From Wallflower to Countess

by Janice Preston

  ‘Yes! Thank you, Charles. Please ask the driver to drive on.’

  * * *

  ‘Milady?’ A hand touched her shoulder, then stroked across her back.

  Felicity pushed against the mattress, shuffling around into a sitting position.

  ‘Is it the baby, milady?’

  Felicity shook her head, not trusting her voice not to wobble and to set off a fresh bout of tears.

  ‘Then it is, milord,’ Yvette said. ‘Tsk. If what you think, it is the truth, then he is not worth your tears. But, it is possible, bien sûr, that you have jumped to the conclusion, is it not?’

  Yvette’s words lingered in the air. If only last night hadn’t been so perfect. She had been so happy, finally feeling secure in Richard’s love. Now, not only had her husband and her best friend lied about knowing each other but, to discover they had shared a secret liaison out of town...so many emotions pounded at her heart and her brain that she barely knew what to think. One minute she wished she could die—Oh, Emma, now I understand your agony—and the next, murderous impulses charged through her mind and body until she had to restrain herself from racing to confront the lying, cheating, despicable pair.

  How ironic, that this is the exact situation that made Mama leave Farlowe.

  I will not run.

  It had been her first instinct: to pack her bags and to leave, never to see Richard again. The very thought brought more tears to blur her vision.

  How can I bear to face him?

  You have faced worse, and survived. This, too, will pass. Protect your heart. Protect your baby.

  She caressed her belly. Oh, yes, she would protect her baby.

  Galvanized into action, she swung her legs off the bed. ‘Yvette?’

  ‘Milady?’

  ‘Please help me to make myself presentable. I must go downstairs.’ She would not skulk in her bedchamber. When Richard returned home, it would not be to a wet rag of a woman, but to a proud and strong lady who would never reveal her heartache.

  Yvette poured water from the jug on the washstand into the basin, and wrung out a washcloth.

  ‘And, Yvette?’

  The maid turned. A glow of appreciation for the Frenchwoman’s unwavering loyalty struck Felicity. ‘Thank you for being here. I know I do not have to ask, but...’

  ‘I shall not breathe the word, milady.’

  Felicity forced her lips into a smile.

  Smiles were something she must learn to fake. She felt as though she might never again produce a genuine one.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Before going downstairs, Felicity wrote a note to Charles, begging him to call upon her at four o’clock. She would take Charles when she drove her new phaeton and pair for the first time: she refused to spend even the shortest time driving in the park with Richard, making polite conversation.

  Richard strode into the drawing room—where Felicity was industriously embroidering a set of cushion covers—at a little after three o’clock.

  ‘Your business must have been important, to take until now,’ Felicity remarked, glancing at him briefly before concentrating once more on her stitches.

  ‘What, no greeting for your errant husband, my sweet?’ A pair of Hessians entered Felicity’s field of vision, and a finger nudged her chin, tilting her face until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. She struggled to hide her still-churning emotions. As he leaned down to kiss her she jerked away. His lips landed by her ear.

  ‘Felicity? What is wrong?’

  ‘Nothing is wrong. I have the headache.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it. I presume, therefore, you wish to postpone driving Nutmeg and Spice?’

  Felicity inclined her head, not trusting herself to speak. She felt sick, until cold fury rose up to drown her guilt. Why should she feel guilt? She hardened her resolve.

  ‘Have you had something to eat?’ she asked, instead of answering his question, avoiding the outright lie.

  ‘Yes. I ate at White’s with Leo. He’s been having family troubles.’ Felicity had no interest in the duke’s problems. She had enough of her own. She stood up.

  ‘I must go and lie down,’ she said.

  As she walked to the door, Richard stopped her with a hand on her arm. He tugged her round to face him.

  ‘What is troubling you? And do not tell me it is nothing again, for I shall not believe you. What has happened? Why are you so cold? I should have thought, after last night, this daytime aloofness would be in the past.’

