From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  A hand touched her shoulder. ‘Hush, Felicity.’

  How long was it since he had called her ‘Felicity Joy’ in that special way...the deepening voice...the delicious shiver of anticipation it elicited? They were more than ever like two strangers, living in the same house.

  Unrequited love.

  ‘We will find Miss Bean,’ Richard said. ‘There is plenty of space at Fernley, or there is a vacant cottage in the village she can have, if she prefers. You can ensure her well-being for yourself.’

  Relief flooded her. ‘Truly? I can go and find her and bring her home?’

  ‘No. I shall go and find her. After I have escorted you and your mother to Fernley Park.’

  ‘But—’

  A long finger tilted her chin. Dark brown eyes drilled deep into her soul. A flutter of arousal reminded her how much she missed his nightly visits. Only once had he come to her since the Davenports’ ball. He had not stayed afterwards: he had dressed again, and left the house, leaving her heartsore and suspicious and desperate. She longed to feel the comfort of his strong arms around her.

  ‘No “buts”, Felicity. You must be at Fernley to help Beanie settle in.’

  ‘Of course.’ She must write to Harriet, explaining the change of plans. Mayhap returning to Fernley would help mend some of the distance between her and Richard. And it would take him away from that harlot of a mistress; help to soothe the fearsome jealousy that seized Felicity whenever he deposited her at home after an evening out and went straight out again, leaving her to listen to her mother lament the fickle nature of men.

  ‘Where does Miss Bean’s niece live?’ Richard asked Mama.

  ‘Oh, in Bristol somewhere.’ Lady Katherine waved a dismissive hand. ‘John Coachman will know. He took her there. You see, Felicity. There is no harm done. Dear Stanton will ensure Miss Bean is taken care of.’

  Felicity closed her eyes, willing the retort that battered at her lips to remain unsaid. Mama was...well, Mama. Felicity should have known that promise to take care of Beanie would last precisely as long as it took Farlowe to object to the arrangement. Mama’s only aim in life was to agree with her husband in the vain hope she would become as essential to his happiness as he was to hers.

  ‘It is not Richard’s responsibility, Mama, but—’ she smiled at him ‘—I thank you for making it so.’

  ‘We will leave at ten tomorrow morning,’ Richard said.

  * * *

  Richard stirred and stretched, easing his stiff muscles, as the carriage finally turned in at the gates of Fernley Park. He was alone in the carriage, Felicity having joined her mother for the second half of the journey, after they had stopped for refreshments at the White Hart in Bagshot.

  He did not blame her. The atmosphere in their carriage had been thick with words unspoken. He gazed out of the window at his familiar home. Maybe here, without all the distractions of town life, he and Felicity might grow closer again. They had appeared on the verge of a new understanding, just before her mother had arrived and Felicity had met Harriet, but since then they had once more become strangers. He could not deny his share of the blame. He had thrown himself into his old way of life—visiting his club every day, boxing at Jackson’s, fencing at Angelo’s, shooting at Manton’s—seeking any distraction so he did not have to address the complex swirl of emotions his wife provoked within him.

  He alighted at the same time as Lady Katherine’s carriage pulled up behind. A footman hurried to open the door, and Richard handed first Felicity and then her mother from the carriage. Felicity avoided looking at him, merely murmuring her thanks.

  ‘Mama is not well,’ she said as they entered the hall. ‘If you do not object, I will see her settled and then I shall retire myself. I am very tired, and it is late.’

  ‘I have no objection.’

  He was tired, too. There was a decanter of brandy in his study with his name on it. A couple of drinks and a good night’s sleep was what he needed. He had another long day ahead of him tomorrow, travelling to Bristol to find Beanie.

  Lady Katherine clutched at Richard’s arm with urgent fingers. ‘Stanton; you must instruct the servants to inform me the minute Farlowe arrives.’

  Richard patted her hand. ‘You may rest assured they will do so.’

  Lady Katherine’s maid helped her to the stairs, where Mrs Jakeway waited to show her to a guest room.

