Refining Felicity

by Beaton, M. C.

  She was still young enough to consider anyone over the age of twenty-five as being practically devoid of feeling. As far as Felicity was concerned, the Tribble sisters were in comfortable circumstances. They did not need her and would soon find another to replace her.

  Lord Bremmer was to be allowed to take her out driving that day. Felicity began again to plot and plan.

  She had very little time to force their brief acquaintanceship on to a more intimate footing, but no sooner had they driven off than Lord Bremmer himself gave her the opportunity.

  ‘You must wonder, Lady Felicity,’ he said, as he turned his phaeton in at the gates of Hyde Park, ‘why it was I did not follow you to London.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Felicity, giving him a melting smile.

  ‘Well, the awkward fact was,’ he said, ‘that a marriage had been more or less arranged for me by my parents. I had to extricate myself from that, don’t you see?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ breathed Felicity while she fought with her conscience. She hoped desperately that Lord Bremmer’s intended had not been too hurt by his rejection of her.

  ‘But the thing that puzzles me,’ said Lord Bremmer, ‘is that if Ravenswood wants you for himself, then why did he up and propose to someone else?’

  Felicity was ready for that one. ‘I spurned his advances,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘But he has vowed to get his revenge.’

  ‘Gad! How?’

  ‘He has sworn I shall never marry anyone, and to that end, he has persuaded the Tribble sisters to turn anyone from the doors who might wish me as a wife.’

  ‘But they gave me a great welcome.’

  Felicity heaved a melancholy sigh. ‘I heard them laughing about it afterwards,’ she said. ‘Miss Amy said, “Bremmer is too young to be of danger.”’

  Lord Bremmer’s face darkened with anger.

  ‘But after tomorrow, I shall not be allowed to see you again,’ said Felicity, with a break in her voice. ‘For Ravenswood comes to Town.’

  ‘Damme,’ said Lord Bremmer. ‘Such cruel persecution is beyond all bounds. I’ve a good mind to elope with you.’

  He reined in his horses and looked at her. Felicity’s eyes were shining with hero worship.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Eh, what?’ asked Lord Bremmer, looking at her stupidly.

  ‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ said Felicity. ‘My hero!’

  ‘Oh, Gad, what, I say . . . urgh . . .’

  ‘And it can all be so simple. For there is to be a review in Hyde Park at eleven in the morning. And you shall take me to that and then we can change to your travelling carriage and go to Gretna.’

  ‘Urm . . . !’

  ‘How brave and clever you are.’ And Felicity went on praising him and smiling at him and telling him how wonderful he was until the bewildered young man would gladly have taken her to Greenland that very moment had she asked him.

  ‘And I shall put clothes in a paper parcel and say we are dropping them off at St George’s for the poor,’ said Felicity, ‘for I could never manage to carry a trunk out of the house.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ said Lord Bremmer, allowing himself to be swept along.

  Felicity was resting in her room later that day when Amy came in.

  ‘Ravenswood’s coming here this evening,’ she said abruptly, ‘with Miss Andrews and her mother. Wear something really good for dinner.’

  ‘Is Lord Ravenswood to stay here again?’ asked Felicity.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? He has a Town house.’

  ‘Er . . . it’s being redecorated. Goodness, I’m tired,’ groaned Amy. ‘I had hoped for a quiet evening. I do not think I shall enjoy the company of this Miss Andrews. She sounds just the sort of female to make me feel awkward.’

  ‘Lord Ravenswood is very close to you, is he not?’ asked Felicity.

  ‘What? Oh, yes. Devilishly fond of me and Effy, he is. Anyway, wear one of the new gowns Mamselle made for you, there’s a good child.’

  ‘Very well, Miss Amy,’ said Felicity meekly.

  Amy eyed her suspiciously.

  ‘I should be glad you are behaving so well these days, but such good behaviour from such as you makes me feel nervous. Not plotting anything, are you?’

  ‘No,’ said Felicity with a limpid look. ‘I am become all that is respectable, and the highly respectable Lord Bremmer is to take me to the review in Hyde Park tomorrow.’

  Amy’s face cleared. ‘He’s a pleasant chap and comes from a good family. I had best go and try to make myself as near a fashion-plate as I can. Thank goodness, Mr Haddon is to be there as well.’

