From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  ‘Oh, Richard.’ The mattress dipped as she knelt up. Her arms enfolded him, comforting, and her soft cheek rubbed against his. ‘I’m sure that is not true. People...in grief...they sometimes behave...they do things they would not do if their minds were not overset. Like Emma. Another day, maybe even another hour of that day, and she would not have jumped. But, in that split second...it was the only way she knew to be free of the pain.’

  Richard scrubbed his hands over his face, then wrapped his arms around his wife.

  ‘Thank you.’ He mulled over what Felicity had said. He was comforted by her support but she did not know the whole. It was not only his father, but his mother too. The way she had withdrawn from him. No matter what he did, he had never been good enough for her. But that was his cross to bear. He would not burden Felicity.

  ‘Will it distress you to tell me more about Emma? In her diary, she writes of a man. How did she meet him? Who was he?’

  Felicity drew a shaky breath. ‘Until today, all I knew was she had fallen in love with a man who seduced her with promises and lies and then deserted her. She says in her diary that she wrote to tell him she was with child, believing he would return to her. He never replied.

  ‘So young, so foolish, so blindly trusting. Believing the strength of her love would conquer all. Just like Mama. Stupid! Stupid!’ A fresh wave of tears shook her. ‘And now...the diary...still she is protecting him. She does not name him. Not once. “M” she calls him.’

  ‘Where did she meet him?’

  ‘At a house party, the summer after her first Season.’

  ‘How on earth did he get close enough to a young innocent to seduce her? What was your mother doing? I presume she was chaperoning Emma?’

  ‘She was meant to be. Mama does not always show good judgement of others.’ Her voice hitched. He could feel the effort it took for her not to break down again. ‘Poor Emma. I never knew she was with child. I thought she killed herself because he broke her heart.’

  ‘Your poor sister.’

  ‘She was not a bad girl.’ Felicity wriggled free of his embrace, anxiously scanning his face.

  ‘I do not condemn her,’ Richard said. ‘Your mother, however—’

  ‘I have tried so hard not to blame her but, deep down, I do. I always have done. And then I feel guilty, for thinking of my own mother in such a way. Oh, I do not expect you to understand.’

  But he understood only too well. He had tried to be a good son, but the pain of knowing his mother could never love him as much as she’d loved Adam had driven them apart. And if his own mother could not love him...

  A tap at the door, and Yvette came in, her eyes apologetic. ‘Beg pardon, milady—’ She got no further.

  ‘There you are, Felicity.’ Lady Katherine brushed past Yvette with a barely concealed grimace of distaste. ‘I do declare you are the most thoughtless girl alive when it comes to your family. We have been waiting this age to leave. Dear Farlowe has come all this way to take me home, and you needs must leave him kicking his heels awaiting your convenience. And you, Stanton...’ she wagged her finger at Richard. His temper simmered ‘...I thought you came to fetch Felicity and here you are, making love to your wife instead of attending to the needs of your guests.’

  ‘We are coming now, Mama,’ Felicity said.

  How did she remain so calm in the face of such provocation? Renewed respect for his wife’s strength of character warred against his longing for Felicity to stand up to her mother’s tyranny. For that is what it was. What child could withstand the mental onslaught of a disparaging parent without starting to believe that criticism? That Felicity had grown into such a kind, thoughtful and caring young woman gave witness to the goodness of her heart.

  He held out his arm for Felicity and they followed her mother down the stairs.

  Chapter Forty

  It was a relief to wave goodbye to Mama and Mr Farlowe as their carriage rumbled down the drive of Fernley Park. And a profound relief that she had not voiced the rage burning inside.

  Richard’s incredulity had eased Felicity’s guilt for that rage, and had allowed her to view the full extent of her mother’s failure in her duty to protect Emma, whose beauty had inevitably attracted male attention of the worst kind. She had been flattered into falling in love and, with no one to stand sentinel, she must have been as vulnerable—and as innocently unaware—as a newborn fawn circled by hungry wolves.

