Yvette folded down the bedcovers and waited to help Felicity disrobe. A glance at the maid’s face gave Felicity pause. The Frenchwoman had not given up, despite her disadvantages. Felicity had learned something of the deprivations of Yvette’s life since the death of her former employer. Shame niggled at her own self-pity when she enjoyed so many of the advantages and privileges of her class.
‘My headache has eased,’ she said to Yvette. She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. Four o’clock. ‘Let us go for a walk in the park. The exercise will refresh us both after the journey.’
‘You wish to be seen with me, my lady?’ Doubt laced Yvette’s tone.
‘It is customary for a maid to accompany her mistress if she wishes to go out alone, is it not?’
Mutely, Yvette touched her cheek.
Felicity chose her words carefully. ‘Yvette, I have no qualms, as long as you will not be uncomfortable. I should much prefer your company to that of a maidservant I do not know.’
Yvette huffed aloud, then bustled to the wardrobe. ‘Me, I am uncomfortable only to be seen with the lady not dressed to her very best. This makes my skills look poor. You will wear the new walking gown.’
Their delayed departure from Hampshire had given Felicity the opportunity to have some new dresses made up in readiness for their visit to London. Yvette brought forth a round gown of sprigged-primrose muslin, a pomona-green spencer, and a matching bonnet and, studying the result in the mirror, Felicity blessed her new maid’s unerring eye for colour and style. She was still no conventional beauty, but the colours gave her skin a healthy glow and, privately, she did believe she looked quite striking.
* * *
The first person she saw in the park was her husband, astride a dapple-grey gelding, beside a smartly dressed woman riding a stunning light grey. Behind them were Cousin Leo, Dominic and another woman. Jealousy flared.
So this is his pressing business—riding in the park. I suppose I should be grateful he can spare some of his precious time to dine with me tonight.
Felicity waited as Richard and Dominic peeled away from the group and trotted over to greet her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Felicity. I had no expectation of seeing you here. I made sure you would need to rest after the journey.’
He looks uncomfortable. Who is that woman? Is she his mistress? Is that why he has not introduced me? Or is he ashamed of me?
‘I felt the need for fresh air.’ Felicity’s temples began to throb. She forced a smile for Dominic. ‘I hoped I would find you in town, Dominic.’
Dominic leapt from his horse and pulled the reins over its head. ‘It is good to see you, Fliss.’ He slipped into using the name he had used since childhood as he offered her his arm to lean on. ‘With your permission, Stan, I shall walk with your wife.’
Richard tipped his hat. ‘With pleasure, Avon. I shall see you on the next circuit, my dear.’ He wheeled his horse round and trotted off to catch up with the others.
‘Who is that woman?’
‘That? Oh, no one in particular. I’m pleased you are back in town, Fliss. I hope you mean to visit Westfield soon. There’s a problem.’
He had definitely changed the subject. Felicity’s stomach hollowed. Had her nightmare begun already?
‘What is the problem?’
‘It’s Millie. Do you remember her?’
‘Of course. She went to work in Viscount Radley’s household, did she not? Is she ill?’
‘Not ill. She has been turned off for loose morals.’
‘Oh, no! Is she with child?’
Dominic nodded. ‘She refuses to name the man. Thinks he loves her and will stand by her. It appears to have been one of Radley’s intimates rather than one of the other servants though.’
Unrequited love. These poor, deluded girls who believe a man’s attentions equated to love. Like Emma, although at least she had not been with child.
‘Do you think he will provide for her and the child?’
Dominic halted, looking at her with raised brows. ‘Do you?’
They walked on, Dominic’s horse plodding behind them.
‘There are places, I have heard.’
Dominic might be four years her junior, but he gave her a look reminiscent of his father, and his tone was disapproving. ‘What have you heard?’
Felicity’s involvement with Westfield had opened her eyes to much of life outside the confines of high society. ‘There are charity places, like Westfield. For unmarried mothers.’
