From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  Richard reached across for Selene’s rein, drawing both horses to a halt. ‘Why did you say that?’

  Felicity bit her lip. Could he not have let her remark pass without comment? She did not want to engage in this conversation.

  ‘You jumped to the conclusion that I found you wanting, did you not? Did last night teach you nothing? I was actually thinking what a fine seat you have.’

  ‘Oh.’ Felicity forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘I am sorry.’ She widened her lips in a smile. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’

  He held her gaze, then shook his head. ‘You hear the words I say, but you do not listen, do you? You listen to that nagging voice in your head that says you are not good enough: not worthy of my esteem, or my compliments.’

  His esteem? Was that all?

  That instinctive reaction solved her dilemma: she would fight for his love, for that was what she desired above all else.

  Esteem was a start. Love was the goal.

  The conversation had become too challenging for this early in the morning. Without volition, Felicity’s fingers squeezed the reins as she nudged Selene up to the bit with her leg. With the smoothest of transitions, the mare launched into a canter from a standstill. Within seconds, Gambit was alongside. Richard grinned at her.

  ‘You win, my dear. Lecture over. Let us enjoy our ride.’

  * * *

  As Richard shrugged into his coat of green superfine, he contemplated that afternoon’s visit to the house for fallen women with grave doubts. At least he would be with Felicity to—as Avon so eloquently put it the day before—‘curb her enthusiasm for lost causes’. And to keep her safe.

  Why was she so determined to help Millie? The girl’s plight had clearly touched a nerve. Charles’s hint that Felicity had given birth to an illegitimate child popped into his mind...might others wonder the same? It mattered not—he knew Felicity had been a virgin when he bedded her.

  * * *

  Yvette sat on the box with the coachman, Chivers, to point the way as they drove to Cheapside. Their destination was a tall, narrow, unremarkable house in the middle of a row of identical tall, narrow houses, its front door opening directly on to the street, which was noticeably more run down than most of the surrounding streets. Richard looked around in distaste. The carriage had already attracted the attention of young lads and loiterers.

  ‘Drive around the streets a few times, once we are inside, Chivers, I doubt we shall remain above ten minutes.’

  Richard rapped on the door, which was opened by a woman of around forty summers, greying wisps escaping her cap.

  ‘Oh!’ Her hands flew up, trying in vain to tidy her hair. ‘I did not expect visitors.’ She eyed them uncertainly.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Richard said. ‘I am Stanton, and this is my wife, Lady Stanton.’

  The woman bobbed a curtsy. ‘Mrs Tasker, milord, milady.’

  ‘Might we come in, Mrs Tasker? There is a matter we should like to discuss with you.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She stood back and indicated a door on the right of the dark hallway. Somewhere upstairs a baby wailed. They went through into a small but clean parlour. Felicity glanced at Richard, who gestured for her to continue.

  ‘I shall come straight to the point, Mrs Tasker. I am a patron of the Westfield School and Orphan Asylum, which provides education and training for orphans and destitute children and then finds work for them when they are old enough.

  ‘One of our former girls has found herself in...in...difficulties.’ A blush stained Felicity’s cheeks. ‘I understand you provide a haven for girls in such circumstances. Is that correct?’

  ‘Well, it is and it isn’t, milady. You must understand that I take my orders from the lady who owns this house and provides the funding. We help girls who have fallen from grace under certain circumstances. We do not take in girls who have behaved immorally.’

  Richard could not help but ask, ‘By definition, have they not all behaved immorally?’

  Mrs Tasker folded her arms. ‘Some girls have no choice, if you take my meaning, milord. Some gentlemen think nothing of abusing their position of power over these girls.’

  ‘Indeed, and they swear to a love they do not feel, in order to take advantage of unworldly girls,’ Felicity said, with a bitterness that had Richard’s eyebrows shooting skyward. So vehement over the circumstances of a girl she barely knew? There must be more to her interest than concern for one servant girl. ‘And that is precisely the case poor Millie finds herself in. She was placed in the household of a gentleman and it appears a house guest persuaded her of his love. He, naturally, is long gone and she has been turned off because of her condition.’

