The marquess stood looking at the ground. He stood in silence for a long time. Then he said slowly, ‘Do not worry, Miss Amy, I am well able to handle my own affairs.’
‘But . . .’
‘No, you must not interfere. Not another word. Come along and I will ride back with you. We have only a half-hour left in which to change for dinner.’
The Duchess of Handshire was not entirely insensitive. She prided herself on her table and wondered what had happened to everyone’s appetite. Moody silence reined and the guests picked at their food, with the exception of Amy, who cheerfully ate everything on her plate.
Betty looked as pretty as ever, although there were slight shadows under her eyes. Felicity had an abstracted air and drank too much, and for once Effy had not the heart to chide her. Lord Bremmer kept sending smouldering looks in the direction of Betty and kept asking her to take wine with him throughout the meal.
When they were all assembled in the drawing room, they stood about talking. The marquess took Betty off into a corner and began to speak to her intensely. Amy brightened at the growing look of horror on Betty’s face and wondered what he was saying.
The duchess commanded a demonstration of the quadrille. Effy sat down to play. Not one of them performed very well and the demonstration came to an abrupt end when Lord Bremmer attempted an entrechat and twisted his ankle.
Felicity thought the evening would never end. They were to leave on the morrow. Ravenswood had hardly spoken to her, and when he looked at her, his expression was veiled. There was no hope. Her head felt heavy. She would make amends to her mother for her previous wildness by marrying quietly and suitably. The idea was so depressing that she felt tears beginning to prick at the back of her eyes.
It was a sorry group that set out the next day on the long road back. Only Effy became visibly brighter as streets and shops began to appear on either side. Felicity was wishing the marquess would take himself off. She felt she could not bear to be under the same roof as him and to endure visits from Betty and her mother and to listen to preparations for the wedding.
Felicity slept heavily that night, not waking until late in the morning. She went reluctantly downstairs and then heard a querulous, complaining voice raised in the drawing room.
Mrs Andrews.
Felicity felt she could not bear it. She retreated to her room, dived into bed, fully clothed, and pulled the blankets over her head.
Downstairs in the drawing room, the amazed Tribble sisters and the Marquess of Ravenswood were listening to a lecture from Mrs Andrews.
‘I could not believe my ears,’ that lady was saying. ‘My poor little darling is quite, quite shattered. All that divine beauty to be so persecuted. The duchess making her slave from morning to night over the housekeeping as if my lambkin were a scullery maid. Nasty smelly messes in the still-room! And you!’ Mrs Andrews rounded on the marquess. ‘You monster!’
‘I?’ demanded the marquess, giving her a limpid look.
‘Yes, you. You told Betty you wanted twenty children in quick succession and that she would never come to Town because you intended to spend the rest of your days in the country. You said you wanted a meek and biddable wife and did not hold with ladies spending money on gowns. Three gowns a year you said was enough,’ said Mrs Andrews, her voice rising to a scream. ‘Well, let me tell you this: I should have known what you were like, Ravenswood, when you took up residence with these two frights. Betty tells me there is madness in your family. So, hear this! I, myself, went straight to the newspapers this very morning and put in a notice cancelling your engagement. And what have you to say to that?’
‘Thank you,’ said the marquess with a low bow. ‘Of course, my heart is broken.’
‘Fiddle,’ said Mrs Andrews. ‘You haven’t got a heart. Lord Bremmer has a heart. Betty said if it weren’t for him you would have left her fainting in the middle of a thunderstorm to die of pneumonia. Good day to you all, and I hope I never see any of you again!’
She departed in a flurry of purple silk and strong scent.
‘My stars!’ cried Effy. ‘I was beginning to think nothing would work.’
‘My dear Miss Amy, my dear Miss Effy,’ said the marquess. ‘May I have your permission to . . . ?’
‘Get along with you,’ said Amy, grinning like a schoolboy. ‘She’s in her room.’
Felicity heard the door opening but kept her eyes tightly closed. She thought it was probably one of the sisters, come to summon her to the drawing room, and did not want to be bothered.
Someone sat on the bed. Felicity feigned a faint snore.
‘Felicity,’ said a deep voice.
