From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  ‘What has Tallis to do—?’

  ‘Milady needs the colour, milord. Her dresses, they are all...’ Yvette hesitated, lips pursed. ‘They are pah.’

  ‘And I find I am none the wiser. Felicity...?’

  ‘Yvette seems to think that my entire wardrobe is...unsuitable.’

  Richard stepped back and perused Felicity, head to toe.

  ‘I like you in that colour, Felicity Joy. But, still...Tallis?’

  ‘I beg for her help,’ Yvette said. ‘I ask her for the coloured shawl to suit milady, and she tells me about the rubies. Bon. You will not disgrace me tonight, milady.’

  ‘No, I will not, Yvette. Thank you.’

  On their way to the dining room, the memory of their quarrel still weighing on her mind, Felicity searched for a neutral subject.

  ‘Why does your mother so dislike Charles? I can see he might not be her idea of the perfect gentleman, but he is a family member, and a guest.’

  ‘He is not merely a cousin, Felicity. He is, until our son is born, my heir. He is not, you may have surmised, the steadiest of fellows and I am afraid that goes for his attitude to money as well.’

  ‘So her objection to him is what he is rather than who he is?’

  ‘Indeed, although I could not with any honesty claim Charles is the sort of young man who would ever gain my mother’s approval.’

  * * *

  Dinner was quiet, the dowager’s brooding disapproval casting a shadow over the conversation, and the men subsequently lingered over their port. When they eventually joined the ladies in the salon, Felicity sat at the pianoforte and sang and a warm glow filled her at the heat in Richard’s eyes as he watched her.

  ‘Later...’

  His promise echoed through her mind, a delicious tremor of anticipation snaking through her, as the dowager bade them goodnight and retired. Richard and Charles were sprawled on facing sofas, discussing hunting. Felicity, next to Charles and facing Richard, caught his eye as she stood.

  ‘If you will excuse me, I am tired,’ she said. ‘I, too, will bid you goodnight.’

  Both men stood, and Richard took her hands, pressing a kiss on her suddenly overheated skin.

  ‘Goodnight, my dear.’

  In bed, she waited. And waited. Finally, when the clock on the mantel read three o’clock, no longer able to keep her eyes open, Felicity snuffed out her candle and tried to sleep.

  * * *

  Richard buried his head under the bedclothes at the knock on his bedchamber door. His head thumped in rhythm with his heartbeat, which was entirely too loud for comfort.

  ‘Come back later, Simson,’ he gritted out. Even talking was an effort. Why had he allowed Charles to keep him up drinking so late?

  ‘It isn’t Simson. It’s me.’

  The bed dipped on one side and the sheet was slowly pulled back. Richard screwed his eyes shut against the light and groaned.

  ‘Here. Drink this. My father used to swear by it.’

  He cranked open one eyelid. A glass, filled with some noxious-looking substance, wavered in front of his eyes. He levered himself up into a half-sitting position.

  ‘What is it? It looks foul.’

  ‘Oh, it is. But it will settle your stomach and help with your headache,’ Felicity said in a far-too-cheerful voice.

  ‘If I drink it, will you leave me in peace?’ He reached for the glass, willing to try anything to ease his pounding head.

  ‘Don’t sip at it, swallow it in one,’ Felicity warned as his lips found the rim of the glass.

  He tipped his head back, braced himself, and gulped the thick substance down. ‘Urrgggh.’

  He glared at Felicity, perched on his bed neatly attired in a white muslin morning gown, her hair pinned up. ‘What time...?’ He peered at the clock. ‘Twelve o’clock?’ He groaned, dropping his head back to the pillow.

  ‘Charles has been up these past two hours.’

  ‘He is accustomed to late hours and an excess of brandy. I gave up that particular weakness some time ago.’

  ‘How do you feel now?’

  Richard took inner stock. ‘Better.’ His guts were no longer roiling and the drumroll in his head had softened. ‘What was in that?’

  ‘It is better you do not know.’

