From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  She settled the dowager in a chair by the fire then drew up a footstool, sat on it, and chafed her bony hands, which were as chilled as Richard’s. Thinking of her husband triggered an urge to be with him, but she could not leave her mother-in-law until Tallis—her maid—arrived.

  ‘Richard will be all right, Mother.’

  Those dazed eyes settled on Felicity’s face. ‘I could not bear to lose him, too,’ she whispered.

  ‘You won’t. He is strong; he will recover in no time, you’ll see.’

  She believed it—she had to believe it.

  What would I do...? What if...? No. He is strong. He managed to walk this far. He is bruised and exhausted.

  ‘We will not lose him, Mother.’

  ‘The Stanton men, they all die before their time.’ The dowager shuddered, grabbing Felicity’s hand, nails cutting into her flesh. ‘I thought him improved...you have been good for him. He has always been like his father...and his brother...worse, even...seeking out excitement...getting involved in anything and everything dangerous...oblivious to the risks...’ She moaned, rocking back and forth. ‘If anything...if he should—’

  ‘He will not—’

  ‘I should have told him.’ Tears tracked down the dowager’s pale cheeks, dampened her bloodless lips. ‘Now it is too late...’

  ‘What should you have told him? It is not too late, Mother. Please, try to stay calm. Richard will not die.’

  Please, God. Oh, where is Tallis? I need to see him...to take care of him.

  ‘I only did it to protect his memories of his papa—’

  ‘Milady?’ Tallis rushed into the room, followed by a kitchen maid carrying a tea tray.

  The dowager released her grip. ‘Go to Richard, Daughter. He has need of you.’

  Richard? That was the first time Felicity had heard his mother call Richard anything other than Stanton.

  ‘Take good care of him, please. And let me know...let me know...’

  ‘I will let you know how he is as soon as I can.’

  The dowager smiled, although her lips trembled. ‘Thank you, dear.’ She straightened in her chair with a visible effort. ‘I pray you will forgive my moment of weakness. It was the shock. Tallis, you may sit with me while I drink my tea, and then I shall go to bed.’

  Felicity pondered her mother-in-law’s disjointed words as she climbed the stairs. What had she not told Richard? He already knew his father had shot himself—what could be worse than that? Of one thing Felicity was certain: Richard was wrong to believe his mother wished he, and not Adam, had died. Her mother-in-law cared very much for her second son, despite her constant criticism. And she was terrified of losing him.

  Her trepidation as she entered the bedchamber was unfounded. Richard sat in a comfortable armchair by the fire, a blanket tucked around his legs, as Davis dabbed gingerly at the blood in his hair. As Felicity entered, Richard’s head snapped round, knocking Davis’s hand aside. She crossed the room and peered at his scalp where the gash—a good three inches long—continued to ooze blood.

  ‘Felicity, where have you been? Can you please stop this imbecile from fiddling with my head? It stings like the...that is, it’s very sore.’

  Davis cast a reproachful look at Richard.

  ‘He is only trying to help,’ Felicity said. ‘But I do not think you can achieve much more, Davis—you have done an excellent job of cleansing the wound. If you have a clean pad to cover it, Dalton will soon tell us if any stitches are required.’

  She bit back a smile at Richard’s barely audible hmmph.

  A tea tray was on a nearby table. ‘Have you had a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’ve had some brandy.’

  ‘Then I shall pour some tea for you, and sweeten it well, for it is said to be beneficial in cases of shock.’

  ‘I am not in shock. I am angry. I could have lost Thor.’

  Felicity opened the tea caddy and spooned some leaves into the teapot, then poured in hot water to allow the leaves to steep.

  ‘As I said before, you were fortunate Thor did not crush you.’ She stirred the pot as she willed her voice not to tremble. ‘Is he injured?’