She opened her eyes and twisted round and looked up into the Marquess of Ravenswood’s face.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded tearfully. ‘Are you come to plague me?’
‘I am come to ask you to marry me. No one will have me. Miss Andrews’ mother has cancelled the engagement.’
‘Why do you want to marry me?’ demanded Felicity.
‘I love you.’
‘Oh, Charles,’ sighed Felicity, winding her arms about his neck. ‘When did you know you loved me?’
‘When Miss Amy Tribble told me so.’
‘That is not at all romantic.’
‘Then is this,’ he said softly, bending his face to hers, ‘and this . . . and this . . . ?’
‘Oh, Charles. Kiss me again.’
‘Come away from that door this minute, Amy Tribble,’ said Effy. ‘You shouldn’t be listening.’
‘I’m a chaperone, ain’t I?’ said Amy, pressing her ear to the panels of Felicity’s bedroom door once more. ‘I’m the best chaperone in the world. Damme, we’re both the best.’ She swung to face Effy, her eyes blazing. ‘By George, we’ve done it.’
From inside came the creak of bedsprings. ‘Dear, dear,’ cried Effy. ‘We must stop them.’
‘I don’t think Ravenswood will go too far,’ said Amy cheerfully. ‘Come along, Effy. This calls for champagne.’
‘We had better go and tell the Tribbles the good news,’ said the marquess after he had reluctantly freed his lips. ‘We must be married soon, for you are not safe with me.’
Dizzy with passion and happiness, they made their way downstairs.
‘I think they know already,’ said the marquess, as they paused outside the drawing room.
From inside came the noise of Amy roaring out a chorus of ‘The Gay Hussar’ while Effy thumped the piano keys with gusto.
‘Another kiss,’ whispered the marquess, pulling Felicity back into his arms.
Felicity held him away. ‘Did you tell Betty something to frighten her away?’ she asked.
‘Only that I wanted twenty children.’
Felicity began to laugh. ‘What a lovely idea,’ she said. ‘When do we start?’
He shook her and smiled down at her. ‘You are still wild,’ he said. ‘Come, kiss me and promise me you will never change.’
10
Love rules the camp, the court, the grove – for love
Is heaven, and heaven is love.
Lord Byron
Lady Baronsheath had a house guest, a Mrs Toddy, a comfortable, cheerful widow who was gratifyingly interested in all the details of Lady Felicity’s forthcoming marriage. Lady Baronsheath had worried that her husband might write from America, forbidding the wedding to take place until his return. But the earl had written he was highly delighted, callously adding he was sure his wife would see the couple spliced without his help.
The countess was to travel to London the following week to begin arrangements for the wedding in St George’s, Hanover Square. She was glad of Mrs Toddy’s easygoing company, for she feared by each post to learn that Felicity had changed her mind. She could not quite believe that her daughter was to be so respectably married, albeit the engagement was dreadfully short – a mere three months.
‘What you have not told me,’ said Mrs Toddy, between sips of tea, ‘is how you came to know the Tribb
le sisters, and how you came to choose them to school Felicity. It turned out a brilliant choice, but how could you guess? I know them slightly myself, and Amy Tribble is definitely odd.’
Lady Baronsheath hesitated and then said, ‘I shall tell you if you promise not to breathe a word to a soul.’
Mrs Toddy looked suitably solemn. ‘Not a word shall pass my lips.’
The countess took the now yellowing newspaper out of the drawer and smoothed it out and handed it to Mrs Toddy. ‘I was at my wit’s end,’ she said, ‘and I saw this advertisement and answered it. I did not know anything of the Tribble sisters at that time.’
Mrs Toddy read the advertisement slowly and carefully. ‘What an amazing thing,’ she said at last. ‘No, I will certainly not tell anyone. Everyone believes the Tribbles to be friends of yours.’
Mrs Toddy left Greenboys before Lady Barons-heath’s departure to London, assuring her friend that she would most definitely attend the wedding and considered herself honoured to be included among the guests.
On her return to Tunbridge Wells, Mrs Toddy found that Lady Baronsheath’s secret had grown uncomfortably large. It was misery to have such a splendid piece of gossip and have to keep it to oneself.
