by Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon, Elizabeth Essex, Anthea Lawson
Gus only blinked innocently.
“You know nothing more about it than I do, Augusta,” Felicity said, her insides feeling decidedly wild at the thought of what tonight would bring.
Gus pouted her lips with exaggerated coquettishness. “Don’t I?”
“No,” Felicity replied through gritted teeth.
She giggled. “The blacksmith’s son might say differently.”
“Augusta Drake, if you’ve given your virtue to—“
Gus held up her hand. “Should it matter if it be lofty lord or lowly peasant?”
“Do not be grandiose!” Pen exclaimed in horror. “Not about this.”
Gus sighed. “Alas, I am virgo intact. The poor boy was too frightened to go through with it in the end. I need a man, don’t you know.”
“You need a swift kick to your bum,” Felicity said.
Gus laughed. “Probably. You will tell us all about it. Won’t you?”
Felicity laughed. “I suppose. Not everything, but you know I believe in the importance of knowledge.”
“Oh good,” Gus replied happily. “No one has been able to sufficiently sate my curiosity.”
“Your curiosity will see you dead,” retorted Pen.
“Pen, how ever were you born into this family?” asked Gus, rolling her eyes. “You’re too good.”
Pen tsked. “Felicity is good.”
Gus laughed. “Not that good.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh come, Felicity,” urged Gus as she sprawled dramatically on the bed. “Admit it. You’re as naughty as me in your head. You’ve just had time to practice keeping it to yourself.”
It was so tempting to tell her sister there wasn’t a jot of truth in the claim, but she couldn’t. “I will admit to being naughtier than Penelope.”
Pen gasped.
Felicity laughed. “Oh Pen, do not fear. I’ll never cause a scandal.”
Pen hated scandals. Perhaps the most out of all the sisters. She’d never gotten the knack of not being dreadfully hurt by the derision of others.
And when one was surrounded by as much scandal as the Drake sisters were, it was important to achieve such a knack.
“That’s what you say now,” Gus pointed out lightly. “But what about in five years, when we’re all sorted out, your husband has grown a stomach, and is always with his mistresses! Perhaps, you’ll cause as great a scandal as Lady Adelaide Lyon!”
Pen shuddered. Visibly.
Felicity groaned. “I’ll never be as mad as she or cause such a scandal.”
“Oh no?” Gus asked, batting her lashes.
Felicity winked. “I’d never get caught. She virtually proclaimed to the world that she was Papa’s lover.”
Pen groaned.
It was one of the more infamous scandals around their father. The poor woman had been obsessed. Finally, her husband had taken her to Ireland to recover.
Some had even felt sorry for their Papa. For Lady Lyon had been a great deal of trouble.
When one was the most famous poet of the age, one did attract all sorts.
One thing Felicity knew, she’d never act so rashly. That was why she was absolutely going to marry Lord Marksborough, Marquess of Talbot. She wasn’t going to mind that he saw his stoop as a sacrifice. Besides, it was quite nice of him to come up to the mark.
Trumbold would have been a disaster.
A knock sounded on the door and Lady Melbourne entered.
“Ah,” the lady smiled. “I should have known you’d have an entourage.”
“I’m surprised George and Marianne are elsewhere if you must know,” replied Felicity.
“They are out in the hall. I caught them eavesdropping and shooed them. Really, I should shoo all your sisters away just now, but I think it best we be honest with each other.”
Lady Melbourne leaned back out toward the hall. “Come along then, ladies. I know you’ve not gone far.”
There was a titter of laughter and then Marianne and George scuttled in, joining Gus on the bed.
Felicity glanced at all her sisters and her eyes prickled with tears. They’d always been together. Always. Now, she was going away from them.
Lady Melbourne leaned on her cane. “You’ve made a wonderful match, my dear. I promised you my help.”
“And you’ve given it.”
Growing serious, Lady Melbourne said, “And if you ever need it again, you shall have it.”
“Why should I need your help?” Felicity asked, feeling a hint of trepidation.
Twirling her hand in thought, Lady Melbourne pronounced, “The vagaries of marriage, my dear girl. The vagaries of marriage.”
Felicity shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“If you ever find yourself in a situation like your father—“
“Or Lady Lyon,” whispered Gus.
Felicity waited for Lady Melbourne to roll her eyes but she did not.
In fact, Lady Melbourne nodded. “Exactly. You must promise to come to me and I will help you.”
“I will never do anything—“
“Never is a dangerous word,” Lady Melbourne warned carefully. “And your blood runs hot, my dear.”
There it was. The idea that she and her sisters were tainted. Tainted by generations of bad blood. There was no escaping it.
So, she swallowed then gave a firm nod of agreement. “I promise.”
Lady Melbourne suddenly looked very relieved and she bustled over to the tray of wine and crystal glasses that she had sent up hours before.
“Then let us drink a toast.”
“To your doom,” intoned Gus.
Marianne laughed. “Never! Felicity will have him dancing to her tune in no time.”
“To love,” said Pen. “Surely, love will grow.”
George snorted. “Tosh. Who needs love? A good estate with beautiful horses will do!”