  ‘Come...’ Richard’s arm wrapped around her waist, and she leaned into his embrace ‘...let us go indoors. You must be cold.

  ‘Trick?’

  ‘Yes, milord?’

  ‘Please bring some tea and something to eat to the salon. Her ladyship is hungry.’

  Felicity opened her mouth to protest, but remained silent as Richard’s arm tightened on her waist. When Trick was out of earshot, he murmured, ‘It is possible you have two mouths to feed now, Felicity. You will oblige me by not starving yourself. If you are unable to face large meals, at least promise you will try to eat little and often, to keep up your strength.’

  * * *

  A few weeks later, Richard’s insistence on cosseting Felicity to an almost excessive degree was driving her to distraction. He had even sent for the family’s London physician, despite it being too early for Sir Roger to be able to fully establish that Felicity was with child. Her symptoms were, however, consistent with that condition.

  ‘I will be perfectly safe on Selene,’ she protested, when he came upon her in the stables, about to ride to the village to visit Beanie in her new cottage.

  ‘I will order the carriage. Sir Roger—’

  ‘Sir Roger advised me to take light exercise and to get plenty of fresh air. He said it would help my appetite.’

  ‘That is a low blow, Felicity Joy, knowing I worry about how little you eat.’

  Felicity Joy. Her heart leapt. It was a long time since he had called her that. Longer even than he had remained absent from her bed. Did he believe he would somehow damage the baby if he lay with her, or was there another reason for his lack of interest? Felicity had, with much blushing, asked Sir Roger if the baby would be hurt, and he had been most reassuring. But she had not yet plucked up courage to tell Richard.

  And now, he appeared to want to ban her from riding Selene until after the baby was born.

  ‘Do you not trust my common sense enough to believe I would never put myself or our baby in jeopardy?’

  ‘If you should fall—’

  ‘I will not fall. Have you so little faith in my ability as a horsewoman?’

  His brow remained furrowed. ‘I cannot spare the time to escort you. What if—?’

  ‘I do not need your escort, Richard. Selene is completely trustworthy and I shall have a groom with me. I promise the most I shall risk is a slow canter—no galloping and no jumping. I am as concerned as you are for the baby’s welfare, but I cannot stay cooped up for the next seven and a half months.’

  ‘I shall teach you to drive,’ he said, his frown clearing. ‘Then you will not feel so penned in.’

  ‘Well...I cannot deny it is a skill I should like to learn, for I have never driven anything apart from Boxer, our old cob, before...but that is a separate issue. I enjoy the exercise I get on horseback, so I should like to continue riding until it becomes uncomfortable.’

  ‘Very well.’ Richard heaved a poor, put-upon male sigh. ‘But please promise you will take care. You, Harry...’ the groom straightened from tightening Selene’s girth ‘...are you accompanying your mistress to the village?’ Harry nodded. ‘Woe betide you if any harm befalls her, then.’

  Harry grinned. ‘She’ll be safe with me, milord.’

  ‘She had better be. Hold the mare steady, will you?’

  Harry moved to stand at Selene’s right shoulder, holding the reins with one han
d and steadying the saddle with the other.

  Strong hands settled at Felicity’s waist. She had barely thickened, but she gratefully dispensed with her corset whenever possible. His intake of breath and the widening spread of his fingers suggested Richard had just discovered that fact. She looked up to see almost-black eyes boring into hers. She gasped when he pulled her closer, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. Under her habit her nipples tightened into hard buds and arousal fluttered deep inside. Then, before she quite knew what was happening, she was in mid-air, being swung into the saddle.

  Harry went to fetch his own mount, and Richard held the mare as Felicity hooked her right leg between the pommel and the second horn of the side-saddle, and found the slipper stirrup with her left foot. Selene fidgeted and fussed beneath her until she gathered the reins and settled her.

  ‘Ride carefully, my dear. You carry a precious cargo.’