She was choosing silks in a shop one afternoon when Lady Fremley, one of the residents of the spa, came in. They chatted while they inspected the silks and Lady Fremley declared herself green with envy that Mrs Toddy was to attend the wedding of the year. She begged Mrs Toddy to return with her for a dish of tea.
Lady Fremley liked to lace her afternoon tea with brandy, and Mrs Toddy soon found her tongue loosened, and she told Lady Fremley all about the Tribbles’ advertisement, but swore her to secrecy.
But Lady Fremley had not such a conscience as Mrs Toddy, and finding the secret burning inside her, she duly started to unburden herself to all and sundry until it appeared as if the whole of the upper echelons of Tunbridge Wells had been sworn to keep the secret.
And so the gossip spread out like ripples in a pool, and the little tide of murmured gossip washed up on the shores of London before Felicity’s wedding. It spread quickly round the upper ranks of society and then down to the lesser ranks, the lesser ranks including Mr Desmond Callaghan.
That Pink of the ton was quite outraged, for all were speaking of the Tribble sisters with great admiration. He wished he had known earlier and then he might have tried to spike their guns by doing something to ruin their job as chaperones. Still, he suddenly thought, there might be a next time . . .
Amy and Effy had received a comfortable bonus of three thousand pounds from Lady Baronsheath. Effy was happily content with it. They had employed their own staff of servants and had even bought some of their own pictures for the walls, Felicity having learned at last where both pictures and servants had come from. But as the day of the wedding approached, Amy began to grow anxious. The eight thousand pounds Lady Baronsheath had given them to bring out Felicity had all gone, and now they were eating into the bonus of three thousand. Eight thousand pounds might appear a fortune to most of the population, but it was only a sufficient amount for an aristocratic Season, especially with the inflationary prices of the Regency. Although Felicity was engaged, they were still expected to chaperone her for the length of the London Season. There were so many callers to entertain and all the new servants to pay on quarter-day.
At last Amy was forced to darken Effy’s spirits by confiding her worries. Effy said that she was sure Mr Haddon was about to propose to her, Effy, but that piece of intelligence only served to send Amy into a towering passion and she accused Effy of being totally useless and living in fantasies.
Mr Haddon arrived. ‘But you need not worry,’ he said after Effy had been soothed down and Amy had explained the problem, although Amy could not help adding nastily that Effy was living in dreams of someone proposing to her. Effy had looked hopefully at Mr Haddon at this point and toyed flirtatiously with her fan, but he appeared buried in thought. She began to sniffle dismally.
‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I do not see why you are worrying. It appears to be all over London that Lady Baronsheath answered an advertisement of yours. I am sure you will not even need to advertise for a difficult girl this time.’
‘But I don’t want to go through all that business again,’ wailed Effy. ‘Difficult girls are so exhausting.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Amy, much cheered. She flung her new shawl about her shoulders and twisted this way and that to admire the effect. ‘We shall have our pick of ’em.’
In Tunbridge Wells, Mr and Mrs Burgess sat in their dark, overfurnished drawing room.
‘It is of no use discussing these Tribble people,’ said Mrs Burgess to her husband. ‘It would not work with Fiona. My niece is hardened and steeped in sin.’
‘As far as I see it,’ said Mr Burgess, rising to his feet and beginning to walk up and down, ‘we do not have much hope. She is a very wealthy heiress and you would think some man would want her.’
‘And so they did!’ cried Mrs Burgess. ‘Four, to be precise. And what happened? Each was left alone with her to pay his address, and all reeled out of the house without proposing, never to be heard of again. But even a whipping could not raise anything more out of Fiona except that they must have changed their minds and she did not know why. My niece is very rich and the management of her money passes out of our hands on the day she marries. I tell you, Mr Burgess, people will begin to say it is all our fault and that we are stopping her getting married. Have we not done our best? Have we not read the Bible to her daily? Have we not kept her on bread and water?’
