Regency Rogues: Talk Of The Ton

Chapter Eleven

On her wedding day Felicity rose early, unable to sleep despite the exhaustion of travelling up from Cheriton the day before. She sat by the window, mind and stomach churning with equal intensity.

The ceremony did not worry her. But the afterwards...the afterwards was the rest of her life. That did not merely worry her, it terrified her.

A tap at the door broke into her reverie and Beanie’s familiar, smiling face, deep cracks fanning out from the corners of her faded brown eyes, appeared.

‘You are awake,’ she said, shuffling into the room, followed by the kitchen maid carrying a tray. ‘I said you would be. There you are, Nell, put the tray down and off you go. Did you manage to get any sleep, my lamb?’

Felicity’s throat tightened at the familiar endearment. How would she manage without Beanie? She had raised Felicity, been more of a mother to her than her own had ever been. And the other servants were like members of her family.

‘Are you sure you won’t come with me...us, Beanie?’

‘Bless you, dear. If only I was ten years younger. But I am too old now to get used to a new home and fresh faces and strange ways of going on. I am content here in Sydney Place. I shall miss you but at least it will oblige you to take on a trained lady’s maid at last.’

‘Oh, Beanie, as if I care for that. You know I would much prefer you. Do not forget, I shall be in an unfamiliar place full of strangers, too.’

‘Ah, but you will be the mistress. And you will have your new husband by your side. And you are young. No, my lamb, I will not change my mind, but I shall enjoy seeing you when you visit. Come now, drink your chocolate and try to eat some bread and butter.’

Felicity picked up the cup of chocolate and wrapped her hands around it. ‘This will be enough. I cannot face—’

‘Or I’ve brought up a slice of Cook’s apple cake, if that might tempt your appetite?’ Beanie picked up the plate and followed Felicity to her chair by the hearth. ‘I know you, Lady Felicity. At the first hurdle, your appetite flies away with the fairies. You must eat something. You do not want your stomach gurgling in the church because you haven’t eaten, do you?’

Felicity burst into laughter. ‘Oh, Beanie, I am going to miss you. Gurgling stomach, indeed.’ But she did as she was bid and, after sipping the warm chocolate, she nibbled on the cake and the hollow swooping inside eased to a flutter. Not perfect, but better.

After Felicity bathed and dried her hair by the fire, Beanie helped her to dress. Her gown was of fine white muslin and she would wear a lace-trimmed cap on her head. Her delicate silk shawl, white shot with primrose, and a pair of dainty primrose slippers, would complete the ensemble.

‘You look lovely, my dove.’

Later, after Beanie had dressed her hair, Felicity stood before her mirror scarcely able to believe what was happening. She...Felicity...always the plain, overlooked member of the family...was about to wed society’s most eligible and desirable bachelor. She pinched at her cheeks to bring some colour to her face. That was better. She tried a smile. Better still. As long as she did not forget to smile, she could at least look attractive for her wedding, and for Stanton.

‘Darling.’

Felicity started. She hadn’t heard her mother come in, so lost in her thoughts had she been.

‘Let me look at you.’

At Lady Katherine’s prompting, Felicity twirled a circle.

‘You look very well, my dear. Oh, to think of it. Lady Stanton. I never dared to believe you would make such a match, Felicity. Now, if had been Emma...’ Her voiced faded into silence and she sighed before continuing in a determinedly bright tone: ‘Still, it is your future we must look forward to now, dearest. Except...’ She moved closer and began to fiddle with Felicity’s hair. ‘Oh, dear, I knew I should have sent Wilkins to you but, as dear Farlowe said, who then would have helped with my toilette? It is important I should look at my best, as mother of the bride. We do not want Stanton to think he is marrying into a family of peasants, do we?’

Felicity stepped back, out of the reach of her mother’s fidgety fingers. ‘Please, Mama, do not fret about my hair.’

‘Oh, you have ever been a tiresome girl, Felicity. Tiresome and stubborn. Now, the carriage will be outside in twenty minutes—darling Farlowe bespoke it last night after he saw the rector. What a truly attentive and selfless stepfather he has been to you, has he not?’ She paused, regarding Felicity with raised brow.

‘Indeed, Mama.’