  Felicity flicked a glance at Richard. ‘Mama is concerned my stepfather will arrive at Stanton House and not know where she has gone when he finds the knocker removed from the door.’

  ‘Barnes will tell him soon enough. Always supposing Farlowe has enough nous to enquire at the tradesmen’s entrance.’

  Was that a glimmer of a smile? It was gone in a flash, and he could not be sure.

  ‘Goodnight, Richard.’

  He watched her walk up the stairs, struck by the weariness of her movements.

  ‘Welcome home, my lord. Is there anything you need?’ Trick was at Richard’s shoulder.

  A compass capable of navigating a female’s mind?

  ‘No, thank you, Trick. It is good to be home.’

  Richard went to his study and sat at his desk, but could summon no enthusiasm for the mound of correspondence awaiting his attention. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and pondered his wife and their marriage.

  An image arose: Felicity, turning from him, rejecting his advances. She had been reluctant to wed him from the first. Was her pleasure in their coupling a cynical ruse? Once she got with child, would she turn from him as unequivocally in the bedchamber as she did the rest of the time?

  Papa. Mother. Felicity. They have all rejected you. Stay strong. Don’t weaken. It will only cause more pain.

  He swallowed past the lump constricting his throat.

  It was safer not to care.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Three days later Felicity dropped her embroidery and rushed outside at the sound of Richard’s return. She had missed him more than she would have thought possible, and not only because the effort of keeping the peace between his mother and hers had proved exhausting. For two ladies who disagreed on almost every issue, their insistence on exchanging daily visits was incomprehensible to Felicity.

  She drank in her husband’s tall, muscular frame as he climbed from the carriage, his brown hair tousled, his expression...she peered closer. Her spirits plummeted. He looked livid: his brows almost meeting across the bridge of his nose, his lips a tight line. Did he regret his impulsive offer to travel to Bristol for the sake of her old nurse?

  When he saw her waiting, his scowl lifted. A fraction. ‘Good afternoon, Felicity.’

  His voice was a deep, reassuring rumble, enfolding her like a warm blanket. Felicity felt her own expression relax into a smile. Whatever had annoyed him, he did not blame her. Her resolution to heal the divide between them grew.

  ‘I am pleased to see you, Richard.’

  His brow twitched. ‘Well, I am pleased that you are pleased,’ he said, and smiled. ‘And there is someone else here you will be pleased to see, no doubt.’

  He leaned back into the carriage and Felicity could hear him murmuring. Then he straightened, and lifted a frail figure to the ground.

  ‘Beanie...’ Felicity wrapped her arms around the elderly lady ‘...I am so happy to see you. You must be tired after your journey. You will stay here for a few days to recover your strength, and then we shall decide where you would like to live permanently.’

  ‘Oh, my lamb.’ Wrinkled hands cupped Felicity’s cheeks. ‘I am so pleased to see you.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You have a good man there, my dear. Not like your poor mama.’

  She half turned towards the carriage as she spoke. Movement caught Felicity’s eye as Quentin Farlowe’s tall, rangy form sprang from the vehicle. One glance a
t Richard confirmed the cause of his bad mood.

  ‘I say, this is an impressive pile, Stanton. No wonder you can offer pensioners homes for life. Good afternoon, Felicity.’

  ‘Farlowe! My darling, you have come for me at last.’ Lady Katherine tumbled from the house and launched herself at her husband. ‘Oh, I have missed you so. Come. You must be exhausted. I shall instruct Jakeway to make up the room next to mine.’ She turned to Richard. ‘It is most fortuitous you had to go to the West Country, Stanton, for now all has been resolved most satisfactorily, has it not?’

  Felicity watched her mother and Farlowe disappear inside the house, then glanced at Richard’s frowning face. ‘I will talk to Mama, and ensure they leave tomorrow.’ She hesitated, suddenly shy. ‘Thank you for fetching Beanie. I must go and settle her, but I am very pleased to see you.’

