Felicity jumped up and looked, taking a green silk from a hat box, saying, ‘This must go with that French pelisse. Oh, how smart you will be, Euphemia.’
‘I cannot wear such a profusion of flowers.’ Euphemia pointed to the pink ribbon flowers tucked inside the brim at one side to add a little dash.
‘Why not? The other became you so well.’
‘I would look ridiculous, in my position.’
Euphemia’s eyes fell and she clutched at her hands, gripping back something. Felicity led her gently up.
‘Come, let’s walk again, you are a little emotional.’ She turned, and said with her customary kind smile, ‘Your position is a member of the family in the Viscount Durant’s home. How can your dress be too fine for that? Evans? Please put away the gowns for the present, I believe Miss Fleet to be rather overwhelmed by Lord Balfour’s generosity.’
‘Very well, Your Ladyship. Perhaps…?’ said Evans, holding out a claret merino wool pelisse to Euphemia, ‘I think there is a chill in the air, miss.’
Euphemia put it on, as though defeated, and she headed towards the door.
‘I have the bonnet for that, miss.’
‘My straw will suffice, thank you, Evans.’
She did not speak on her way downstairs and it was not until they arrived at the little bench in the walled garden that Felicity said, ‘Dearest Euphemia, will you not tell me what occurred to you on your journey to make you so upset? Your letter in response to my invitation was so joyous that I made sure you were looking forward to coming. So it is only your meeting with Lord Balfour that can have upset you so. Sebastian says that he is a giant with no subtlety of manner, and that he may have said something blunt to upset you.’
‘I am happy to have come here, dear friend. The home you give me here means so much to me —’ her voice changed, becoming harder, ‘and it gave me the power to refuse Lord Balfour.’
‘Lord Balfour offered for you?’ Felicity was all agog. ‘Dearest, did you not think him honourable, or do you dislike him? Had you not just met him?’ She realised that she had shot out her questions in a line, and could not expect them to be answered all at once.
‘I had just met him, but it didn’t seem that way…’ Euphemia’s eyes looked into the distance, remembering. Felicity stirred, suddenly wondering, but stilled herself so as not to break the beginning of the confidences. As she watched her friend, some part of her could not help noticing how well the claret wool pelisse became her, a high curved collar, like gentlemen’s shirt points framing her face, drawing attention to her large eyes. It had a double breasted bodice with large blue buttons and navy braiding. Felicity felt a little covetous. ‘We spent many hours with each other in the two days, for he needed me to talk — to calm him during an attack. I don’t think anyone has wanted me to talk that long in all my life.’
‘So he offered for you?’
Miss Fleet gave a bitter laugh, a sound that shocked Felicity. Her little friend was angry. ‘Oh, not for me. He offered for a doll to wear his beautiful, dead wife’s clothes and sit in her sitting room, and walk where they walked together, and, and—’ her voice cracked, her rage broke and she sobbed unrestrainedly into her hands.
‘Oh come here, my sweet friend,’ said Felicity gathering her into her arms. ‘He expressed himself badly, I suppose. He is a rough man, perhaps.’
‘A bear!’
‘A bear, yes, but from what Sebastian has said, a good man. Perhaps he wanted contentment in his later life, someone to be his companion and he phrased it wrongly.’
‘Oh, he wants no simple companion. I may have been honoured to receive such an offer, might even have accepted such a thing for my own true home and—’ she seemed to recollect what she said and looked pleadingly at Felicity. ‘You understand that I am not ungrateful—’
‘Of course not. I understand completely.’
‘He wants more than a mere companion, he wants his beauty back. He wants his love, and he has shown me by putting his hands on me so—!’ Her breath caught. ‘I cannot speak of it.’
Felicity was shocked and alarmed. ‘Hush now, my pet. Do not distress yourself. If he treated you disrespectfully, or roughly, if he frightened you, you must put those thoughts away. You are safe now. I can see that Lord Balfour must be less than a gentleman, whatever Sebastian says, to have given you such a disgust of him.’
‘Oh, but Felicity, I was not disgusted at all.’
Felicity held her, amazed.
Euphemia returned to her room, to lie down before dinner, and to will herself to stop this crying immediately. The viscount must never see her so or he would wish for her departure, and rightly so. Years of training deserted her and her feelings were churned about like so much butter. The room was mercifully returned to its normal state, excepting the blue gown which had been laid out for dinner by Evans. She sat on the bed and picked up the letter he had written, whose seal she had not yet breached. Her hands shook as she opened it.
My dear Miss Fleet,
I have apologised for my behaviour, and I cannot yet explain it, even to myself. To see you laugh, to see you so lovely,
‘Lies!’ she cried, almost throwing the parchment aside, but she read on…
…standing in front of me like that, I lost my head. There is no excuse. I frightened you, manhandled you, when I should have been begging you respectfully like an honest man, to be my wife. Instead, I shocked and disgusted you. How I wish I could go back to the moment before that, when you were looking at me and laughing, when I should have bent my knee to you, begged you —.