  As she sat in the drawing room before dinner, Amy began to fidget nervously. What could be keeping Felicity? Effy was talking to Mr Haddon, the marquess was standing by the fireplace chatting to Miss Andrews, which left Amy with the task of talking to Mrs Andrews. Amy could not help wondering whether the marquess ever considered that his beloved might turn out in later years to look like her mother. Mrs Andrews had been a great beauty in her youth, but discontent had scored lines down either side of her mouth, and an excess of the use of blanc had pitted her skin. She had a high, drawling, affected voice.

  Amy was just about to ring the bell and ask a servant to go and fetch Felicity when the door opened and that young lady walked in.

  Amy’s eyes misted with pride.

  The French dressmaker had already lived up to and beyond Amy’s expectations. The gown Felicity was wearing was a simple sprigged muslin. But it was one of the finest examples of Yvette’s art. The neckline was cleverly cut so that Felicity was allowed to bare the genteel maximum of seductive bosom and still look like a lady. The deep flounces at the hem fluttered as she moved, as did the thin material of her gown, emphasizing the hint of a shapely leg and the young swell of a firm buttock. Her hair was dressed in one of the latest Roman styles and pomaded to a high shine.

  Miss Andrews looked at Felicity and then sharply upwards at the marquess. He was watching Felicity with a brooding, hooded look.

  Effy made the introductions.

  ‘La,’ cried Miss Andrews, waving her fan. ‘I could not for a moment imagine you wearing red whiskers, Lady Felicity.’

  Felicity gave a half-smile. The Tribble sisters threw reproachful glances at the marquess, who coloured slightly. He had told Miss Andrews of his adventures with Felicity but had not dreamt for a minute she would repeat them to anyone or betray in public that she knew anything at all. But worse was to come. For it soon transpired that Betty Andrews had told her mother all about Felicity. Like her daughter, Mrs Andrews was irritated by Felicity’s appearance. The marquess living under the same roof as the noisy masculine type of female she had expected Lady Felicity to prove to be was one thing; the marquess sharing a home with a graceful enchantress was another.

  ‘Yes, I confess I was monstrous shocked to hear of your escapade,’ drawled Mrs Andrews. ‘Gels were whipped for such behaviour in my day.’

  The marquess found himself hoping Felicity would say something pert or rude so that he might not feel so awful about the behaviour of his future mother-in-law, but she merely raised her eyebrows slightly and went to sit beside Mr Haddon.

  The rest of the evening was a nightmare for the marquess. It became all too plain that his fiancée was jealous of Lady Felicity, and the more jealous she became, the more charmingly Felicity behaved. After dinner, Felicity entertained the small company by playing the piano. Mr Haddon clapped enthusiastically and then demanded to see Felicity’s latest watercolours, telling Mrs Andrews proudly that Felicity had a professional touch.

  The marquess watched Felicity with a brooding gaze. He found himself wondering if she had become beautiful, enchanting, and accomplished merely to spite him.

  When at last Mrs Andrews rose to her feet and said they must leave, the remaining company sighed with relief.

  Amy came back into the drawing room after seeing the Andrewses off.

  Felicity was putting away he
r sheets of music. Amy slapped her on the back. ‘You Trojan, Felicity,’ she said. ‘If you weren’t the most enchanting piece of goods I’ve seen in years.’

  Felicity smiled and blushed, but something flashed in the depths of her eyes.

  Amy thought uneasily that the quick flash had been one of guilt and wondered why.

  6

  There is a tide in the affairs of women,

  Which, taken at the flood, leads – God knows where.

  Lord Byron, Don Juan

  Descending the stairs the following morning, the Marquess of Ravenswood paused. Felicity was leaving to go to the review in Hyde Park with Lord Bremmer. Amy and Effy were seeing them off. Felicity, the marquess noticed, was clutching a huge parcel.

  ‘What on earth is in that parcel?’ he called.

  The little group turned to face him. Amy and Effy were smiling, Lord Bremmer scowling, and Felicity looking defiant.

  ‘Lady Felicity is going to drop off a parcel of her old clothes at St George’s,’ said Effy.