  * * *

  The following morning Felicity sat in her private sitting room, staring from the window at the overcast sky as she twisted her handkerchief in her hands. What was wrong with her? She was constantly weepy, with no energy or enthusiasm for anything—as grey and dull as the weather outside.

  Her pleasure at Richard’s return had been short-lived. Between keeping the peace between her mother and the dowager—who had been invited to dine with them—and between Richard and Farlowe, she had been exhausted by bedtime. As she climbed the stairs, she had tripped and, had Richard not been behind her, might have fallen. He had swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs, placing her gently on the bed.

  ‘You look exhausted. Get some rest. I will see you in the morning,’ he had said, before leaving her to Yvette’s care. How she had longed for him to return. To take her in his arms and hold her; to reassure her that they would resolve their problems.

  At a tap on the door, she straightened and swiped at her eyes.

  ‘I wondered where you were hiding, my lamb. I hope you do not mind me coming in?’

  Beanie hobbled towards Felicity, a small brown book in her hands.

  ‘Of course not, Beanie. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Like a babe in arms. Such a comfortable bed, after...’ Beanie pursed her lips, shaking her head. ‘No, I will not complain. Jeannie was so kind to me. It is not her fault they have so little room.’

  ‘No, indeed.’ A tide of shame washed over Felicity. What right did she have to sit there moping, when there were women like Jeannie, struggling their way through life? ‘Sit down, won’t you, Beanie?’ She patted the sofa next to her.

  ‘Thank you, my dove, but I only came to give you this.’ She held out the book.

  Felicity eyed it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Emma’s diary.’

  ‘Her diary? I did not know she kept a diary. Where did you find it? How long have you had it?’

  ‘I saved it for you. Your mama, she told me to burn it, when we found it.’

  Felicity’s hand trembled as she reached for the diary. ‘What does it say? Have you read it?’

  ‘You know I cannot read well enough for that, my lamb, and your mama... It upset her too much to finish it but she told me it was about that summer. That is when I decided I must save it for you. I thought someone should know Emma’s innermost thoughts.’

  ‘You did the right thing.’ Memories flooded back. Desperate, heart-wrenching memories. Felicity’s throat ached and the book blurred as she stroked the fine-grained leather cover.

  ‘Why did you not show me this before?’

  ‘I could not. Your mama said it was detailed, and you were so young and innocent. I hid it away and I forgot about it, until I packed my things to go to Bristol.’ Beanie laid her hand briefly on Felicity’s head. ‘I hope I have done the right thing by giving it to you now. I know I should not like to relive that time, but I thought it important for you to read it.’

  After Beanie had gone, Felicity read Emma’s diary, stopping frequently to mop her eyes and blow her nose. Her sister’s words brought her to life in a way no mere memory ever could, and Felicity suffered the pain of losing her all over again.

  She was staring numbly out of the window, the diary clasped in her arms, tight to her chest, when Richard walked in.

  ‘Felicity, there you are. It is time...’ In two strides, he was by her side, kneeling down, clasping her hands. ‘What is it? What is wrong? Are you unwell? Shall I send for the doctor?’

  Felicity gulped, then forced a laugh. A doctor could not cure what ailed her. Part of her wanted to curl into a ball and never think about Emma and the agony of her loss again; another part of her...that part raged and fought and rattled the bars of the cage around her heart. It longed to break free: to talk about Emma—her disgrace and her death—and to try to make sense of it all.

  ‘I am upset. Not unwell.’

  ‘Is it Farlowe? Tell me, for—stepfather or no stepfather—it would give me the greatest pleasure to plant him a facer before they go.’

  How could she tell him? But how could she not? Her emotions swirled and whirled, dizzily fast. She must talk to someone. Her mother? Impossible. Beanie? It would be unfair to resurrect such painful memories. Could she trust Richard? His face swam before her: concerned, kind. He had never been anything but kind.

  Her husband. They were bound together, were they not? Surely he would not sully Emma’s name by revealing her scandal and her sin to the world?