‘My lady?’
Felicity turned at Yvette’s interjection. ‘Yes, Yvette?’
‘I interrupt, I apologize. But I know of such a place. There is a lady, she is a...how you say...a patron.’
‘Who? Do you know her name?’
‘I do not, but this house is in Cheapside. My friend went there. They were kind to her.’
‘Dominic, would you escort me to Westfield tomorrow, please?’
‘Of course. I’ll call for you at two. Take care you are ready, mind, for I—’
‘Yes, do not say it,’ Felicity interrupted, laughing. ‘Don’t keep your cattle standing in the cold.’ How typical of Dominic to worry about his horses catching a chill if she should dare to keep him waiting. ‘I shall be ready for you at two.’
* * *
Richard tapped at the door dividing his bedchamber from Felicity’s, and entered. She was already in bed—despite the earliness of the hour—her plaited hair draped over one shoulder. She closed her book, placing it on the bedside cabinet. He could gain no clue of her feelings from her expression. Was she pleased to see him? Indifferent?
‘You are quite recovered from the journey, I hope?’
‘Thank you, yes. I am sorry I did not join you for dinner tonight. I dare say I would have been wise to rest this afternoon instead of walking in the park. I was quite done in when we returned.’
‘It is of no matter. It is more important that you take care of your health. Did you manage to sleep?’
‘I did. And Yvette brought me supper on a tray earlier, so I have eaten as well.’ She looked him and up and down. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips. ‘You look very smart, Richard. Are you going out?’
Was that a hint of disappointment in her tone? There was a gleam in those amber eyes of hers that stirred his blood. He sat on the edge of the bed.
‘I am going to my club,’ he said. It was the truth, if not the whole truth. ‘I did not think you would mind, as you are indisposed.’
She bit into her lower lip. His pulse quickened. It had been a week...more...too long... He swayed closer. ‘Do you mind, Felicity Joy?’ He lowered his head, aiming for her cheek.
She turned her head.
Their lips met.
She was all hot, writhing passion in his arms as their tongues duelled. Frantic fingers tugged at clothing, threaded through hair, sought out sensitive places, tweaking and caressing. His jacket was pushed from his shoulders, his immaculate neckcloth pulled loose and discarded. Small hands splayed across his chest, drifting ever lower. He reached between them and pushed down the bedcovers, kicked them free, reached for her nightdress, tugged it to her waist. The smooth nakedness of her thighs inflamed him further, and he fumbled for the fall of his trousers, only to find her fingers there already, deftly unbuttoning, delving within to release him, stroking and squeezing.
He moved over her, feeling her moist readiness, revelling in the wanting in her half-lidded eyes as she captured his gaze.
‘Now.’
This was no supplication. It was a demand. One he was happy to obey. Scented skin, warm and silky, filled his hands as he cupped peachy buttocks. She opened for him, clamping her legs around his hips. All he wanted, all he could think about, was to be inside her. H
ot, wet, welcoming, he entered with no finesse, no delay, and she gasped her pleasure as she stretched to take him, and then clenched fiercely around him as he moved in urgent rhythm.
Fast and furious, they came together, her scream almost drowned out by his triumphal shout. He collapsed on her, chest heaving, sweat beading his brow and upper lip, his brain tumbling in an attempt to catch up. He had come to her bedchamber to make sure she was not ill, to say goodnight. Not to make frantic, passionate love with his wife. He had exhibited no more control than a callow youth. As his breathing slowed and his pulse steadied, he eased his weight from her.
She whimpered, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him down, kissing his ear, whispering, ‘I have missed you, Husband.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘And I have missed you, too, Felicity Joy.’
Richard sought her sweet lips and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly, until she began to shift restlessly beneath him again.
He reached between her thighs, stroking and circling, until she arched beneath him, small cries of pleasure tearing from her lips. Pushing the neck of her nightgown aside, he sucked one nipple deep into his mouth, flicking the swollen bud with his tongue.