  Mrs Tasker frowned. ‘It sounds like the type of case that will interest my employer,’ she said, ‘but I will need to speak to her first. If she agrees, we will find the room.’

  ‘What is the name of your employer? Might we consult with her directly?’ Richard glanced at Felicity as he spoke, and she nodded her approval.

  ‘That is an excellent idea. Won’t you give us her name please, Mrs Tasker?’

  ‘It is Lady Brierley,’ Mrs Tasker said. ‘Do you know her?’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Richard had suffered plenty of blows to the gut whilst sparring in the ring, but never had he struggled so to draw breath. Harriet? This house was Harriet’s? And now here was a tangle, with Felicity so keen to help Millie, she was bound to want to speak to Harriet. His mind reeled with the implications.

  ‘I confess I am not acquainted with her ladyship,’ Felicity said. ‘Stanton?’ She turned her enquiring amber gaze on him.

  ‘We have been introduced.’ His voice rasped. He coughed to clear his throat. ‘With your leave, I shall call upon her and put Millie’s case.’

  ‘I shall accompany you,’ Felicity declared. ‘I am certain we will have much in common. I am interested in her work here, and I should like to see if I can help.’

  Richard cursed silently. He stood up. ‘Come, my dear. We must not delay this good lady any longer. Good day, Mrs Tasker, and thank you for your help.’

  Once in the carriage, and under way, he said, ‘I did not wish to say this in front of Mrs Tasker, but I should prefer you not to become involved with Lady Brierley and her charity, Felicity.’

  ‘You raised no objections before.’

  ‘I thought your intention was merely to find somewhere safe for Millie. You must consider your reputation. It is not acceptable for you to associate yourself with such women.’

  ‘If it is good enough for Lady Brierley, I do not see why...’

  ‘Lady Brierley is not a suitable...’ He paused. He could not bring himself to lie by smearing Harriet’s reputation. This was not her fault. ‘Suffice it to say, I should prefer you not to pursue an acquaintance with Lady Brierley. I will deal with this matter myself.’

  Felicity’s lips thinned. ‘I should prefer to pass my own judgement on Lady Brierley. She must possess some redeeming qualities if she is prepared to help those less fortunate than herself. There are many in society—and I should know, for I have come across much prejudice from them over the years—who consider themselves pious and good Christians, but their actions do not support that view.’ Her amber eyes impaled him. ‘Yes, they—you all—attend church services on a Sunday, but as to helping the poor and weak, as the Bible teaches...well.’

  ‘We shall discuss this further at home, Felicity.’

  Yvette was travelling inside the carriage for the journey home and he had no wish to argue with Felicity in front of her. He was unused to opposition—he was master of his life, of his world. Felicity, the compliant wife he had bargained for, was anything but. She had her own agenda, her own opinions, and she was unafraid to voice them.

  Am I too autocratic? Do
I really want a wife who meekly obeys my every whim and demand?

  In this instance, he had no choice. He consulted his fob watch. Half-past three already. Time was stampeding away from him. He must mollify Felicity, and then he must visit Harriet. He must nip all this nonsense in the bud before it got out of hand.

  * * *

  Felicity stalked ahead of Richard into the front salon at Stanton House, stripping off her gloves. He closed the door behind them.

  ‘I insist you yield to me in this matter, Felicity.’

  ‘What, precisely, is your objection to Lady Brierley?’

  ‘Is it not enough that I have voiced my opposition to the acquaintance?’

  Felicity—her mouth already open to argue—hesitated. She bit at her lip, then crossed the room to stare from the window, which looked out on to the square.

  ‘I have no wish to be perverse. Can you not at least give me a valid reason for your objection?’