Words cost nothing, particularly as she would no longer reside under the same roof as Farlowe. That was reason enough for the step she was about to take. She was rewarded with a glorious smile.

‘Mama, there is something...before we go. Tonight...’ Felicity hesitated, feeling her cheeks glow. She had never spoken on such intimate subjects with her mother before. ‘Tonight...what will it be like? What should I do?’

‘Do?’ Lady Katherine’s cheeks grew pink. ‘Why, Felicity, I cannot believe you wish to discuss such matters with me. It is for your husband to instruct you. Do as he says and, remember, it is your duty to please your husband at all times in such matters. That is all you need to know.’

Richard sat in the front pew of the Abbey Church next to Leo. The rector was searching through the Bible on the lectern, the sound of shuffling pages loud in the near-empty church.

Richard reviewed the messages he would send the minute their nuptials were complete. The Bath Chronicle and The Times would publish formal announcements and he had written letters ready to be taken by courier to his mother at Fernley Park and to the London address of his heir, his distant cousin, Charles Durant.

He had also penned a more personal letter to his mistress of the past six months, Harriet, Lady Brierley. Harriet’s image formed in his mind’s eye—soft, voluptuous, enticing—and a pang of regret speared him at the knowledge he would never again... He cursed silently, then cast a guilty look at the rector. Thinking about his mistress on the morning of his wedding was bad enough but blasphemous thoughts in church...? He offered a silent apology to God and vowed to exercise tighter control over his thoughts.

His letter to Harriet, besides informing her of his marriage, had ended their affaire. The impulse to walk away surprised him—had he not deliberately sought a marriage of convenience in order not to change his life? Harriet was discreet and their affaire was not common knowledge but still he had felt honour-bound to end it out of respect for Felicity. He consoled himself with the thought he could always take another mistress in the future, once his heir was born.

‘You are quiet.’ Leo’s voice dragged him from his thoughts.

‘Merely ensuring I have not forgotten anything,’ Richard replied. ‘Announcements and so forth.’

‘You are still minded to leave for Fernley Park immediately after the ceremony?’

‘I am. I apologize for the lack of a wedding breakfast, but the thought of accepting Farlowe’s hospitality...’ Richard shuddered.

‘Indeed. And it would be a poor start if you knocked your new father-in-law senseless before the ink is dry on the register, would it not? Do you intend to travel all the way home today?’

‘I do. I want our first night as a married couple to be under my...our...roof. I have no wish to spend our wedding night in some inn by the wayside.’

‘You will both be exhausted by the time you arrive, after travelling all day yesterday as well.’

The bells began to strike the hour and the door at the back of the church creaked open to admit Lady Katherine. She wafted down the aisle, alternately smiling and tearful, flourishing a delicate, lace-edged scrap of a handkerchief with which she dabbed at her eyes. As she settled in the pew opposite his, Richard bent his head, concentrating on his hands, clenched into fists between his knees. The fuss and the flutter eventually subsided and he looked up in time to see the rector signal to someone at the back of the church.

This is it.

His insides quaked in an unfamiliar way and he experienced a sudden urge to flee which he quashed ruthlessly. He was doing the right thing for all the right reasons.

‘Nervous?’ Leo’s whisper was accompanied by a steady hand on his shoulder.

‘No.’

He stood up and turned to watch his bride glide down the aisle on her stepfather’s arm. His breathing—which only now did he realize had quickened—steadied and slowed. As Felicity neared, her attention fixed firmly on the rector, Richard recognized that his brief attack of nerves must be as nothing compared with hers. He willed her to look at him and was rewarded when, only a few feet away, she did.

Her eyes were shadowed, and her lips compressed. Doubt emanated from her and Richard’s own doubts re-emerged. If the match was so distasteful, why was she here?

And yet...and yet...he recalled their conversations; their kiss. She was not indifferent to him. She wanted—she had said as much—to wed, and to get away from her stepfather. He would make sure she did not regret their union. She was to be his wife.

His. To have and to hold. He would protect her, and care for her.

He would fulfil his part of the bargain.

He reached for her hand, to reassure her. She flashed a grateful smile, transforming her face, and his own nerves settled. Her fingers twitched within his grasp, then curled around the edge of his palm. As one, they turned to face the rector.