But I did not. I know you are making your home with Sebastian, and I hope that sometime in the future we might meet again as friends, at least.
‘I will be far from here if ever I know you are coming. I shall never see you again!’ Euphemia cried it aloud.
…It was not her dresses that made me wish you to stay with me, you know. At first, I admit you were so like in size that you brought her back to me a little. To see you, so small and neat among her things brought me joy. But it was yourself that drew me further, Miss Fleet. You must know that to be so.
‘If only that were so,’ Euphemia cried aloud, as though to Lord Balfour himself. She stood and regarded herself in the mirror. Something had happened to her face, she knew not what, it looked somehow different, but her hair was still a shade of brown called mouse, her lips thin and nose nothing at all. She could not compare to the ravishing beauty of the portrait. She would be found wanting by him every day of her life. ‘I do not know it.’ she said as she turned back to the paper, addressing Lord Balfour again.
…Do not think that my sending the gowns is an attempt to woo you. I know, if anything, that it may make you angrier at me. But, dear lady, I am letting go of them to their new home. Who else can they be of use to? And though I dreaded that you would be offended, I thought too that you, who have had so little given to you in this life, might find some joy in wearing gowns that better display the lady you are…
‘No, the other lady that you wish me to be!’
… and that you would feel more at home in those grand surroundings, already dressed for the part. I know your sensitivity makes you feel yourself a mere pensioner, not realising what you give to those around you. You melted the frozen heart of Evans, and the jealousy of Tinder. In such a short time, you cast a balm upon this place.
Please, my dear Miss Fleet, do me the infinite honour of accepting my gift, knowing, as you do, that it cost me nothing at all. I wish that you had stayed at Balfour Court and I could have bought you brand new gowns of your own, not stained for you by any other feeling. But my boorish behaviour has undone my hopes. You are like a shy fawn and I would have been better to gentle you, instead I hurt you…
‘But not in the way you believe!’ she told him.
…My every hope is for your health and happiness, my dear.
If we should not meet again, please know I will never forget you.
Your humble servant,
Richard Audley, Baron Balfour.
Never had Euphemia received such a letter. It had been her dream to own just a few love lines from any man who had shown her partiality. But there had been none. A quiet life in the country with her stern vicar father, a short time in town with her sister, then ten whole years with Lady Ellingham, barely introduced to anyone (since she was of no importance). No one noticed her. No one had ever made her so angry as he. She did not believe she’d possessed such anger. Last year she’d been angry for Felicity of course, for the dark aspersions cast on the name of the sweetest friend in the world. But for herself, never. She had acceded to her lot with hardly a whimper, accepting it as her due. She was now being offered the moon and stars, a home of her own and a grand position, and she could not take it. How could she? Eventually, he would be bitterly disappointed. He would see her clearly, and not those things he’d recognised from another. And he would be broken-hearted anew.
She put the letter to her heart and threw herself passionately onto the bed, all hope of discipline thrown to the winds.
Chapter 4
The viscount entered his wife’s dressing room as she stood before the glass, adjusting the neckline of a ravishing gold silk gown, and made his languid way towards her. His wife was not deceived by his languor however, and nodded away her maid. He kissed her neck and shoulders and she leaned back into him so that he grasped her waist firmly. ‘No, my dear. We will be late for dinner!’
‘When will you learn, my love that dinner in a viscount’s house begins only when the viscount appears?’
‘Well, it is very unkind to cook, who is trying out a new recipe I brought from France of soufflé. It will collapse, and if it does, so will poor cook.’
‘As usual, I am astounded at your knowledge of the servants’ feelings, as well as deeply uncaring of same.’
‘If I believed that, Bastian, I should leave you for a Captain of the Guards. But I know you sent your valet back to bed today when he was suffering from a head cold.’
‘Only because I did not wish to be infected.’
‘Your old nurse, when I visited her in her cottage, said that you had never been sick a day in your life!’
‘Because I take precautions.’
She turned and he kissed her, and for a moment, it seemed that the soufflé must fall. But Felicity looked worried, and pulled away. ‘I am concerned about Euphemia.’
‘Mmm?’ said Bastian, kissing her neck.
‘Bastian!’ he pulled away and looked at her. ‘Things are different than we thought. Lord Balfour has offered for Euphemia.’
‘Richard? And she refused him?’
‘Yes. And the tragedy is, I think she really cares for him.’
‘I would say they did not have much time to know their feelings, but I knew how I felt about you from the very first.’
‘Nonsense! Your only thought was that I was the same height and age as Lady Letitia.’
‘Well, perhaps not from the very first. But soon.’ He teased and kissed her again. ‘Anyway, if she likes him, why didn’t she say yes?’
‘It is all wrapped up in those gowns he sent. She is very like Lady Balfour in stature, and she had need of a gown because there was an accident when he shouted—’
‘He does that!’
‘Yes, well, it was in the inn taproom, where they met, she spilt chocolate on her gown and then he fairly ordered her into his carriage—’ Felicity continued.
‘Now what kind of gentleman treats a lady like that?’ said Durant, shocked.