  Richard fumbled for her hand. ‘Thank you. I hope you did not stay awake waiting for me last night?’

  ‘Oh, no. I was quite exhausted. I was asleep almost before my head touched the pillow.’

  Had she not missed him at all? The uncertainties that had plagued him after her rejection yesterday reared their heads again. Well, if that was how she wanted their marriage to be, who was he to deny her?

  * * *

  By the time Richard was fit to face the day, both the dowager and Felicity had eaten luncheon and only Charles was in the dining room, his plate still piled high.

  ‘I came back for a second helping, Coz. Talented cook, your Mrs Pratt. I can recommend the pork pie. Help yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, Charles. You are most generous.’

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me, Coz,’ Charles said, waving his fork airily, ‘you know I ain’t one to stand on ceremony.’

  Richard selected a slice of bread and some ham. His stomach lurched as he contemplated the pie, and he decided to pass.

  ‘I am, as ever, delighted to see you, Charles, but I should warn you that Felicity and I leave for London very shortly. You are most welcome to stay longer, however, if there is a particular reason for you to be out of town?’

  Charles laughed, quite unabashed. ‘The duns aren’t beating down my door quite yet, Coz, although a monkey wouldn’t go amiss.’

  ‘I paid off your debts last year, Charles. What happened?’

  ‘Now, don’t go all poker-faced on me, Stan. A fellow has to live.’ Charles fell silent, eyeing Richard hopefully.

  ‘One hundred, Charles, and no more.’

  Charles grinned. ‘Can’t blame a fellow for trying. No, truth be told, I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer. You’ve set the ton on its ears with your marriage, don’t you know? The gabble-mongers are in their element with the news the Elusive Earl has been leg-shackled at last and the air is rife with speculation about the speed of the wedding and the relative obscurity of the bride.’

  Richard felt his forehead bunch and lower. ‘It is no one else’s business.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more, dear chap,’ Charles said, with a lift of his fair brows, ‘but you must have been prepared for rumours to fly about.’

  He had not.

  ‘I should hate you to think I have come to spread gossip,’ Charles continued, around a mouthful of pie, ‘but I thought you should be aware of what is being said.’ He lowered his voice, leaning closer. ‘The latest on dit is that she entrapped you.’

  ‘What the...!’ Richard snapped his teeth against a curse. ‘I am not in the habit of being forced to do anything against my inclination.’

  ‘Oh, I know that, Coz. I believe the gossip is fuelled by your wife’s age, and the fact she has been out for...ahem...several years. I’m ashamed to admit I could not quite bring the lady to mind, so I determined to come and see the truth for myself.’

  Richard tensed as his pulse pounded. How dare anyone speculate about his wife in such a way?

  ‘She is delightful,’ Charles rattled on, ‘but not...if I might venture...quite in your usual style. Love match, was it?’

  His knowing tone and the mischief in his blue eyes goaded Richard, whose head was starting to hammer once more. ‘Love? Love is for fools. Ours is a marriage of convenience. I have neither time nor inclination for more. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.’

  He strode from the room, Charles’s amused, ‘Didn’t touch a nerve there, did
I, Coz?’ floating after him.

  In the hall, Felicity was heading for the stairs.

  ‘Felicity, wait.’

  Richard searched her shuttered expression. Had she overheard his words to Charles? Did it matter? She had not overheard anything she did not already know.

  On a whim, he said, ‘Would you care for a turn around the garden?’

  Her gaze slid from his. ‘Not now, Richard. I have promised to go through the linen stores with Mrs Jakeway. And don’t you have business to attend to?’

  So she had heard. He watched her disappear up the stairs. Why had he even bothered to try? Why should he care? Love was a game for fools. Felicity had the right idea—stay aloof. That way you couldn’t get hurt.

  Clamping his teeth shut against the headache-induced nausea that swelled, he spun on his heel and marched into his study.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next day was Saturday, the day of the race between Richard on Thor and Sir Timothy Rowling on Brutus. The course had been agreed, stewards placed at strategic points along the parish boundary and all gates along the route opened. The riders must pass each steward, but could choose to jump any hedge rather than divert through the nearest gateway.