  ‘Not seriously, thank goodness. Bruised and scratched, but nothing broken. I need to examine that bridge tomorrow and find out why it gave way.’ Richard sipped at his tea and Felicity was relieved to see his colour improve. ‘I am sure I recall an entry in the ledgers showing it was repaired last spring. I need to speak to Elliott.’

  ‘You are unlikely to be fit enough to ride tomorrow,’ Felicity said. ‘It is possible you have broken your ribs.’

  Richard glowered at her. She smiled in return. It would be what it would be, and no amount of willing it otherwise would change it.

  ‘Where were you?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were behind us but you disappeared.’

  Felicity glanced round. Davis was occupied on the far side of the room. ‘I was with your mother. She was very disturbed, so I waited with her until her maid could attend.’

  ‘Hah. No doubt petrified I’d die before we have our heir.’

  ‘That is unfair. She was much shaken. She cares about you, more than you realize.’

  ‘I do not—’

  ‘Hush.’ Felicity laid her fingers against his lips. ‘Trust me. She cares.’

  Their gazes fused. His tongue flicked against her fingertips and her pulse stuttered. At the sound of a knock, she snatched her hand away just as Dalton walked in.

  After examining Richard, Dalton stitched his scalp and strapped his ribs. ‘It don’t appear no worse’n a bump, far as I c’n tell, milady.’

  ‘You may address me, Dalton,’ Richard said irritably. ‘I am perfectly rational, you know.’

  ‘Nor do the ribs look to be broken,’ Dalton continued, ‘but I reckons a couple’re mebbe cracked. They’re like to be sore awhile. You’ll need to rest up a few days, milord.’

  ‘I shall return home in the morning,’ Richard said. ‘I’ve things to attend to, and I need to inspect that bridge.’

  Dalton raised his brows. ‘You know best, milord, I’m sure. All I know is cracked ribs is very painful an’ takes time to mend. They’ll be a sight worse by morning, you mark my words. I’ll take a look at the bridge tomorrow and report back.

  ‘Now then, Simson’s on his way and he’s bringing arnica for your bruises. If that’s all, I’ll go and see to Thor.’

  * * *

  After seeing Richard settled in bed with Simson to watch over him, and reassuring her mother-in-law that Richard was not lying at death’s door, Felicity ate a solitary supper before retiring. After Yvette left, she tossed and turned, sleep evading her as she relived those terrible moments when the dowager’s fears had awoken the possibility she might lose Richard.

  She clasped her belly protectively. What would the future hold? She saw now, with absolute clarity, that her life was in danger of becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. If she continued to push Richard away, the result would be the kind of life she feared above all else.

  But their lives at Fernley Park were one thing, London was quite another. What would happen when they returned in February as planned? What of Richard’s mistress?

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Next morning, Richard roused sleepily, began to turn over, and catapulted awake.

  ‘Aaaaargh.’

  The pain in his side spiked before easing to a throb. Memories of his fall flooded back: the split-second realization that Thor might crush him, his frantic efforts to scramble clear; the terrible certainty that Thor was dead, until his legs began to thrash about. Tentatively, Richard probed the clipped area at the back of his head, the stitches scratching at his fingertips. He massaged his temples.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  The delicious scent of violets surround
ed him as Felicity leaned over him, forehead puckered in enquiry, plait dangling, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her hands clutched the shawl below her breasts, doing little to cover the burgeoning mounds revealed above the lace-trimmed neckline of her nightgown. He forced his attention to her face. Her lids were heavy as she stifled a yawn.

  ‘How long have you been here, Felicity Joy?’

  Her eyes skittered from his scrutiny as she perched on the side of the bed. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A few hours. I wanted to be here in case you needed anything.’

  ‘Simson was here. There was no need for you—’

  ‘I sent him to bed. There was no need for us both to stay.’ She paused. ‘I wanted to be with you.’

  Warmth flooded his body. ‘Did you miss me, Felicity Joy?’