She regarded him narrowly, knowing he referred to their own first meeting. ‘No kind of gentleman at all,’ she said, and he laughed. She continued, ‘So he took her to Balfour Court, to his wife’s own sitting room, and sent her to change her gown for one of Her Ladyship’s, and then when he saw her, he had an attack of asthma I think she named it, and so then she knew he was using her to bring back the ghost of his wife.’ Felicity finally took a breath and shuddered dramatically.
‘Sounds like one of those ghastly novels you two are so fond of.’
‘Yes, but this was real. And then when he was so ill — the malady disturbs his breathing, you know — he wanted her to sit and talk to him to calm him, and the servants said he must not be crossed, for it would make him worse…’
‘That is true — any agitation inflames the lungs, I have seen it happen.’
‘Well, she was in the shocking position of sitting at the bedside of a gentleman she hardly knew—’
‘Wicked old Balfour, I didn’t know he had that in him.’
‘I know you are joking, but do not, my love. Apparently, that strange servant, who was also devoted to Lady Balfour, sat in the room with her the whole time.’
‘No damaged reputation, then?’
‘Yes, but the next day he was quite well and they went for a walk, and I’m not sure what happened, but he overturned her and ran off with her or something — she was crying and I didn’t quite understand what she was saying — and then he caught her in his arms and kissed her. Quite roughly, I believe.’
‘Well, upon my soul!’ despite himself, Durant was nearly as surprised as his viscountess. ‘She must have been terrified, poor timid little Miss Fleet.’
‘That is just it, Bastian. She liked it!’
‘I do not understand. Why then did she refuse him?’
‘She fears that she can never match to the beauty of his dead wife. That he will be forever searching for something within her that he can never possess. She could have said yes if she did not love him so.’ A tear fell from his lovely wife’s eyes, but Bastian was frowning.
‘What gave her that idea?’ he said. ‘Oh, I know. That dashed portrait. The gowns!’ He turned to leave the room. ‘George!’ he said to a footman as he headed away from the stairs, and along to another chamber. ‘Tell cook to delay the soufflés until I arrive.’
George took this blandly, but departed a broken man.
‘What are you doing, my love?’ said Felicity following him.
‘Correcting a misunderstanding, my sweet.’ He stopped and shooed her away as he did his dog. ‘I can manage this better on my own, I think.’
She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, her glossy ringlets dancing, ‘I will not be your dog, my lord. I’ll have you know I’m a viscountess now, and I expect to be treated so.’ She moved in a very stately way downstairs, and His Lordship grinned. Then he turned and knocked on Miss Fleet’s door, only for it to be opened by the dragon-maid, Evans. ‘Is Miss Fleet yet dressed?’ he enquired.
‘Yes sir. She is about to go to dinner.’
‘Viscount?’ Miss Fleet called, and appeared on the doorway.
‘I require a word with you, Miss Fleet. Can you send your maid away?’
Alarmingly, Evans stood her ground.
‘Please leave us, Evans.’
‘Yes, miss. If you say so.’
Now that the viscount was in, he seemed to have lost his sangfroid. How to begin?
‘My lord?’ Miss Fleet was enquiring, timidly.
The viscount properly looked at her. She was wearing a blue muslin dress and she looked a little regal. Her hair was arranged somehow differently, and it drew attention to her fine eyes. ‘On risk of making you upset again, my dear Miss Fleet, you look quite lovely in that gown.’ She blushed. ‘Not a good way to start when I have just asked your maid to leave your bedchamber,’ he said reflectively, almost to himself. But she smiled shyly. ‘Miss Fleet, I came here to talk to you since it appears you are under a misunderstanding about Lady Balfour.’
She stiffened.
‘Lady Balfour, Miss Eversham that was, was indeed the belle of the county, I believe, though it was before my time. She had a season in London, where Lord Balfour met her. But she was already engaged to someone else.’ Miss Fleet sat down heavily on the bed, and the viscount drew a chair near to it. ‘One day, as she walked to the park, she fell under some horses.’
Euphemia gasped.
She took it and glided alongside him, trying to work out what, if anything, this changed.
She was not much use as a raconteur at dinner. She hardly spoke at all. Eventually both the viscount and Felicity stopped trying to draw her out, and left her to her pondering.
Later, when Evans was unpinning her hair, Euphemia asked her, ‘Lady Balfour was very beautiful, was she not?’
Evans stopped for a second, then continued, ‘My master told her so every day, miss.’
‘Yes, yes I see, Evans.’ She met the maid’s eye in the glass, ‘And in your view, Evans?’
‘My mistress was as kind and beautiful a lady as ever lived, miss.’
Euphemia’s eyes shone. ‘I’m sure she was, Evans.’
Evans continued with the unpinning and then said, gently, ‘Just, as in a different way, you are, miss.’
Perhaps a tear fell. It was difficult to say, for Evans was lifting the blue dress over Euphemia’s head.
Euphemia and the Unexpected Enchantment: The Fentons Book 3 Page 5