  How can I forget? She watched Richard stride away from her, down the path towards the house. The width of his shoulders strained at the centre seam of his jacket and accentuated his narrow hips as his long, muscled legs, sheathed in tight breeches and gleaming topboots, covered a yard or more of ground with each pace. She swallowed a sigh as she arranged the skirts of her new olive-green riding habit.

  Her husband hardly seemed to notice her presence these days, unless it was concerning the baby. Their days had settled into a humdrum existence of running the household for her and overseeing the estate for him. At least, if he did teach her to drive, they would spend more time together. Always supposing he did not delegate that chore to Dalton or one of the other grooms.

  She had hoped their shared confidences about Emma and Richard’s father might draw them closer, but it appeared to have had the opposite effect on Richard. He had grown more distant, not less, much to Felicity’s frustration. He had flatly refused to discuss his father’s suicide, or his feelings about it, and he had become adept at avoiding her company. Except, she thought, with an inner hmmph, when he deemed her in danger of risking her health, or that of the baby.

  Cast around as she might for a solution, the only one to come to her was one she was unwilling to take. The thought of taking the initiative and visiting him in his own bedchamber brought her out in a cold sweat.

  What if she took the risk, and he still did not want her? What if her fears were proved correct and, now he had got her with child, he had no further use for her until his heir was born? There was no longer any need for him to fabricate any interest in her or any pleasure in her company. Cold dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Was she doomed to follow in her mother’s footsteps after all?

  As soon as Harry was mounted, Felicity nudged Selene into a trot and they clattered out of the yard. She could do little about her feelings for Richard—whatever they proved to be—but she determined then and there never to sink into despondency.

  Mayhap the promised driving lessons would bring them closer together?

  * * *

  Felicity’s mouth set in an uncompromising line.

  ‘What is wrong?’ Richard indicated the pony and gig standing patiently in the yard. ‘George is very docile. He—’

  ‘When you offered to teach me to drive, I assumed it would be a pair. I already possess the skill—if that is what it is—to drive a pony and gig.’ Narrowed amber eyes glared at him. ‘I expected a challenge.’

  ‘But you are—’

  ‘If you say—once more—“but you are with child, my dear”, I swear I shall scream.’

  Dalton, at George’s head, was studying the sky, whistling through his teeth. Richard took Felicity by the arm and marched her out of the stableyard to a nearby bench.

  ‘Sit!’

  She did, averting her head and sticking her nose in the air, two bright spots of colour staining her cheeks.

  He hovered a moment, then sat beside her. A little too close, their upper arms touching. He could not risk shifting away. It would be too blatant. But to be touching her, so close he could smell her violet fragrance and, beneath that, her own unique, woman scent... He gritted his teeth.

  ‘How often have you driven, Felicity? And how recently?’

  She stilled, holding her breath. Then slumped. Glanced at him through her lashes. ‘Not often. Not recently.’

  A grudging admission as delicate fingers plucked at her skirts. Richard tamped down the urge to take her hand, the old uncertainties plaguing his gut. Ever since he had confided in Felicity about his father, and exposed his deepest fear that he was not good enough for his father to want to live, the old wounds of vulnerability and inadequacy—wounds he had believed long healed—had reopened. A single crack in his outer shell of strength and confidence, a crack that was raw and bloody, and deeper than he had ever realized.

  ‘It is not like you, to fly up into the boughs so readily.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry. I...’ She paused. ‘No, you’re right. I’m sorry.’

  What had she been going to say? He wished she had not stopped. He studied her, head bowed. He hated this awkwardness...the things unsaid between them. What was she thinking? Why could he not take the risk, and talk to her of the things that mattered? She was a good woman. She would not reject him, like his parents.

  Would she?

  She rejected you before. Many times. She only married you because she had no choice. The devil riding his shoulder, on constant alert, raked him with its spurs. It ensured he never forgot; never weakened.

  He loathed this indecisiveness, this cowardice. It was not like him. Why did he feel so vulnerable with Felicity? He buried any urge to expose himself further. Risking another rejection was a risk too far.