  ‘And you on your way to see the review!’ said the marquess, descending the stairs. ‘I shall be passing St George’s myself this morning. Allow me to deliver the parcel for you.’

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ said Felicity. Lord Bremmer had turned a muddy colour. ‘Let us go,’ added Felicity impatiently. The marquess watched them with narrowed eyes as they collided in the doorway in their haste to escape.

  ‘Why do you look so angry?’ asked Amy. ‘Bremmer is all that is suitable, although I confess I would have thought a man slightly older than Felicity would be more the thing.’

  ‘I think she’s up to mischief,’ said the marquess. He turned to the hovering butler. ‘Fetch that female here – the French dressmaker.’

  ‘What do you want to see Yvette for?’ asked Amy. ‘Does Miss Andrews wish her services? For she can’t have ’em, you know. Yvette is my find. And she’s busy now, making clothes for me and Effy.’

  ‘You’ll see’ was all the marquess would say.

  Yvette appeared behind the butler. She was a young Frenchwoman in her twenties, with black eyes, a sallow skin, neatly dressed brown hair, and a trim figure.

  ‘Follow me, Yvette,’ said the marquess.

  ‘Shall we go and see what he is up to?’ asked Effy as the marquess strode up the stairs, with the dressmaker scurrying after him.

  ‘No,’ said Amy. ‘You never can tell with gentlemen. Their moods are most odd. He is probably going to get her to make Miss Andrews’ wedding gown or something like that and does not want to offend us.’

  The marquess led the way into Felicity’s bedchamber. It looked as if a bomb had hit it. Yvette clucked in dismay. Clothes were lying everywhere, where they had been dragged from drawers and closets.

  ‘Now, Yvette,’ said the marquess. ‘You should know the contents of Lady Felicity’s wardrobe by now. Tell me which clothes are missing.’

  The maid quickly began to search the room. ‘That new gold silk pelisse with the swansdown trimming is missing,’ she said half to herself, as she looked, ‘and the pink muslin with the five flounces, and the green carriage dress with the frogs, and—’

  ‘Enough! I gather these were not old.’

  ‘Oh no, my lord. They were my best creations and Lady Felicity seemed to like them.’

  ‘That will be all,’ said the marquess.

  He hurried down to the drawing room and confronted the sisters. ‘It is my considered opinion,’ he said, ‘that Lady Felicity has eloped with Bremmer. The clothes in that parcel were her best.’

  Effy let out a faint scream, but Amy said robustly, ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘To have her revenge,’ said the marquess. ‘To disgrace us all. It is of no use my going to the review. I am sure they will not be there. They are probably on the road north. Do not worry. I shall punch Bremmer’s head and bring her back. She can have Bremmer if she wants, but in church and properly. The devil! I was to take Miss Andrews driving. Send a footman with my apologies.’

  After he had left, the sisters sat looking stricken. ‘Can he be mistaken?’ said Effy at last. ‘Lady Felicity must know what this means. Not only will Lady Baronsheath be furious, but no one in society will ever want our services. Oh, Amy. Back to the days of cold rooms and stewed scrag-end of mutton.’

  ‘I hope she breaks her neck,’ said Amy savagely. ‘Of all the cruel and spiteful little minxes . . . Oh, why did we have to advertise for difficult girls. I didn’t like that Miss Andrews, but now she seems like all that is good and worthy in comparison to Felicity.’

  All went well with the eloping couple. It was another fine spring day. Great fleecy clouds sailed overhead as they sat up on the box of Lord Bremmer’s travelling carriage. Lord Bremmer had no regrets. Every time he turned to look at Felicity she gave him a soft, glowing smile. He felt ten feet tall. He was sure his parents’ fury would be short-lived when they learned he had had the good sense to elope with a titled heiress.

  Confident that no one would be looking for them for some time, as the review was expected to last for over two hours, they broke their journey at a posting house in Barnet. They had been sitting amicably side by side in the coffee room, drinking coffee and eating cake, when Felicity excused herself.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Lord Bremmer.

  ‘To the Jericho,’ said Felicity calmly.

  Lord Bremmer blushed painfully. He felt it was very unwomanly of Felicity to be so graphic. She should have said she was retiring to straighten her gown or something like that.