  ‘Last night? I do not recall anything remarkable about last night.’

  She almost quailed at the flash of fury in his eyes, but held tight to her nerve.

  ‘You do not recall anything remarkable about last night?’ He spoke through tight lips, his voice ominously quiet. Felicity swallowed convulsively. ‘You said you love me. I said I love you. And you think that unremarkable?’

  Felicity shrugged. It almost broke her heart to do it, but she conjured up that intimate scene on Brook Street. Felicity’s heart had already been cleaved in two; the worst had already happened. This denial—this lie—could not possibly hurt more.

  ‘Sometimes, one says things in the heat of the moment. Words are cheap, are they not? It is surely actions that speak the truth. Now, if you will excuse me?’

  She tugged her arm from Richard’s grip and left the room.

  * * *

  Lying...scheming...insensitive...women!

  Woman, Richard amended silently, as he slammed his study door, following a curt ‘I do not wish to be disturbed’ to Barnes.

  Well, she had certainly taken him for a fool. She’d had him believing every word and, all the time, she...

  He stamped over to his desk, grabbing a bottle of brandy from a side table as he passed. He poured a measure and drank, grimacing as the brandy burned a passage down his throat. He held up his glass, squinting at the light from the window shining through the amber liquid. Amber. The same colour as her eyes. He slumped into his chair, chewing over her words...visualizing her expression...the scorn in her eyes. Scorn? Where had that come from? She had been distant before...but scorn was something new.

  With a muttered oath, he straightened and pulled a pile of papers towards him. He needed distraction, and there was plenty of work to take his mind off his infuriating...frustrating...incomprehensible wife.

  * * *

  Three-quarters of an hour later, Richard was tilted back in his chair, hands linked behind his head, booted feet propped on his desk, having dealt with precisely one piece of correspondence. He couldn’t concentrate, and it was all Felicity’s fault.

  ‘Words are cheap, are they not? It is surely actions that speak the truth.’

  Her words echoed again and again through his brain.

  Actions? His actions? His lack of action?

  Felicity had closed her mind to him again. He could feel her slipping from his grasp, and yet she refused to tell him what was wrong. Was he supposed to be a mind reader? Again, the thought surfaced that she had never been this shuttered, even in the very early days of their marriage. And lately, since his accident, they had been growing closer and closer. The future had shone with promise. With love.

  What had happened since last night? Richard swung his feet from the desk. The chair legs crashed to the floor. Something must have happened to trigger this change in her. She hadn’t withdrawn from him on a whim and, by God, he was going to find out precisely what that something was.

  He took the stairs two at a time and thrust open her bedchamber door without knocking. Empty. He ran downstairs again and checked all the reception rooms, ignoring the curious glances of the footman on duty in the hall. No Felicity. Anxiety and irritation now at war in his breast, he ran down the servants’ stairs. Startled faces stared as he strode
into the kitchen.

  ‘Where is Yvette? I wish to see her in my study. Immediately.’

  He did not wait for a reply, but returned to his study to await Yvette.

  A knock at the door and Yvette entered, head high. He never ceased to admire the Frenchwoman for the way she faced life. He also admired how she was unafraid to speak her mind. She was never disrespectful—he would not stand for that in a servant—but she was forthright. It was that trait he needed now.

  ‘Yvette. Come in and sit down, please.’

  He waited as Yvette settled in the chair opposite. Yes. Something had happened, and Yvette was aware of it. He could see by the wary look in her eyes and the set of her jaw.

  ‘Where is her ladyship, Yvette?’

  Silence greeted his question.

  ‘Well? Has her ladyship instructed you not to tell me where she has gone? Or do you imagine to somehow protect her by concealing her whereabouts?’

  ‘She has not instructed me, no. She does not need another upset. It is important she is calm for the baby.’

  ‘Another upset? Was she upset by something this morning? Was it because I cancelled our outing to the park?’

