charles. His temper flared.

  ‘My wife is nothing if not accommodating.’

  Ah. Now he had her attention. Her amber eyes clung to his face, then travelled slowly down to linger on his clenched fists. Swearing silently, he loosened his fingers.

  ‘I trust you enjoyed your ride, my dear?’ Felicity turned to Charles before Richard could respond, continuing, ‘A vigorous ride is so very soothing if one is feeling a trifle out of sorts, would you not agree, Charles? Oh, not that I am suggesting for one moment that Richard was in any way out of temper, of course.’ Guileless amber eyes turned on Richard. ‘It was merely an observation.’

  ‘My ride was exactly how I expected it to be. I find consistency in all things so very essential. Do you not agree, my sweet?’

  Felicity lifted her chin. ‘I find consistency overrated, Husband. It can so easily result in ennui, don’t you find?’

  Richard felt his mouth twitch and his prickly temper slowly subsided.

  ‘I am not certain I followed that exchange, Coz,’ Charles said, in a peevish tone. ‘No doubt I shall, in time, become accustomed to interpreting such pointed asides. Although why you married couples needs must talk in riddles quite escapes me, I am sure.’

  ‘It does not escape me,’ the dowager said, tight-lipped. ‘Quarrelling within earshot of others is most unbecoming. I am surprised at you, Stanton. I suggest you apologize.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mother, it is I who should apologize,’ Felicity said quickly. ‘I am afraid I provoked Richard beyond endurance earlier, and I am sorry.’

  ‘And I too, my dear.’

  ‘And now we are all friends again, might I ask what time dinner is served?’ Charles asked. ‘I’m famished.’

  ‘Well, really.’ Richard’s mother rose. ‘You too, Mr Durant, could do with a lesson in good manners. I shall rest in my bedchamber before dinner.’

  ‘Well?’ Charles looked from Richard to Felicity and back again. ‘Do you intend to enlighten me about dinner, or must I beg?’

  * * *

  ‘This is an abomination, milady.’

  The words jolted Felicity from her reverie. She stared at Yvette.

  Abomination? ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘This, milady.’ Yvette marched across the room to the wardrobe and flung the door wide with a dramatic flourish. ‘It is an abomination.’

  Felicity sank on to a nearby chair. She had been preoccupied with Richard—it took her a few minutes to disengage her thoughts and concentrate on Yvette’s words, and then a bubble of amusement lodged in her throat. She should be offended and take Yvette to task for her impertinence, or her lack of respect, or whatever else her mother-in-law would find to deplore in her maid’s behaviour, but Felicity was, instead, diverted. The Frenchwoman was undoubtedly passionate and sincere.

  ‘What, precisely, do you find to be an abomination, Yvette?’

  ‘All of it.’ Yvette flung a dismissive arm towards the open wardrobe. ‘What are you to wear for dinner tonight, milady?’ Yvette turned tragic eyes towards Felicity. ‘There is a guest. And when we go to London? This?’ She snatched out a white muslin dress and flung it on the bed. ‘This?’

  ‘Yvette!’

  The maid stopped in the act of dragging another dress from the wardrobe.

  ‘I am happy that you care about my appearance, but please understand that I have worn those same garments for some time now, and I have survived, have I not?’

  ‘Ah, but, milady, then you did not have me. I have the reputation.’

  Felicity bit back a smile. ‘What are your objections to my clothes, might I ask?’

  ‘The colours, they are mal. They make you—how you say, sickly. Your lips, your cheeks, they go bleu. You need the strong, the jewel colours, to make your skin alive.’

  ‘Well, in time, Yvette, I shall purchase new dresses, and I shall rely on your help. But, in the meantime, I am afraid I have no choice but to continue to wear my existing gowns.’

  Yvette continued to grumble as she helped Felicity dress for dinner. She arranged her hair, brushing it thoroughly then twisting and pinning it up in a way that softened and framed her face rather than accentuating the sharpness of her features.

  ‘I make the lotions for your skin, it will be soft and smell delicious, for your lord, and he will not be angry with the bills from the modiste. And your hair—with my own recipe I will make it glow with the health. You will see, milady. You will not regret employing Yvette.’

  Her fingers suddenly stilled on Felicity’s hair. ‘I have the idea, milady. You will wait there.’

  The maid flew from the room. As Felicity waited, her thoughts turned yet again to Richard and, as if the thought had conjured up the man, a soft knock at the door heralded his arrival.

  ‘I thought to escort you down to dinner, Felicity,’ he said, sauntering into the room, starkly handsome in his evening clothes, his brown eyes appraising her. He held out a jewellery case. ‘By way of an apology for my behaviour, and a token of my esteem.’

  He opened the lid, and Felicity gasped. Guilt flooded her. She did not deserve gifts. She would try to find some middle ground in their everyday dealings.

  ‘They are beautiful, Richard. Your mother—?’

  ‘Never wears them.’ He placed the case on the dressing table in front of Felicity. The ruby-and-diamond necklace and matching eardrops, cushioned on white velvet, glowed blood red and white-hot in the candlelight. ‘They are part of the Stanton collection and, therefore, yours to wear whenever you please. If you wish to have any of the jewels reset, you need only to say. Some of the styles are too old-fashioned for today—they would swamp your delicate neck.’

  Tingles raced through her as long fingers feathered the side of her neck.

  One black-clad arm reached over her s
houlder and lifted the necklace from the box. ‘Allow me.’

  The flesh between her thighs leapt in response to his deepening tone. Her teeth sank into her lower lip.

  He bent to fasten the catch.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose as his warm breath played across her skin and, in the looking glass, the quickening rise and fall of her chest was emphasized by the glowing jewels. His face appeared over her shoulder, reflected next to her own as he rubbed his freshly shaved cheek against hers.

  ‘You smell lovely,’ he murmured and a delicious sensual awareness washed over her skin.

  His head tilted and a warm tongue trailed up the side of her neck to her ear. Gentle teeth nibbled. Then he reached for the eardrops and hung one from her lobe. He nibbled his way around the nape of her neck to her other ear. Shivers raced up and down her arms and she trembled as her nipples grew hard and her bones turned soft.

  ‘There.’

  She could remain still no longer. She rose to her feet, and turned. Straight into his arms.

  ‘It is dark outside, Felicity Joy,’ he murmured, his lips inches from hers. ‘It is our time.’

  He claimed her lips with a deep-throated ‘mmmm’ that made her bones melt.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The door opened but, before he released her, Richard put his lips to Felicity’s ear.

  ‘Later...’

  That seductive promise whispered across her skin and reverberated deep in her soul, setting her senses aflame. She clung to him, a moan escaping her lips. Strong hands steadied her. She sucked in a deep breath before turning to a beaming Yvette, who had returned carrying a deep red Chinese silk shawl.

  ‘Tallis, she did not tell the untruth. She said the rubies.’ Tallis was the dowager’s personal maid.

  Yvette bustled towards Felicity to wrap the shawl around her shoulders, oblivious to Richard’s perplexed frown. Felicity ducked her knees to look in the mirror. She had never worn this colour before. Her skin in the candlelight looked warm and alive, her eyes sparkled back at her, her cheeks were becomingly flushed...or was that the result of Richard’s kiss?