  ‘If you had allowed me to explain,’ he said, cringing inside at the pomposity of words that revealed nothing of the doubts plaguing him, ‘you would know that George is merely the starting point. We will progress to a pair, you have my word.’

  He knew what he wanted.

  She was his wife. She would be the mother of his children. But that was no longer enough. He also wanted her as his friend and his companion. As his lover. He wanted her on his side. No...he wanted them to be on the same side. Partners.

  The question was: what did she want?

  Chapter Forty-One

  When the winter weather permitted, Felicity’s lessons continued, and she began to cherish the time she spent with Richard. They chatted about the weather, the scenery, the estate, mutual acquaintances...any subject, in fact, that could not be construed as personal.

  After a few days of driving the placid George, Felicity walked into the yard to find a large bay gelding harnessed to the gig. She received an inkling of the test to come as she manoeuvred horse and gig out of the yard gate.

  ‘Get over, Trusty.’ The horse seemed intent on scraping the gig against the gatepost. Thankfully, they exited the gate without damage to either gig or post.

  ‘Well done.’

  A sideways glance revealed Richard’s fists relaxing.

  Felicity drove Trusty down the lane at a spanking trot, whip ready in her left hand as the horse revealed a tendency to drift towards the nearside. ‘Whoever named him Trusty has a sense of humour,’ she said. ‘Is that why I am driving him today? To see if I can cope with a less obliging animal than dear old George?’

  ‘Indeed. For if you cannot control a wilful sort like Trusty, how will you cope with two?’

  ‘So you intend to send me out with two wilful animals in the future? You do surprise me.’

  Richard laughed. ‘Not deliberately. But you know what flighty animals horses can be. If one imagines he sees a monster in the hedgerow, his mate will almost certainly see two. If you can anticipate Trusty and his tricks, then we will take a pair out tomorrow.’

  At last. If I prove I can handle Trusty, then I can drive a pair.

 
Felicity started to get Trusty’s measure as they bowled along the lane through the estate. She checked him as they approached the gateway leading to the track through the woods that would bring them out on to the Whitchurch road, where the traffic provided a better challenge.

  ‘Steady, now, lad,’ she called as Trusty, true to form, fought to cut the corner. She breathed a silent sigh of relief as they drove through the centre of the narrow gateway without mishap.

  ‘Oh, well handled.’

  She glowed at Richard’s praise and sent Trusty along the track with a flick of the whip. Suddenly, a pheasant flew from the undergrowth with a clatter of wings and a raucous cry and Trusty jerked his head into the air. His powerful hindquarters bunched, then propelled him forward.

  Bracing her feet against the front of the gig, Felicity struggled to regain control. Richard threw his right arm round her, pulling her into the side of his rock-hard body as he reached across with his left hand to take the reins.

  ‘No! Let me...do...it.’

  The hand withdrew. Surprised, she risked a sideways glance. One brow lifted as Richard caught her eye. ‘He’s...all yours...Felicity.’ His voice jerked in rhythm with the rocking gig.

  Trusty, ears flat to his head, charged blindly on. Felicity was conscious of Richard, next to her, poised to take over if necessary but if she did not prove herself now he might never let her drive again.

  She fought to stay calm until Trusty’s wild pace slackened and she could bring him to a halt. Richard tied the reins off, jumped down and held his arms out for Felicity. As her feet touched the ground, her knees buckled and she was only saved from landing in an ungainly heap by Richard’s strong arms around her. He clasped her tight, his chin resting on her head. She leaned into him, inhaling his familiar, masculine scent: comforting and yet arousing.

  All was still; all quiet now save for their harsh breathing, and the thunder of Richard’s heart in her ear. Somewhere, a thrush sang, rousing Felicity. She wriggled to loosen Richard’s embrace.

  ‘Thank you.’ She leant back to study him, hands braced against the solid wall of his chest. He was pale. A vertical slash divided his brows whilst his lips were so tightly compressed they were barely visible.