  Her tone was conciliatory. Surprised, Richard moved to stand behind her. He cupped her shoulders, relief warring with guilt in his heart. Although he was no longer involved with Harriet, the prospect of his new wife and his former mistress becoming friends—a distinct possibility—was unthinkable. Mayhap in time—when his marriage was more settled—it would not feel so perilous.

  ‘I cannot. I am sorry, sweetheart, but I will not insult the lady other than to repeat my distaste for any social intercourse between you.’

  Felicity had removed her bonnet on her way through the hall, and her pinned-up hair exposed the back of her neck: vulnerable, inviting. Without thought, he leaned towards her and pressed his mouth to her soft skin. Her tremor vibrated through his fingers and he slipped one arm around her waist, pulling her back against the full length of his body.

  Even as he kissed her neck, he was braced for her rejection. But she did not stiffen, or pull away. Instead, her head tilted to the side, allowing him free access. She wrapped her arm over his, caressing his fingers as a quiet sigh escaped her. He explored her neck and ear as she leaned into him.

  All too soon, however, she straightened, her head snapping upright. ‘Oh, no!’

  Richard followed her stare and bit back a curse. Despite the veil covering her face, the lady alighting from a carriage in the street outside was instantly recognisable. A maid climbed out behind her, and assisted the wilting figure of Lady Katherine Farlowe to the front door.

  * * *

  Felicity ran into the hallway.

  ‘Mama. What is wrong? Where is Mr Farlowe?’

  Lady Katherine sniffed, followed by a hiccoughing sigh. Recognising the signs, Felicity clutched her mother’s arm and steered her towards the salon.

  ‘Barnes, would you fetch a glass of ratafia for my mother, please? And ask Mrs Carter to show Wilkins—’ she indicated her mother’s maid ‘—to the Yellow Bedchamber.’

  Footmen were already hauling trunks in through the door. Felicity cast an anxious glance at Richard. What would he make of this intrusion? She wavered between regret at the interruption, and profound relief. It was all very well deciding she would fight for her husband’s affections, but the speed of events had given her no time to mull over the consequences of that decision. One touch of his lips, and she had melted. Would his affection—his love—be conditional upon her submission to his decree in all matters? She found it hard to believe that would make for a contented marriage; at least, not for her. His edict about Lady Brierley, for instance; such high-handedness was untenable. He’d offered no reasonable explanation for his disapproval.

  As soon as the three of them were alone in the salon Mama threw back her veil and flung herself into Felicity’s arms, wailing. Felicity guided her to the sofa, murmuring soothing words. Barnes brought the ratafia in, and immediately withdrew. Richard had remained silent throughout, standing with one arm propped along the mantelshelf.

  As Mama’s sobs subsided, she allowed Felicity to coax her to sip her drink.

  ‘Come, now, Mama,’ Felicity said, patting her hands. ‘I wish you will tell us what is wrong.’

  ‘Oh, Felicity. My life is over. I am undone. How could he do such a thing? And with Verity Godalming, of all people. I thought she was my friend.’

  ‘He? Do you mean Mr Farlowe?’

  A fresh paroxysm greeted Felicity’s words. Richard stirred from the fireplace. He wore the expression of a man wishing to be anywhere but there.

  ‘If you will excuse me, my dear, it would appear you have much to discuss. I will be in my study if you have need of me.’

  Felicity wished it was possible for her to beat such an elegant retreat, and then immediately castigated herself for her uncharitable thoughts. Her mother was in distress.

  Yes, but she will not listen to your advice. She will end up making excuses and will accuse you of casting Farlowe as the villain.

  Gradually, her mother related the whole story of her stepfather’s affaire—‘Quite blatant, Felicity, I assure you. Everybody in Bath knows’—with her mother’s friend, Lady Godalming.

  ‘I have left him, my dear. I left him a note, telling him I was coming to you and dear Stanton. But he has not come.’ Tragic eyes, brimming with tears, turned to Felicity. ‘I made sure he would catch up with me on the road. I even instructed John Coachman to drive slowly. But he did not come.’ Another sob burst forth and she pressed a lace-edged handkerchief to her lips.