Lady Melbourne poured the glasses and handed them out. “To wisdom. To a woman who will be wise enough, not just to catch her husband, but to keep him.”
To keep him.
They all raised their glasses but Felicity felt her spirits waver because deep down, she knew she wanted to keep Lord Marksborough. She wanted to make him see that she was better than any of those other silly candidates he might have chosen. As she lifted her wine to her lips, allowing the warmth to buoy her spirits, she promised herself that somehow she’d win him in truth, and not just by hook or by crook as she had already done.
Chapter 8
It was remarkable how quickly one could be married when one was a cousin to the Bishop of London. They’d had to wait until quite late in the evening but William had been able to get the license with satisfactory swiftness.
From the time he had left her to the time he’d come back to collect her had been less than twelve hours and, in that time, he’d managed to acquire something just for her.
The coach rumbled to a halt before William’s townhome, the last vestiges of the summer sunset falling behind London’s ever present, smoke-tinged sky.
He glanced over at his wife.
Wife!
By God, he could scarcely believe it. Despite any reservations he might have held, in her presence now, he felt certain that he’d made the right decision.
Felicity was a beautiful and intelligent woman. A woman who would give him beautiful and intelligent children.
She’d been calm and capable during the hasty ceremony. Once again, she’d carried herself off with admirable aplomb as though their marriage had been planned from the cradle.
He quite liked that about her. There was no silliness to her. No fainting fits. No feminine alarm.
In many ways, she reminded him of a man.
Well, not too much like a man.
Her body was decidedly feminine but the way she looked at the world was so much more. He had a strong suspicion her father’s education had done that. And he found himself wondering if all ladies might be so much more if given the chance.
The coach
door swung open and he jumped down then held his hand out for her.
She took it again, no wavering, and followed him out.
With little evidence of any nerves, she lifted her violet-blue gaze to his home. She smiled.
“You like it?” he asked, surprised to find that he cared.
She nodded. “Indeed, I do.”
It was, in fact, a palace that had been built some hundred years before. But many nobles these days were choosing modern new homes either in Regent’s Park or west towards Hyde Park.
He guided her up the steps and into the foyer.
The butler, Sims, waited for William’s things and he bowed, gaping slightly.
It suddenly occurred to him that he had not sent message to his mother or the servants what he had been up to this day.
In fact, he had left Felicity this morning in such an absorbed state that he had thought of nothing but her and his impending marriage all day.
Which was not like him at all. How had such a thing occurred?
Obsession was not a trait he was given to. But he had forgotten entirely about everything but her as he’d gotten the license and arranged for her gift.
When he had been home to change, his mother and sisters had been out.
He suddenly realized he might have made a very bad mistake.
William turned towards his bride who was beaming, ready to tell her that he had been foolish but then he recalled that his mother and sisters were out again. They had likely departed some time ago for the Countess of Wystead’s ball.
He drew in a deep breath, grateful that he had avoided a terribly awkward and possibly painful interchange.
He’d simply have to wait up and tell his mother about his marriage when she returned home, likely near dawn.
William suddenly felt a wave of relief, glad to have the house to himself and his new bride. He grinned and turned to the butler he’d known since his boyhood. “Sims, meet Lady Felicity, the Marchioness of Talbot.”
Sims who already seemed slightly off foot, turned positively slack-jawed before he coughed and bowed. “Welcome, my lady. It is an honor to welcome you.”
She smiled gently. “Thank you so much, Sims. I look forward to knowing you better and seeking your advice in the running of the household.”
Sims stood a little taller, clearly very pleased she’d thought ahead to their future relationship. “Of course, my lady. It will be my absolute pleasure.”
Having clearly conquered the old man, she nodded then proceeded towards the stairs. “I’m ready to retire. Are you, Husband?”
William stared at his wife, stunned by her self-assurance. “Yes. I am.”
She kept beaming.
William suddenly wished to see her beam like that every damn day for the rest of his life. “Is there anything you wish?”
She turned towards Sims. “Might we have wine and biscuits?”
“Of course,” Sims, replied as if he might be willing to go all the way to France to pick the grapes and make the wine himself which was saying something because Sims loathed Frogs.
With remarkable self-confidence, she started for the stairs.
William realized he was still planted, standing next to Sims. When she turned halfway up the stairs, her dark hair was haloed by candlelight.
She smiled slowly. “I do not know the way. Will you show me, Husband?”
For a solid moment, he lingered, transfixed by the sight of his very attractive, very clever wife, glancing down on him like a goddess giving her grace to mere mortals. Then he blinked, brought back to reality.
Such flights of fancy were not something he was given to. So, he drew in a breath and strode after her. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”
When he met her on the stairs, she leaned in and whispered. “Nothing?”
He laughed. “Hyperbole, Marchioness. Hyperbole.”
And then to his furthering shock, he slipped his hand around hers and began to take her up the wide stairs and down the west hallway.
Night had long since fallen and with his sisters and mother gone, the house was silent.
As he savored the feeling of her small hand in his, it struck him that in all the years he had been a man, he had never held a woman’s hand as they walked.