  Felicity, who had prayed for rain, cursed the cloudless sky as Charles drove her to Rowling Manor in time for the start of the race. Charles had ridden the course with Richard the previous afternoon, and described the course in frightening detail as he drove. Already sick with nerves, Felicity’s mood was not improved when the first person she saw when they arrived was Lady Rowling, clinging to Richard, who had ridden over that morning.

  ‘Do not worry, dear Lady Stanton, I have taken good care of your husband and ensured he is well nourished in preparation for his exertions.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Why don’t you concentrate on your own husband? Her jealousy of the other woman appalled Felicity. If seeing him with Lady Rowling sparked such emotions, how would she cope in London, where he would be surrounded by women even more beautiful? Felicity frowned. It would seem her husband had already taken residence in her heart.

  Richard extricated himself from Lady Rowling, grabbed Felicity’s hand and drew her to one side. ‘I am very pleased you came, Felicity. I know you do not approve, but there is no need to look so worried. I promise I shall return safe and sound. Thor is much fitter than Rowling’s nag.’

  ‘That is what concerns me,’ Felicity said. ‘You appear to believe you—and Thor—are invincible. What if—?’

  ‘Stop! You have been paying too much attention to Mother.’

  ‘She is distraught. I do not believe she will rest until this nonsense is over.’

  ‘Nonsense? Did you expect me to reject the challenge? Trust me. I will return in one piece. You do not see Lady Rowling worrying over her husband’s ability.’

  No, indeed. She is too busy dancing attendance on you. ‘I do not doubt your skills, Richard. I just do not understand why you needs must take such risks.’

  ‘Now you sound like Mother. I’m a grown man. I know my abilities and my limitations. You should trust me not to take unnecessary risks.’

  The whole race is one unnecessary risk. But she had said as much as she dared. He was clearly not listening. She watched, heart in mouth, as Dalton legged Richard up on to Thor, who wheeled round, ears flat. Richard settled him with a few words but both horses remained on their toes, sensing the atmosphere.

  ‘Once they’re off, there’s a viewpoint up the hill where we can see most of the course,’ Charles said in Felicity’s ear. ‘We will go up there, and you will see what a fine horseman you married.’

  * * *

  From the hill, they watched the two horses gallop neck and neck across fields, down lanes and through woodlands. Felicity was proud of Richard’s undoubted skill as he handled the powerful stallion but, every time they faced a hedge, her heart froze until they landed safely on the other side. Towards the end of the course, it was clear Brutus was tiring and, before the last hedge, Sir Timothy steadied him, trotting through the gateway and lifting his hand in a good-natured salute as Richard and Thor disappeared towards the Manor.

  ‘Shall we go and congratulate the victor?’ Charles handed her into the curricle.

  They drove up to the Manor in time to see Lady Rowling congratulate Richard with a kiss.

  Shafts of pure jealousy speared Felicity. ‘Charles. If you do not mind, might we say “congratulations” and then leave? I should like to set Mother’s mind at rest.’

  ‘Of course, if that is what you want.’ Charles raised his voice. ‘Congratulations, Coz. I never doubted you could do it.’

  Richard, still red-faced, hair sweat-dampened, rounded the curricle to Felicity’s side, his eyes searching hers. ‘You look as tired as I feel.’ He lifted her gloved hand to his lips. ‘I told you I would be safe.’

  Felicity forced a smile, conscious of Lady Rowling watching. ‘You did indeed. Well ridden. I will see you at home later.’

  ‘You must not take such women to heart,’ Charles said as they took the road home. ‘Richard has more sense than to be entrapped by such as Lady Rowling, I assure you. She is determined to fling herself at him, but she only succeeds in making herself look foolish.’

  What could she possibly say to that?

  Charles did not seem at all put out by her silence. Instead, he rattled on, ‘Stan’s not known as the Elusive Earl for nothing.’