  Felicity put her arm around her mother, resigned helplessness churning her insides. She had done all she could to prevent their marriage, but her mother—in the exhilarating throes of early love—would not listen to reason. There was nothing she could do now other than support Mama through the next few days—or weeks, she thought, with an inner shudder—until Farlowe arrived. And arrive he would, of that she was certain. Farlowe knew exactly where he was best off. He would arrive, with sweet words and whispered excuses and deep regrets, and Mama would allow him to coax her round. And they would return to Bath and their life together. Until the next time.

  Bile rose up to burn Felicity’s throat. What would happen...how might she react...if...when...Richard? She could not finish the thought. Richard was a better man that Farlowe, that was undoubtable. But he had a man’s urges, and their marriage was one of convenience. They’d made a bargain. There was no love on either side.

  She had been on the brink of softening, but her mother’s arrival revived all those reasons as to why she must continue to protect her heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Richard was standing at the window of his study when Felicity sought him out, having persuaded her mother to go to her bedchamber and rest.

  ‘How is your mother?’ He turned to face her but otherwise did not move.

  ‘Resting. I’m sorry for her unannounced arrival. I hope you do not object, but I’ve told her she might stay until she is reconciled with Mr Farlowe.’

  Felicity remained by the door, her hands behind her back, gripping the door handle. The room gaped like a chasm between them. A fleeting wish that he would come to her and take her in his arms was swiftly banished. That intimate moment between them in the salon might never have happened, their disagreement over Lady Brierley looming large again in her thoughts.

  ‘Of course she must remain with us. She is your mother. Is it likely she will receive Farlowe when...if...he arrives?’

  ‘Oh, I am certain of it.’ She could not disguise her bitterness. ‘And I have no doubt he will come for her. Eventually.’

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. ‘And you, judging by your tone, disapprove. You would rather see your mother permanently estranged from her husband?’

  ‘No, I cannot wish that. I do wish, however, she had never met him.’

  ‘Because then you would not have been forced to marry me?’

  Her heart contracted painfully. ‘That is not what I
meant.’

  ‘But it is true, however.’

  In three long strides, Richard was in front of her, lifting her chin, searching her eyes as his head lowered. She jerked her head aside before his lips could touch hers. Richard stilled before, very slowly, straightening.

  ‘I am going out.’ His voice was devoid of expression. ‘You have not forgotten we are promised to the Davenports for dinner tonight? Or should I send our apologies?’

  ‘No, there is no need to cancel. Mama has already requested a light supper in her room tonight. She fears she will not be fitting company and raised no objection when I explained we were dining away from home.’

  After he had gone, Felicity sank into the chair at Richard’s desk. The chasm she had sensed upon entering the study had remained as vast even when Richard was standing right in front of her. What would their future be?

  * * *

  She was jerked from her thoughts some time later by a knock at the door. Barnes entered. Surreptitiously, she swiped a tear from her cheek, castigating herself for being a ninny.

  ‘Mr Durant has called, my lady. Are you at home?’

  Charles—a friendly face to divert her, exactly the remedy she needed.

  ‘Thank you, Barnes. Please inform him I shall be with him shortly, and ask the kitchen to send up a tea tray, but do pour a glass of Madeira for Mr Durant if he would prefer it.’

  Alone again, Felicity smoothed her hair back and pinched at her cheeks to give them some colour. Several deep breaths later she was ready to face him.

  Charles sprang to his feet as she entered the drawing room, his grin lighting up his face.

  ‘Cousin Felicity, your very obedient servant.’ He sketched a bow.

  As she approached him, his smile faded to a frown. ‘Is anything amiss?’

  Felicity felt her lips quiver, and Charles blurred.

  ‘No, nothing,’ she said. What was wrong with her? She had never been a weepy sort of female. She felt a sob build in her chest, and hurriedly crossed to the sofa. ‘Please, sit down.’