  Nonsense. Felicity isn’t petty. It has to be more than a fit of pique over a cancelled outing.

  ‘No, it was not.’

  ‘Then what happened? Something here, or did her ladyship go out?’

  Richard fought to hide his growing exasperation, knowing any attempt to force information from Yvette would be met with stubborn silence. She would, however, respond to honesty.

  ‘Yvette. I know something has upset her ladyship this morning. She will not confide in me, but how can I put things right if I do not know what happened? Did she go out?’

  Yvette sighed. ‘I will tell you because you employ me. I am fond of my lady and I want her to be happy and she is not happy, no.’

  Now we’re getting somewhere.

  ‘What happened this—?’

  ‘No.’ Yvette glared at Richard. ‘I tell this in my way. My lady, she is in love with you but she is scared. Then today, I do not know what she see, but she see something and she nearly swoons and Mr Durant put us in a hackney and milady cried.’

  Richard’s stomach knotted. He longed to pepper Yvette with questions, but forced himself to go slowly. ‘Mr Durant?’

  ‘Milady and me, we go shopping and Mr Durant escorts us. But I am told to walk ahead so I do not know what he says, but he is worried about something.’

  Money. Debts. Nothing new there.

  ‘Milady sees the Lady Brierley going into Brook Street, and she follows her but stops on the corner.’

  Ice-cold fingers clutched Richard’s heart. He had met Harriet in Brook Street. What had Felicity seen? He pictured their meeting. Nothing there, surely, to cause such upset.

  Apart from the fact you cancelled your outing with her to meet clandestinely with your ex-mistress?

  Nonsense! Felicity does not know... His brain seized, then stuttered forward, inch by agonizing inch.

  Felicity did not know Harriet had been his mistress. Felicity did not know Richard and Harriet had more than a nodding acquaintance. And yet...Richard had broken his promise to Felicity in favour of meeting Harriet. They had talked and then driven off together in his carriage.

  But, still, was that enough to...why did she not just ask him?

  Charles! Damned loose-tongued... Richard recalled their conversation at the Davenports’ ball. It was possible. It was the only thing that made any sense.

  ‘Thank you, Yvette. That will be all.’

  He must talk to Felicity. Explain why he had met Harriet that morning and, he knew, it was time he told her the truth about their past relationship. No other woman mattered in his life. Only Felicity.

  He was overcome with a sudden urge to find her. Now, to clear the air, to convince her of his love.

  ‘Yvette!’ The maid returned at his shout. ‘You did not tell me where her ladyship has gone.’

  ‘She has driven to the park with Mr Durant, milord.’

  Of course she has. What else would his Felicity do but try to prove she did not care by continuing their plans without him? Spurred into action, he shouted to the footman to send to the stables for his horse and to tell Dalton he was to accompany him.

  Richard set a spanking pace around the park, nodding to friends and acquaintances alike, but stopping to speak to no one. At last, on the far side, he spied his target. Defying convention, he urged Gambit into a gallop, overtaking the phaeton and pair before skidding to a halt in front of them.

  Felicity pulled up Nutmeg and Spice and glared at Richard.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed. Richard ignored her, his eyes fixed on his sheepish-looking cousin. He nudged Gambit around to where Charles sat.

  ‘Out!’

  ‘Now, steady on, Stan.’

  Richard swung down from Gambit and tossed the reins to Dalton. ‘Take them home,’ he ordered, his eyes still on Charles who, after the very slightest of hesitations, climbed from the phaeton.

  ‘Charles? Don’t, I beg of you—’

  Richard leapt aboard, taking the reins from Felicity’s unresisting hands. ‘Say goodbye to Charles, Felicity.’

  ‘I say...’

  Richard clicked to the ponies. They set off at a trot.

  ‘You won’t forget that little matter we spoke about, will you, Felicity?’ Charles’s voice faded into the distance.

  ‘Has he asked you for money?’