Chapter Twelve

A small crowd gathered around the three carriages as they lined up outside the Abbey. Richard and Felicity emerged to a muted cheer, followed by a swell of speculation as Felicity’s name was passed from onlooker to onlooker. The crowd pressed closer, and Richard heard Leo’s name mentioned, followed by his own as the speculation got louder.

Leo, Lady Katherine and Mr Farlowe were close behind them, followed by the few friends and servants who had been in the church to witness their wedding.

‘How handsome you looked, walking down the aisle, Farlowe.’ Lady Katherine’s voice rang out. ‘And you, dearest Felicity, you looked very nice, as you came into the church. It is a shame you were seen to such disadvantage next to your stepfather, do you not agree, Stanton?’

‘My love, I beg of you,’ Farlowe interjected hastily. Richard had caught the man’s eye and glared at him with such intent that Farlowe had paled. ‘This is Felicity’s day—’

‘Oh, Felicity is used to me running on, aren’t you, darling? She isn’t a girl to take offence.’

‘I take offence,’ Richard said quietly. Blast the woman. Why must she continually undermine Felicity? She clearly believes the only characteristic of any virtue is beauty. ‘If you will excuse us, my wife and I have a long journey ahead of us.’ He held out his hand, smiling at Felicity. ‘Come, my dear.’

Felicity shot Richard such a furious look, he stared. Did she not want him—her husband—to speak out and protect her? A glance at Leo only elicited a resigned shrug.

‘She is my mother. She loves me in her own way,’ Felicity hissed before turning to her mother, who rushed to embrace her.

‘Oh, Felicity, I did not mean anything by it, you know I did not. You know how I rattle on sometimes. I shall miss you so much, my darling.’ Lady Katherine’s eyes brimmed with tears as she flung her arms around her daughter.

‘And I shall miss you too, Mama.’ Felicity’s voice was thick with emotion.

Not for the first time Richard realized that his upbringing, and his current relationship with his mother, had ill prepared him to understand the subtleties of other people’s families. He only had to think of Leo’s large, boisterous brood to comprehend what he had missed in his childhood. Mayhap Richard could learn something of family from his new bride, and top of that list appeared to be forgiveness. Richard vowed that, as his wife, Felicity would get all the support and kindness she deserved. Then his own children would grow up secure and happy in a contented household such as every child surely deserved.

Felicity said her goodbyes to the rest of the congregation, speaking to each one in turn. The last, an elderly, stooped lady, got a hug and a kiss.

‘Stanton?’ Felicity beckoned him.

Richard felt his brows contract. Stanton? She should call him Richard. Everyone else called him Stanton.

An uncertain expression crossed Felicity’s face and Richard smiled, to show her he was not annoyed. How little they knew of each other—negotiating their relationship at the moment was akin to walking over swampy ground, not knowing where the soft, treacherous patches might lie. He must be more mindful, pick his way more carefully, until he knew her better.

‘Yes, my dear?’

‘May I present Miss Bean? She was our governess and, since we all grew up, she has shouldered the thankless task of being my maid.’

‘Oh, nonsense, Lady Felicity; I mean, Lady Stanton,’ the old lady quavered. ‘You are the least demanding person I know.’ Her eyes were red and swollen; as she stared up at him, Richard recognized the milky cast that spoke of failing sight.

He clasped her outstretched hand. ‘I am pleased to meet you,’ he said, and was rewarded by a grateful smile from Felicity.

‘You see, Beanie? He is quite normal, and I shall be quite safe with him.’

A tear tracked down Beanie’s cheek as she clasped Felicity’s face between her gnarled hands and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Goodbye, my dove.’

On the brink of mounting the steps into the carriage, Felicity turned to her mother. ‘Mama, promise me you will take care of Beanie.’

‘Why, Felicity, of course I shall. Hurry along, now. Whatever will Stanton think of you, keeping him waiting over your maid’s welfare?’

Richard thought, but did not say, that he was rather proud of his new wife for caring for the elderly woman. He handed Felicity into the carriage, and climbed in behind her, after shaking Leo’s hand. They waved, and soon left the City of Bath behind.

After a few lacklustre attempts at conversation, Felicity said, ‘I do apologize, Stanton, but...’

‘Richard,’ he said.