  A blush spread from her neck to her cheeks but she held his gaze and nodded. ‘I was afraid...that is, there was a moment, yesterday, when I thought...’ Her chest heaved, his eyes drawn to her breasts as a bee to nectar. She was still small breasted, but pregnancy had added to their lushness. Saliva flooded his mouth, and he swallowed, silently cursing his sore ribs.

  ‘You thought...?’

  She pleated and repleated the fabric of her nightgown. ‘It forced me to consider how I might feel if anything should happen to you.’

  Moving carefully Richard reached to cover her hands with his. They stilled.

  ‘And how might you feel?’

  Tears sheened her eyes. ‘I could not bear it. I realized...how very glad I am that I married you.’

  ‘Come here.’ He gave a little tug and she moved closer.

  He stroked her soft cheek then hooked his fingers around her nape. She leaned down willingly, bracing her hands on the pillow either side of his head, lips—soft, pink, alluring—parting. She hesitated, and then brushed his mouth in a sweet kiss before sitting back again.

  ‘More.’

  She laughed down at him. ‘You will not thank me if I get carried away and bump your ribs. I can think of nothing more likely to cool your ardour. We can wait.’ Her amber eyes darkened as she swept his lower lip with her thumb. ‘We have our whole lives ahead of us.

  ‘Are you hungry? Would you like breakfast sent up?’

  ‘No.’ Richard winced as he sat up and eased the covers down. ‘That is, I am hungry, but I wish to get up and eat breakfast downstairs. Will you ring for Simson?’

  ‘Do you think you should...?’

  He was already on his feet. ‘You are a little worrier. It was only a tumble. I promise I will be sensible about resting. Ah, Simson, that was quick. Thank you. I am going downstairs for breakfast. Will you help me on with my banyan?’

  * * *

  As they ate breakfast, Tallis came in. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord, but her ladyship wishes you to attend her in her sitting room when you have finished your breakfast.’

  Richard lowered his forkful of eggs as Tallis left the room. ‘I’ve been summoned. No doubt to hear a lecture on how—yet again—my penchant for risk-taking might have cleared the path for Charles to inherit Fernley and throw my mother to the wolves.’

  Felicity frowned. ‘That is unfair. Your mother was distraught: her only concern was for you. I do not believe any thought of the succession crossed her mind.’

  A knot of resentment lodged in his chest. What did Felicity know? She’d not had to live all these years with the knowledge that his mother would rather it was he—Richard—who had died. He had barely existed in her eyes after his brother’s death.

  ‘Besides,’ Felicity continued, ‘as I am with child, Charles will not necessarily inherit Fernley.’

  ‘And I can assure you I intend to live a long, healthy and—hopefully—happy life with you and our children.’

  Felicity’s smile wobbled. He pushed back his chair and beckoned.

  ‘Come. We will go and hear what my mother has to say.’

  ‘Me? Oh, I don’t think your mother would expect me—’

  ‘I expect you to be privy to our conversation, Felicity. You are my wife. I should like you to understand why my relationship with my mother is so troubled.’

  His mother sat staring into the fire, her lips pinched and pale. When she looked round, Richard’s lungs seized. She looked old, and grey, and...shrunken, somehow. How had that happened without him noticing? She lifted her hand to Felicity, who clasped it and stooped to kiss her cheek.

  They have become so close. Why can neither of them be as relaxed with me?

  Or me with them? He thrust that thought aside.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Mother said. ‘Both of you.’

  A peculiar sensation of watching from outside himself settled over Richard as they sat down. This felt different to Mother’s usual rant about needlessly courting danger. Is she ill? Seriously ill? Am I going to lose her? His throat thickened. He coughed, then dragged in a calming breath.

  ‘How are you this morning, Richard?’

  About to utter a dismissive, ‘I am perfectly well’, Richard paused. It was time for honesty. ‘My ribs hurt abominably and I am bruised, but I will recover.’