He was a rake. He’d enjoyed the ladies. But he’d never done something so simple or so surprisingly intimate with a lady.
When they came to what would become her room, he turned the handle and entered.
Now, she was quiet. Her confidence seemed to waver ever so slightly as he took her towards the table beside the bed. A candle waited, unlit.
Loath though he was to do it, he let go of her hand and took up the flint and lit the wick. A small flame licked to life barely illuminating the large room. However, the soft light felt perfect. As if there was nothing else in the world but the two of them
He wanted her. He wanted her now. But he was not a beast.
He turned to her, cupped her chin with his hand and gazed down into her eyes.
There was no fear in her gaze, but at long last there was the first glimmer of her uncertainty.
“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he whispered.
She blinked, her long dark lashes two shadows against her pale skin before she drew in a shaking breath. “I wish to. I wish us to be man and wife.”
Of course.
Of course, she longed for surety in a space where everything must have seemed interminable to her.
There was a soft knock then the door swung open.
Ruth, one of the maids, entered bearing the light repast that Felicity had requested.
“Am I to stay and help my lady with her things?” Ruth asked.
“No, thank you,” Felicity replied softly. “Lord Marksborough can assist me.”
Ruth’s eyes rounded into twin saucers but then she put the tray down by the banked fire, curtsied and hurried out of the room.
“Oh dear,” his wife said softly. “I think I have shocked your maid.”
“She is your maid, too, and, to be frank, I think you shall be doing a great deal of shocking in the near future.”
Her eyes rounded. “Shall I?”
“Oh yes. We are quite boring here.”
“You?” Her brow furrowed. “Boring?”
“Well, I am typical if not boring.”
She grew quiet.
Wordlessly, he went to the tray and poured the wine. He offered her the plate of biscuits but she shook her head and, instead, took the glass.
“Should I try to be less shocking?” she asked quietly.
He replied honestly, “I don’t know.”
She nodded then sipped her wine.
“Felicity, I wish you to be happy.” He did. Oh, how he did. He barely knew her, but he knew that’s what he wished for her. Happiness.
“I will be,” she said confidently.
He wondered. He’d saved her from ruin but could he make her happy? Would being his wife be enough for the daughter of the greatest poet of their time?
“Come,” he said holding out his hand to her.
She floated towards him, her long skirts dancing about her legs.
She was an enigma, his new wife. For one moment she seemed afraid that her life had taken a strange turn and, in the next, she was as confident as a queen.
When she stood before him, he noted that she didn’t cast her gaze down but rather looked him squarely in the eye.
Many men would have found it disconcerting. He did not. He found it thrilling.
Had he found a mate who would truly be a mate? Someone who was his equal?
He shoved the strange thought aside. Whoever and whatever she was, she was his wife and that was all that mattered.
“You’re certain?” he asked. “I can wait.”
“I’m certain.”
So, he drew her to him slowly, circling her waist with his arms. Her light summer cloak was a barrier he suddenly loathed and, so, he slipped his hands up to her throat and pu
lled the silken tie.
The cloak whooshed to the floor.
She let out a soft breath in surprise.
“You are wearing too many clothes, Felicity.”
And to his delight, she shivered with anticipation under his touch.
Chapter 9
Felicity felt like a traveler lost in a beautiful place with very strange weather. She had no idea if the sun would shine, the wind would blow, or the rain might fall. From one moment to the next, she, in turns, felt brazen, capable, hungry for him and then afraid, unsure, terrified that he would dislike the real Felicity.
She knew what a wise woman would do. She would pretend at absolute missishness. At knowing nothing of bedplay. But she did know, had long been curious, and desired her husband with an intensity that stunned her.
When he’d offered to wait, she knew she should have been grateful for his kindness. While she felt gratitude, she also felt a twinge of apprehension.
Should she accept his offer to appear like a proper lady?
Well, by all respects she was a lady. She was born to it and should never even have given it a second thought. The last year had given her pause. She wasn’t like the other young ladies of her sphere.
Her father and his radical views had ensured that.
But then, her husband knew that, too. What was the point of pretending she was anything other than what she was? So, now, her cloak having fallen to the floor, she stood absolutely still.
For now, she wasn’t sure what to do.
Because for all the theorizing, hypothetical knowledge she had acquired and general easiness she felt with the idea of love making, now she was about to have reality thrust upon her. It suddenly felt very different than theory.
His strong, capable hands now moved to her gown. He worked the ties and fastenings free, clearly familiar with ladies’ frocks, then slipped her sleeves from her shoulders. Her gown followed her cloak.
Her stays then fell.
She stood before him in naught but shoes, stockings and chemise.
He traced his fingertips along her arms, then drew them slowly over her collarbones, then down to her breasts. He cupped the mounds lightly in his hands, his thumbs teasing over her hardening nipples.
She trembled. Her actual inexperience then felt like a gulf to her. She knew what was to come. She even knew there were things that could be done beside the act itself which would bring them pleasure. But she wasn’t entirely certain what she was supposed to do.