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  ‘Felicity, if you do not tell me what is amiss, I shall send for the doctor.’

  Felicity took an audible breath. ‘Beanie gave me this.’ He noticed for the first time the book she clutched. ‘I did not even know it existed.’ She sounded dazed.

  Richard took the book, turned it over in his hands, opened it.

  ‘It’s a diary. Whose is it?’

  ‘My sister, Emma’s.’

  Emma. All he knew of Felicity’s sister was that she had died after her first Season.

  ‘What did she write to upset you so?’ He read the first entry. It began with a date in March 1802. He flicked through the pages, all written in the same neat, feminine hand. It was three-quarters full, ending in the December of the same year.

  He sensed Felicity’s eyes on him. ‘Read it. That last entry.’

  Some of the words were faded by tears that had been shed as they were written. There were fresh splodges on the page. Still damp.

  I cannot go on. There is no hope left. He will never return to me now. He is gone. All the light and the colour have gone from my world. I pray to God to forgive me and to watch over my beloved family. I am sorry.

  ‘She killed herself?’

  Felicity nodded. ‘Herself...and her baby.’

  ‘She was with child?’

  Felicity moaned as fresh tears poured down her face. ‘I didn’t know. She didn’t tell me. She went up to the roof and...and...’ Her voice trembled. ‘I...I found her... Oh, dear God!’

  Her hands flew to hide her face. Richard gathered her into his arms, rocking her and stroking her hair as scalding tears soaked his shirt. Suddenly, she stiffened and pushed away.

  What now? Am I now not allowed to comfort her when she is in distress?

  ‘Urrrgh.’ Hand clapped to her mouth, Felicity shot up from the sofa and through the door into her bedchamber.

  Richard followed. She was leaning over the basin on the washstand, heaving. His arm around her waist, Richard supported her until she finally stopped retching, then dipped a cloth into the jug of water on the stand and wiped her face. A glance into the basin revealed no solids.

  ‘Have you not eaten this morning?’ He picked her up and laid her on the bed, hitching his hip to sit on the mattress facing her, stroking her hair back from her ashen face.

  ‘I could not face breakfast.’

  ‘Have you been sick before?’

 
‘I was sick yesterday, after breakfast.’ Her eyes rounded. ‘Do you think...?’

  He pinched her chin, smiling at her incredulous expression. ‘Do you not know? When were your last courses?’

  Her face fired red. ‘Not since before we left for London. Oh! How wonderful, if we are to have a baby already.’

  Wonderful? Yes, but... Richard studied Felicity. Will she now withdraw completely? At night as well as during the day?

  Her eyes darkened. ‘I do not want to tell anyone. Not yet, until we are certain. And not my mother... Not now. Not so soon after reading Emma’s diary...it brought it all back, so vividly.’

  ‘We will say nothing before they leave. You can write and tell her your news when you are ready.’

  ‘I tried so hard not to blame her for failing Emma. If only she had chaperoned her, as she should have done.’

  And yet, despite Lady Katherine’s neglect and Felicity’s anger, there was still love in their relationship.

  Regret wormed its way into Richard’s thoughts. Neither Adam’s death nor his father’s had been his mother’s fault but, somehow, there was this awkward gulf between them. Words left unsaid; emotions left unexplored.

  Suicide.

  The word revived all the horror and pain of Papa’s death. A sin and a crime. To be hushed up at all costs, and never spoken of again.

  ‘My father also committed suicide.’ He had not intended to blurt it out, but the words were out there now, tainting the air. He studied his hands, clenched in his lap. ‘He could not bear to live, after Adam died. I always regret...’ He paused. His innermost fear. Could he reveal it?

  ‘You regret...?’ Soft-spoken words; delicate hands—warm—covering his.

  His thoughts spilled in a rush. ‘He lost one son. But he had another. And I could not make up for his loss. I was not good enough for my father to want to live.’

  The words were out there, in the open, screaming of his failure as a son. He had let his father down. Voicing that failure had exposed his vulnerability. He was a man. How could he be so weak?