  ‘Good.’ Mother stared pensively into the flames. ‘I have to tell you something I should perhaps have told you many years ago. I make no excuses, although I did have good reason. But I promised God—when I prayed for your recovery—that I would tell you the truth. About Adam.’

  In the sixteen years since his brother’s death, Richard could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times his mother had spoken Adam’s name aloud.

  What truth? I already know everything.

  ‘Richard was away at school when it happened.’ Mother glanced at Felicity before returning her attention to the fire. ‘It was a lovely autumn, and Richard’s father and Adam went shooting.’

  Richard shifted on the sofa. He knew what was coming. It had been an accident. Adam had been careless.

  ‘They ran to tell me,’ Mother continued. ‘Oh, my dear, but I hope you never have to endure such agony.’ She paused, her knuckles white as she visibly composed herself. Felicity slid from the sofa to kneel by the chair and hold her hand. ‘Adam was already dead by the time I reached them. Shot in the back.’

  ‘What?’ Richard surged to his feet, barely noticing the agonising pain that shot through his torso. ‘The back? Who—?’

  ‘Your father.’

  That stark reply hit him with the force of a knockout punch. The air left his lungs with a whoosh and he fought for breath.

  Papa shot Adam? No! It cannot be true.

  ‘No.’ The word came out a croak. ‘No.’ He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the words, the image they evoked.

  ‘It was an accident. Your father pleaded with me not to tell you the truth and I promised I would not. You idolized Adam, and Papa could not bear that you might grow to despise him.’

  Richard scrubbed his hands over his face, struggling for composure. ‘It was an accident. Why would I despise my father? He did not shoot Adam deliberately. Why did you not tell me the truth after Papa died?’

  Mother sighed. ‘I vowed to tell you the whole truth, and I shall. If it had not been for me, I believe your father would eventually have told you the truth. It was I who despised him, in those first months. In my grief, I blamed him for taking my child, my son, my firstborn.

  ‘It is my fault Papa killed himself. If only I had supported him through his own guilt and grief. But, no.’ She paused, and when she spoke again, her tone was bitter. ‘No, I could barely bring myself to be civil to him. It was easier to withdraw completely and leave him to drown in his own misery whilst I drowned in mine.’

  ‘You were mad with grief,’ Felicity said. ‘No one could blame you for reacting—’

  �
��I blame myself. And what I didn’t see, until it was too late, was that not only had I cut myself off from my husband, but also from Richard. By the time I realized, it was impossible to bridge the gulf between us.’

  She struggled to her feet and went to Richard. Every muscle in his body was rigid as his brain tried to make sense of his mother’s words.

  ‘I was a coward, and I am so very sorry. Every time I thought to tell you the truth, I became petrified you would blame me for the loss of your father the way I blamed him for the loss of Adam. All I could do was try to protect you and keep you safe. You were all I had left, but the more I tried to curb your activities the more you resented me and so the gulf widened.’

  ‘I believed...’ Richard closed his eyes, sorting his thoughts. Should I say this? Is now the right time? A rational decision eluded him, but if he did not admit what he had held to be true these past fifteen years, it would continue to eat at him and the rift between them might never be healed. ‘All these years, I believed my father killed himself because I was not a good enough replacement for Adam; that he did not love me enough to want to live.’

  ‘Oh, no! My darling son...’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘I have been blind. And foolish. To think you believed that, all this time. Your father never thought that. He loved you both. Equally. We both did. But Papa could not live with his guilt.’

  He felt her hands cup his face and he forced his eyes open. ‘Yesterday, you looked so weak and pale. I have never seen you like that. I suddenly understood that if my worst fears ever came to pass, you might die and I would never have the chance to tell you the truth. I saw what I must do—what I should have done years ago. Can you ever forgive me?’

  He pulled away and strode to the window. Angry clouds scudded across the sky, mirroring the thoughts charging around his brain. Trees bowed before the strengthening wind, their top branches whipping back and forth and, as the first raindrops spat against the glass, Richard turned to face his mother.