A rueful smile crossed her face. ‘Ever since my come-out I have known of you as Stanton. I fear it will take me some time to get used to calling you Richard, but I assure you I do not intend any slight if I forget once in a while.’

‘In that case, I shall promise not to feel slighted. What were you about to say?’

We are as two strangers, the politeness in the way we converse, the way we glance at each other and look away as if fearful of catching the other’s eye.

‘I was about to say I am so weary I fear I shall be quite unable to keep up my end of any conversation. Would you think me dreadfully rag-mannered if I try to sleep?’

‘Not at all. We shall stop for refreshments at the Old George at Salisbury. I shall wake you then.’

He was, if anything, relieved. He settled in the corner of the carriage, then beckoned. Her eyes rounded.

‘You will be perfectly safe, Lady Stanton. I am not about to ravish you in a moving carriage, no matter how well sprung.’

Felicity’s lips twitched. ‘Such a relief.’

‘Come, sit here, next to me. You can rest your head on my shoulder. It will be more comfortable.’

A slight hesitation, then she shifted along until their thighs touched. Richard put his arm around her shoulders, manoeuvring her until she was leaning against him. Several minutes passed.

‘You can relax, Felicity Joy. I shall do nothing other than hold you, you have my word.’

A few more minutes and then a quiet huff of breath, followed by the softening of the wooden figure next to him indicated that she had, at last, relaxed.

After several weary hours and only one brief stop after Salisbury, other than to change the horses, the carriage drew to a halt. Richard stirred, biting back a groan as pins and needles coursed through his arm. He peered through the window. Fernley Park. Stiff muscles forgotten, he disentangled his arm from Felicity and eased her upright.

‘Welcome to your new home, Lady Stanton.’

‘What? I mean, I beg your pardon?’ Her voice was muffled and, from what he could see of her face in the dim light cast by the oil lamps either side of the steps leading up to the front door, she looked bleary-eyed.

‘We are home,’ he repeated. ‘Fernley Park.’

‘Home?’ She straightened and her hands flew to her head, patting at her hair. ‘Where is my bonnet?’ Felicity’s bonnet, and a warm cloak, had been placed in the carriage before their wedding, ready for their journey.

Biting back a grin at her agitation, Richard grabbed the bonnet from the opposite seat.

‘Allow me,’ he said, and she sat obediently whilst he pinned the hat on to her head and tucked stray hairs neatly away.

The carriage door opened. Beyond the coachman, Richard could see Trick silhouetted in the front entrance. He climbed out of the carriage, stretched, then turned to hand down his wife.

His wife. How strange that sounded.

‘Trick, this is your new mistress, Lady Stanton. My dear, this is Trick, the butler.’

‘Good evening, Trick,’ Felicity said with a smile.

‘Good evening, milord, milady. I trust you had a pleasant journey.

Richard laughed. ‘“Pleasant” is not quite the word I should choose, but it was uneventful.’

‘Which is all one can hope for,’ Felicity commented as she entered the hall and gazed around.

‘Indeed.’ Richard eyed his bride. It was their wedding night. She looked exhausted and he felt no less fatigued. ‘Is my mother in the salon?’

‘Yes, milord.’ Trick crossed the foyer and entered the salon. Richard led Felicity in his wake. ‘His lordship and Lady Stanton have arrived, milady.’

His mother, impeccably dressed as always, stood to greet them, poker straight, unsmiling. Richard silently mocked himself for daring to hope his marriage might have softened her; might have, somehow, bridged the chasm that had yawned between them ever since his father’s death. She had never been a relaxed and loving parent—a result of her strict upbringing—but neither had she been this aloof.

How had they become virtual strangers?

‘Stanton. You are home.’

His mother scrutinized Felicity from head to toe and Richard knew, with a sinking certainty, she would find much to disapprove of in his actual marriage, despite her constant nagging at him to wed.

As Felicity’s fingers tightened on his, the familiar, complicated muddle of emotions he always experienced in his mother’s presence continued to churn deep in his gut.

Chapter Thirteen

Felicity battled her fatigue, sensing this first meeting with her mother-in-law could be crucial to their future relationship. Lady Stanton, tall and slim, her steel-grey hair scraped back from her face, stood erect and unsmiling, her eyes raking Felicity. Determined not to be intimidated, Felicity squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

‘Mother, I should like to present to you my wife, Felicity. Felicity, this is my mother, Lady Stanton.’