  ‘Yes. Richard, why—?’

  ‘I do not appreciate other men dunning my wife for money.’

  The sharp intake of breath beside him warned Richard this conversation might not go as planned. Planned? Hell, he hadn’t planned anything...had thought no further than finding Felicity, taking her in his arms and convincing her of his love.

  Chapter Fifty

  ‘And I do not appreciate other women making secret assignations with my husband.’

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Felicity regretted them. What had come of her plan to keep her dignity and ignore Richard’s behaviour? Did she have to blurt out the thing that was uppermost in her mind almost the second she saw him?

  Richard reined Nutmeg and Spice to a halt on the side of the Row, and set the brake, twisting to face Felicity, who gritted her teeth and stared defiantly ahead.

  ‘You saw me with Harriet.’

  It was a statement, not a question. ‘Harriet, is it now? It was always Lady Brierley before, whilst you were making a fool out of me.’

  Felicity gripped her gloved hands tightly in her lap. As people rode and drove past, she was aware of their surreptitious glances.

  ‘Neither of us has any desire to make a fool of you, my darling.’

  Richard covered her clasped hands with his.

  ‘I will tell you everything, and then I can do no more than hope you will forgive me. Not for anything I have done, but only for not admitting the truth when you first met Harriet.’

  ‘I thought she was my friend.’ A tear threatened to spill and Felicity snatched her hand from Richard’s grasp to swipe at it.

  ‘She is your friend. She is very fond of you, and has done more for you than you know.’

  ‘Hmmph.’ Felicity did not want this conversation. And she most certainly did not want to hear it here, in the park, in front of all these curious, prying eyes. ‘I want to go home.’

  Richard leaned closer, his voice low. ‘First, we will have this conversation. Then we will go home.’

  Despite her anger, a tug of awareness snaked through Felicity as his warm breath danced over her skin. She clamped her teeth tight, fighting her instinctive reaction.

  ‘What I have to say, I will say now. And you need to hear it now, w
hilst you are upset and open and vulnerable. If I give you the time, I am too afraid you will rebuild those wretched fortifications around that stubborn little heart of yours, and I shall be marooned forever on the outside.’

  She risked a sidelong glance. Dark-chocolate eyes burned into her. Afraid? Her strong, capable, confident husband afraid?

  She inclined her head. ‘Very well. It would appear I have little choice, as you are holding the reins.’

  An apt metaphor for a woman’s life: someone else always in control of the reins.

  ‘Before I decided to wed, I was a single man. Harriet was a widow.’ Gentle fingers caressed her nape. Shivers cascaded down her spine. ‘We had an understanding—’

  ‘An affaire!’ Her squirming stomach made Felicity shift uneasily on the seat. ‘You were in love with her.’

  ‘Yes, an affaire and, no, I was never in love with her. Nor she with me. It was a mutually agreeable arrangement. I know how cold that sounds, but it happens, sweetheart. We satisfied each other’s physical needs. Nobody else knew.’

  ‘Charles knew.’

  ‘He did not know. He guessed, and only very recently. I suppose I should be grateful he managed to keep that much a secret. If he had not, the entire ton would know by now. As soon as we were betrothed, I wrote to Harriet to end our arrangement.’

  ‘Why?’ Felicity concentrated her gaze on his sensual, skilful lips. Had those lips caressed Harriet...? She shied away from the thought, miserably aware she was being unfair. She was an adult. People had affaires. She, of all people, knew that.

  ‘Why did I end it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I wanted to be fair to you, and I wanted our marriage to be content. I told myself I could always take another mistress later, after you were with child.’

  Felicity stiffened. Tried to pull away from his touch. His arm wrapped around her, holding her still.

  ‘I am being brutally honest with you, my love, because there must be no further misunderstandings between us. At that time, both you and I expected a marriage of convenience. I did not know what the future held. That is what I thought and how I felt then. It is not how I feel now.