‘If she went off to these Tribbles,’ said Mr Burgess, ‘she would at least be out of our hands for more than a Season. Say they took her about November to start her schooling, we should be shot of her for at least eight months. It is not our money that will pay for it, but Fiona’s. And I think the expense well justified. I have prayed nightly for guidance and I firmly believe God has sent news of the Tribbles to us.’
Mrs Burgess thought of eight months without Fiona.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘We shall travel to London as soon as this wedding is over and broach the matter to them. I suppose they are very expensive.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Burgess. ‘Lady Fremley told Mrs Jessop that she had had it from Mrs Toddy that at least ten thousand pounds plus a bonus if the girl weds well is what they are demanding. I asked Mrs Toddy, who screamed she had never breathed a word, and added that she could not have said any sum of money, for Lady Baronsheath had not mentioned money.’
‘Considering the amount of wealth our useless niece has, ten thousand is a mere drop,’ said Mrs Burgess. ‘The matter is settled. Fiona shall go to the Tribbles.’
Felicity had endured the wedding rehearsal. She was beginning to wonder whether to run away. The marquess was as cross as a bear, and when he had bent to kiss her at the wedding rehearsal, he had mumbled first that all this cursed to-ing and fro-ing was driving him mad and he was heartily bored with the whole thing. His lips had then descended on her own in a brief, cold kiss.
Miss Betty Andrews had become engaged to Lord Bremmer, and Felicity reflected gloomily that at least they looked like a couple in love. She had seen them in the Park the other day, and they had been gazing into each other’s eyes. Felicity had returned to be confronted by the marquess, who had taken exception to one of the Baronsheaths’ guests and had asked Felicity coldly if she would please do some of the work on the wedding herself, instead of jauntering around and leaving everyone else to cope with it.
Felicity had been as deeply hurt and wounded as only a young woman in love at the receiving end of a remark like that can be. At times she thought her mother’s sheer delight in the whole business was the only thing stopping her from teaching the marquess a well-deserved lesson by crying off.
All those aching yearnings he had started up in her body were still there, and not one of them, it seemed, was to be assuaged by the slightest caress. He reminded her
of her hunting friends at her coming-out ball who had all treated her like the man her father had so wanted her to be.
Other girls might dream of their honeymoons of being alone with their beloved at last, and Felicity was no exception – except that she longed to be alone with the marquess so that she could throw something at his head and then tell him exactly what she thought of him.
The day of her wedding was wet and gloomy, and Wanstead fussed about, moaning that it was a bad omen. Felicity threw a hairbrush at her, which Wanstead deftly caught and then proceeded to madden Felicity further by giving her a lecture on how some girls never reform.
Amy was too carried away by her own new outfit to notice Felicity’s distress. It was a green wool gown of mannish cut, decorated with a jabot of gold lace and with a froth of gold lace at the wrists. Mr Haddon had said she looked ‘very fine’ and had given her a present of a fine Kashmir shawl and had begged her not to tell Effy, because the other shawls he had brought back had got the moth in them and were sadly damaged. So now Amy and Mr Haddon had a secret that Effy was not part of, and Amy delightedly hugged the knowledge to herself and told Effy that she herself had bought the shawl from Lady Rochester. Amy blithely meant to warn Lady Rochester of the lie, but forgot in all the bustle of wedding preparations.
As Felicity sat in the drawing room, waiting for the carriage that was to take her to the church, Mr Haddon whispered to Effy that he thought Lady Felicity looked absolutely furious about something, but Effy was too intimidated by the presence of the earl’s brother, Lord Devere, to pay much attention to anything. Lord Devere was very like the Earl of Baronsheath, being large, ebullient, and noisy.
Looking at Felicity’s set face on the road to the church, Lord Devere assumed she had bride nerves and told her several very warm stories in an effort to cheer her up. He had drunk a great deal and was very unsteady on his feet as he led her up the aisle.
Amy and Effy sat pressed close together during the service, and when the marquess said, ‘I do,’ Amy stifled a sob and clutched Effy’s gloved hand. How many long and weary nights had both of them dreamt that one day one of them would be standing where Felicity now was. Both sisters gave up trying to be brave and cried dismally, and at one point Amy’s wails threatened to drown the noise of the organ.
Refining Felicity Page 14