Felicity curtsied and smiled. ‘I am pleased to meet you, my lady.’

‘You may address me as Mother.’ No words of welcome. No congratulations. No smile. ‘You had better sit down.’

Mother! Something close to hysteria bubbled and swirled inside and Felicity clamped her teeth shut lest it escape. Richard squeezed her hand, and she steadied. Was her mother-in-law really so indifferent to her son’s marriage? Cousin Leo had suggested Lady Stanton would be delighted her son had finally wed, but the reality appeared somewhat different.

‘We have come to pay our respects, Mother. Felicity is exhausted and will retire immediately. There will be time tomorrow for better acquaintance.’

Felicity stared at Richard’s clipped, formal tone. Why were they so awkward and formal with each other?

‘Come along, my dear.’

Felicity resisted Richard’s attempt to turn her around. Despite her tiredness, she had every intention of establishing her own relationship with her mother-in-law: she would not become a mere extension of her husband, with no opinions of her own.

She held the dowager’s steely gaze. ‘Goodnight, Mother,’ she said. ‘I apologize, but Richard is right. I am very tired and I am, I fear, incapable of conversing in anything approaching an intelligible manner tonight. Please forgive me.’

She then allowed Richard to escort her to the door.

‘One moment.’

They paused. The dowager glided towards them. ‘Stanton. There is a matter I wish to discuss, before you retire.’

‘Of course, Mother. Allow me to ensure Felicity is cared for first.’

A kind-eyed, middle-aged woman awaited them in the hall.

‘Mrs Jakeway, please take Lady Stanton to the Countess’s suite. My dear, Mrs Jakeway is the housekeeper here.’

Mrs Jakeway bobbed a curtsy. ‘Welcome to Stanton, my lady.’

Felicity smiled, murmuring her thanks.

‘Your luggage arrived an hour since, milady, so it is all unpacked ready for you. Would you like a bite to eat in your room? Shall I ask Cook to send something up?’

Mrs Jakeway glanced at Richard as she spoke, and he said, ‘I am sure her ladyship can manage a little something. Please do so.’

While Mrs Jakeway sent a message to the kitchen, Richard drew Felicity aside. She suddenly realized, with a resounding thump of her heart, that it was her wedding night and that this man could now visit her in her bed whenever he pleased. Her suddenly sensitive skin glowed, and her mouth was sucked dry as fear and anticipation swirled in a heady mix.

‘Felicity?’ Richard bent his knees, bringing his face level with hers. ‘I will see you soon.’ He held her gaze until she nodded her understanding. He smiled, lifted her hand and pressed warm lips against her skin.

As Felicity followed Mrs Jakeway up the long, curving sweep of the stairs, she glanced behind her. The dowager had joined Richard in the hall and they stood face to face, postures identically strained. They made no attempt to lower their voices.

‘Where is her maid?’

‘Indisposed.’

‘Shocking! Jaunting around the countryside without a maid in attendance. Do you expect one of the household staff to fill the gap?’

‘For a day or two only, Mother. I shall send to Winchester tomorrow to appoint a lady’s maid. I am sure the house can spare one of the maids for so short a time.’

Felicity paused on the landing. It was wrong to eavesdrop, but they were being so indiscreet she had no compunction in listening to more.

‘Lady Felicity Weston. Baverstock’s daughter. And how old is she? Not in the first flush of youth, by the look of her.’

Her mother-in-law’s voice dropped, but Felicity still caught some of her comments.

‘...expected you to do better...dab of a girl...well bred, I suppose...’

‘That is enough! You will kindly not criticize my wife, either to me or to anyone else.’

They disappeared inside the salon. Felicity joined Mrs Jakeway, waiting along the landing.

The Countess’s bedchamber was spacious, decorated in restful shades of cream and blue, with tall, south-facing windows. The fireplace had a carved oak surround and the room was furnished with elegant rosewood furniture. The bed itself was massive, as wide as it was long, with posts at each corner, and a tester overhead, but no hangings to draw around for privacy and warmth as there would have been in earlier times. The bed dated, Mrs Jakeway informed Felicity, from the sixteenth century, and countless generations of Countesses of Stanton had slept there.