‘Richaaaaard.’ Her scream trailed into silence punctuated only by gasps as her body bowed, pushing her hips against his hand. Then one final drawn-out cry, followed by her sigh of pleasure.
He took her lips in a long, soothing kiss. She smiled sleepily, lids drooping, lips still moist from his kisses. He straightened her nightgown and tucked the covers round her shoulders. She roused.
‘Are you still going out?’
‘I am. It is too early for me to sleep. I’m meeting Leo at White’s.’
The purse of her lips struck at his heart, and at his conscience. It would take little persuasion for him to stay, to take her in his arms and to drift off to sleep together. He had missed her and he, too, was weary. But he had a visit to make that could not be postponed.
‘Sleep well, sweetheart.’ He kissed her cheek.
Felicity turned over and snuggled down with a deep sigh. ‘I wish you would stay.’
Her words were slurred with fatigue and Richard had to strain to catch them. The urge to stay hovered, tempting, but he banished it with a silent growl. He was in danger of falling under his own wife’s spell, and that would never do. Too much dependence on another would end in pain. His parents had taught him that.
He stroked the damp tendrils from Felicity’s face and bent to brush her cheek with his lips. He had not lied, other than by omission. He had every intention of going to White’s first, to meet friends, to hear the latest political intrigues and to play a hand or two of cards. But he would not stay long, for he had another, more important, visit to make.
Harriet. As he tied a fresh neckcloth, casting an eye over the rest of his clothing for creases, he pondered his former mistress. He owed her an explanation, face to face, about his abrupt ending to their arrangement. She had been an ideal lover—totally discreet, good company, and a pleasure in bed—and he hoped they could part on good terms.
* * *
After a pleasant few hours at White’s, Richard elected to walk the short distance to Harriet’s house in Sackville Street.
‘Good evening, Stevens,’ he said as he entered the hallway and handed his hat, gloves and cane to Harriet’s butler.
‘Her ladyship is expecting you, my lord. She is in her private sitting room.’
Richard entered Harriet’s sitting room—which adjoined her bedchamber and was the scene of many of their passionate encounters—wishing she had chosen a more neutral setting.
‘Good evening, my dear.’ He crossed the room to where she lounged on her green-and-cream-striped chaise longue, and kissed her outstretched hand. ‘You are in good health, I trust?’
He selected a chair that provided some distance between them.
Harriet pouted her full, pink lips as she patted the upholstered seat by her side. ‘Are you not going to sit here next to me, Stanton?’ She paused; the silence stretched. Then she shrugged. ‘I can see by your expression that you have not, after all, had a change of heart. This is truly the end of our affaire, then?’
‘It is.’
Harriet’s lids drooped, concealing her thoughts, but her firmed lips hinted at her disappointment.
‘I am sorry for the manner in which I informed you of my marriage. I have come to explain in person.’
‘There is little need for further explanation.’ Harriet’s tone and words held no hint of chagrin. ‘You have wed and you do not wish to continue our arrangement—at least, for the time being.’
Richard frowned. ‘Do not labour under any misapprehensions, Harry. I have no intentions of continuing with any arrangements outside my marriage, until...’
He hesitated. He could not voice his intentions because, all at once, he was no longer entirely certain what they were. At this moment, he had no thought of bedding any woman other than his wife. He felt his frown deepen. He had never delighted in bedding as many women as possible. He had always preferred to have a mistress: one woman to be faithful to, until the affaire ran its course and he was ready to move on.
He had not considered the years ahead when he had so blithely decided to wed. There would be no clean break in the future: if he became dissatisfied with Felicity—or she with him, he realized, with a lurch in his gut—there would be no moving on. He would remain married.
Dark-fringed, violet-hued eyes regarded him teasingly. ‘Until...?’