  When Felicity had left, he picked up an old copy of the Morning Post and idly studied the advertisements on the front.

  The Tribbles’ advertisement seemed to leap out of the page at him. Felicity had confided in him that her misguided mother had answered an advertisement in the Morning Post. But surely it could not be this one – ‘If you have a Wild, Unruly, or Undisciplined Daughter . . .’

  He put the paper down and shook his head as if to clear it. This could not be the one. It must have been some other advertisement.

  He sipped his cooling coffee and waited, and waited. At last, fearing something might have happened to Felicity, he sent a maid to the privy in the inn garden to see if she was still there. But before the maid returned, Felicity erupted into the coffee room, her eyes shining.

  ‘Such luck,’ she cried. ‘I have bespoke a couple of hunters for us.’

  ‘Gad! Hunters? Why?’

  ‘The hunt, man. The hunt. They are already off and running.’

  ‘You cannot mean to join a hunt in the middle of an elopement.’

  Felicity stamped her foot. ‘No one will be after us for hours. It is a perfectly splendid day and the scent is high. Here! Give me that parcel. I must change.’

  She seized her brown paper parcel and ran out.

  His mouth in a firm line of disapproval, Lord Bremmer went out into the inn courtyard to cancel the order for the hunters. But the landlord had been impressed by Felicity’s forceful personality and said he would not do anything until he had the lady’s permission.

  Felicity appeared dressed in the men’s clothes the chambermaid had bought her, but minus the greatcoat and whiskers.

  Lord Bremmer closed his eyes at the sight of his beloved in breeches, top boots, and padded coat. She looked like an effete and shoddy Dandy, fallen on hard times.

  ‘Don’t fall asleep,’ laughed Felicity. ‘Up and away, Bremmer, or we’ll lose them.’

  When Lord Bremmer opened his eyes, it was to see Felicity leaping into the saddle.

  ‘I – I say,’ he called desperately. ‘Gad, Lady Felicity. Oh, Gad.’

  With a turnip grin on his face, the landlord was leading a hunter forward. ‘Better get mounted, my lord,’ he said, ‘or you’ll lose your lady.’

  The marquess, sure that the couple would not try to break their journey anywhere until nightfall, pressed on through Barnet. The we-aw, we-aw, we-aw of a hunting-horn was sounding over the fields to his
right. He brought his attention back to the road just in time. A section of the road had fallen in, probably having been cracked and undermined by the winter’s frosts. By forcing his team round by the narrow grass verge, he just managed to miss it. He glanced back over his shoulder. Had he not been in such haste to catch Felicity, he would have cut a stave and tied a handkerchief on top of it and fixed it in the hole as a warning to other drivers.

  He stopped eventually at a large posting house to change his horses and inquire after the couple. But it had been a quiet day, they said, with hardly any traffic on the road. The marquess was puzzled. He began to wonder whether he had made a mistake, whether the couple had gone to the review after all.

  He hesitated before driving on. He sat, holding the reins loosely in his hands. He deliberately banished the image of Felicity as she had looked the previous evening from his brain – that image of a seductive, accomplished, mannered Felicity, which had haunted him ever since. He thought instead of a selfish and spoilt Felicity. And then he remembered the sound of that hunting-horn.

  She wouldn’t – would she? In the middle of an elopement? But then he doubted if Felicity was in that happy state of mind where the world was well lost for love. It was a gamble. But it was a gamble he decided to take. He swung his team about and headed back towards Barnet.

  Night was falling fast, and he studied the landmarks on either side. He wished now he had marked that hole in the road. But he had noted that, from the direction he was approaching, a weirdly twisted willow stood just at the roadside before it.

  He swung round a bend. He saw the willow, outlined against the greenish-purple sky, and then he saw a carriage on its side in the hole. A figure of a man was stooping to cut the traces while another soothed the plunging rearing horses. The slimmer, slighter man led the horses to the side of the road away from the hole.

  The marquess reined in his horses, tethered them to a fence and walked forward. The slimmer man suddenly said to the stockier one in a very feminine voice, ‘Don’t start on a jaw-me-dead, Bremmer.’