  ‘Elusive Earl?’

  ‘They name him such in the clubs because he is discreet to the point of secrecy. In fact, there is a wager in the Book at White’s as to the identity of his current mistress.

  ‘Hoi, steady there!’ He switched his attention to the horses, jibbing at a fallen branch on the road ahead.

  Felicity absorbed his revelation, breathing deeply until she was sure she had her emotions on a tight rein. Fortunately, Charles was preoccupied with the horses until they settled once more into a steady trot.

  ‘What was I saying? Oops, my wretched tongue running on again. I should not mention the Betting Book to a lady, should I?’ He laughed. ‘They’d drum me out if they knew. Men’s business, don’t you know. Do not, I beg of you, mention this to Stan.’

  That she could promise.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ten days later

  Felicity gazed from the window as the carriage pulled up outside Stanton House, in Cavendish Square. Richard, dressed for riding, top boots polished, riding whip in hand, appeared at the door, having driven to town in his curricle, with Charles. Felicity had managed to mask her hurt at his choice. She liked Charles, but she resented the way he had monopolized Richard’s time.

  Richard’s words rang again in her ears: ‘Love? Love is for fools. Ours is a marriage of convenience. I have neither time nor inclination for more.’

  How true that observation. As soon as there was an alternative to her company, he had become the Elusive Earl again.

  Can you blame him? You rejected his every overture, even before Charles arrived.

  ‘Welcome to Stanton House, Felicity.’

  Still that cool smile as he handed her from the carriage. Despite it being safer in every way for her heart, she could not but regret the polite distance between them.

  ‘Your house is very imposing.’

  ‘Our house. It will be more suited to a family home than to a bachelor’s residence, that is certain.’

  Family? Not only had Richard avoided Felicity during the day since Charles’s arrival, neither had he visited her bed at night. She had contrived to keep busy, allowing little time to think, but at night the minutes and the hours had stretched, mocking her futile efforts to banish him from her thoughts.

  ‘You are going out?’ Is he going to see her?

  ‘I’m sorry to rush away, but I am sure Mrs C
arter, the housekeeper, will show you around. I have some pressing business to attend to.’

  ‘There is no need to apologize.’ Felicity swallowed painfully. ‘I am sure I will have plenty to keep me occupied.’

  Who is she? How might I find out?

  Her stomach screwed into knots. There was little hope of Richard returning to her bed whilst they were in London,

  ‘I am sure you will.’

  Richard smiled as he surveyed the street, his eagerness tangible. Felicity battened down her emotions and pasted on a bright smile.

  This is how my life is to be.

  ‘Will you be home for dinner?’ she asked. She forced her imagination away from Richard’s likely activities that afternoon and concentrated on her plan to visit Westfield tomorrow.

  I wonder if Dominic is back in town.

  ‘Of course. I will see you later.’ Richard lifted her hand before she understood his intentions, stripped off her glove, and pressed warm lips to her skin. She fought not to snatch her hand from his grasp. ‘I shall look forward to dining à deux with my wife. This is meant to be our honeymoon, after all, even though it has been delayed. I must confess, although Charles is good company in small doses, his constant rattle does weary one after a time.’

  * * *

  ‘You have not the excitement to be back in London, milady?’

  Felicity started. She had pleaded a headache, postponing her tour of Stanton House with Mrs Carter, forgetting Yvette would be in her bedchamber, unpacking her trunk.

  She put a hand to her forehead. ‘I have the headache, Yvette. Could you finish that later? I wish to rest,’ she said, even as her inner voice berated her for allowing Richard to overset her.

  Other women accepted the realities of their husbands’ hedonistic lives.

  How many, though, are like Mama, hiding their distress and boredom behind bright smiles?

  Felicity refused to descend into despondency. She had forged an interesting life before her marriage—despite the disapproval of some—and she would continue to do so. She was not—could not possibly be—in love with her husband. She enjoyed their lovemaking, and she had missed it over the past week or so, but that was not love.