Richard stood abruptly. ‘I have something for you, Harry: a token of my appreciation.’ He delved in his pocket, withdrawing a small square box. He had visited Rundell & Bridge that afternoon, and selected a pair of amethyst-and-diamond earrings for Harriet.
Harriet opened the box. ‘Oh, Richard. They are beautiful.’
‘I am pleased you like them.’
He had said all he wanted to say. There was no point in lingering.
Harriet looked up. ‘I am sorry to lose you, Stanton. I hope we may still be friends?’
‘I hope so too, Harriet. Goodnight.’
In the hall, Stevens handed him his hat, gloves and cane. Richard bid him goodnight and headed out into the night. He turned towards Cavendish Square, lighter-hearted now he had seen Harriet.
The sudden rush of feet alerted him.
He spun round, raising his cane. Two men, armed with clubs, were upon him. He jabbed the cane, two-handed, into the attacker to his left, who doubled over with a whoosh of breath. Switching the cane to his left hand, Richard bunched his right into a fist, watching as the second man swung his club. Richard dodged back, then leapt in close, aiming a short jab at the ruffian’s nose. He felt the satisfying crunch and squelch of connection as a cry of ‘Oi, there!’ reached his ears, followed by the welcome sound of a night-watchman’s rattle.
The world went black.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Felicity awoke and stretched luxuriously, still enveloped in the afterglow of their lovemaking. If only Richard was asleep next to her. That wave of lust...it had swept him along too. It had been more than she had dared to wish for. Seized with an urge to see him, banishing the doubts that threatened to overrule her heart, she leapt out of bed and ran barefoot to the adjoining door. Sudden shyness caused her to open the door quietly, and only just wide enough to pop her head through.
Richard’s bedchamber was empty, the bed already made. She closed the door and rang for Yvette. Richard must be at breakfast. It was barely ten o’clock. Surely he would not have gone out already?
Barnes, the butler, materialized in the hall as Felicity walked downstairs.
‘Is his lordship at breakfast, Barnes?’
‘I do not believe his lordship has arisen yet, my lady.’
She
fought to conceal her dismay. Had he not returned last night?
‘I make no doubt he was out late and is now catching up with his sleep,’ she said, lightly.
‘Indeed, my lady.’ Not by so much as a flicker did Barnes hint that he knew any different. ‘Breakfast is laid out in the back parlour, if you would care to follow me?’
Various dishes—tantalizing aromas scenting the air—were displayed on the sideboard. The table was set for two. Neither place setting had been disturbed.
‘There is no need to remain, Barnes. I will serve myself.’
Barnes bowed. ‘Very well, my lady.’
Had Richard gone straight from her bed to that of his mistress? Sweat prickled Felicity’s spine as she recalled asking him to stay. At least she hadn’t begged. Had she? She had been half-asleep: a dangerous state, for was that not the time the truth was most likely to be revealed? When the weary brain did not censor the words spoken? Was she developing feelings for Richard, despite her avowal to keep her heart safe?
She bit half-heartedly into a slice of toast and butter. It tasted of sawdust. She pushed her plate aside, and drank her chocolate, then shoved her chair back. That was enough soul-searching. She would not become a victim of love. By the time she had changed and was ready to go out, shops would be opening their doors for business. She would browse the linen drapers with Yvette and, later, she would visit Westfield with Dominic. It promised to be a busy day: precisely what she needed. There were far worthier causes on which to expend her energies than an errant husband.
In her bedchamber, Felicity contemplated her reflection in the pier glass between the windows. Mayhap she was no beauty, but Yvette had helped her to see she could look better. She fingered the curls that framed her face. Her hair was already glossier, with the use of the honey rinse Yvette had concocted. And her skin almost glowed, the rosewater-and-almond-oil lotion Yvette mixed proving more effective than the Bloom of Ninon de L’Enclos her mother swore by. If her husband preferred the bed of his mistress, she would not become embittered. She would channel her energy into her own life and interests, and learn to merely co-exist with him.
From Wallflower to Countess Page 13