Читать книгу From Wallflower to Countess - Janice Preston - Страница 16

‘Now hear this, young lady, and hear it well.’

Lady Katherine stalked up and down her bedchamber, gesticulating. Until this very minute, Felicity had not dreamed she might fail in her attempt to avoid marriage to Lord Stanton. She sank onto a chair by the window, her legs unaccountably shaky, as her mother continued to pace.

‘You asked me to find you a husband.’

‘Yes, that is true, but—’

‘No buts. I have found you an eminently eligible man, one who must be far beyond anyone you could have hoped for.’

‘Yes, but—’

Her mother quelled her with one look. A feeling of unreality washed over Felicity. This determination in her normally persuadable mother was new, and she knew who to thank for it. Why, oh, why did Mama marry that man?

‘I have spoken with the duke this morning—yes, already, at this unearthly hour—and he has confirmed his belief that you and Stanton will suit. He knows you both. He will hardly match one of his closest friends with someone unsuitable.’

‘I do not believe Stanton and I will be compatible, Mama.’

‘I have discussed this with Farlowe...’

Felicity sprang to her feet. ‘I might have known he was—’

Her mother continued as though Felicity had not spoken. ‘...and we are agreed. You have a choice.’

‘A choice?’ Felicity stared at her mother, hope stirring. ‘Who?’

‘Not who. What. Our conversation last night left me vastly unsettled, Felicity, and I was still awake when my dear Farlowe retired. I told him of your stubbornness, and he suggested—’

‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’

‘Farlowe. My darling. Such a valiant but wasted effort on your part, searching for this wretched girl. But no matter, for she is here now, and I am about to reveal her options.’

Felicity caught Farlowe’s smirk. Cold sweat prickled over her back. He wanted her out of their lives as much as she did. What was her mother’s alternative? A nunnery?

Oh, please. We are not living in the pages of a Gothic novel. ‘Very well, Mama. What is my alternative?’

‘You said you wanted a family and we have found you a perfectly eligible suitor. You either accept Stanton or you will never wed. You will end your days living with us as my companion and, after I have gone, you must depend on the charity of your dear brother. You will forever be the poor relation.’

Felicity’s knees threatened to buckle. She grabbed the back of a chair.

‘You cannot prevent me finding a husband of my own,’ she said.

‘And you have proven yourself oh-so successful in that endeavour to date, have you not, Felicity?’ Farlowe said. ‘And do not think you will be permitted to squander good money on those urchins and thieves you are so fond of. You will have no need of such a generous allowance as your mother’s companion.’

She could not win. In order to find herself a husband, she would have to allow herself to be courted. She must risk her heart whichever way she chose. The alternative: remaining with her mother and Farlowe—to have to endure his leers and his constant crude remarks about virgins—was simply intolerable. And she would not even have the release of involvement with Westfield.

She must capitulate. Her choice was, in reality, no choice. But she would move mountains in order to protect her heart. On one thing she was adamant: she must never fall in love with Lord Stanton.

Richard turned from his contemplation of the portrait hung over the mantel and watched Felicity approach.

‘Lady Felicity. I am honoured you have consented to hear my address.’

He scanned her features. She looked no more enthusiastic than she had earlier. Her eyes refused to meet his as she curtsied.

‘The honour is all mine, my lord.’

Richard gave himself leave to doubt that. The hopeless resignation in her voice matched her whole demeanour. He felt a scowl crease his brow and hastily smoothed it away. Not that she’d noticed; her eyes were fixed on a point somewhere beyond his right ear.

Why not end this farce now? There are plenty of girls available who would swoon at the idea of marrying you. Why tie yourself to a woman who doesn’t want you? Haven’t you experienced enough rejection from your own mother?

Was it the challenge? Part of his determination to marry Felicity was precisely because of her indifference. The other part... In his mind’s eye, he saw Felicity struggling against Farlowe’s grip. Could he really abandon her to life with that rogue?

She was well born, compliant and desirous of a family. Leo was convinced they would suit one another and Dominic—Leo’s twenty-year-old son and heir, who had arrived home earlier that afternoon—had even sung Felicity’s praises, assuring Richard there was more to her than might be apparent on the surface.

He thrust aside his doubts. There would be time enough once they were wed to discover what she feared. She would not be here if she was completely averse to him personally. Would she?

He took Felicity’s hands: fragile, the bones delicate in his grasp, the skin chilled. He felt a tremor wash through her, and squeezed reassuringly. Whatever her doubts, she was not shy, she had proved an entertaining conversationalist, and the way she had returned his kiss suggested she would be neither afraid nor reluctant to explore the physical side of marriage. That kiss! His loins stirred as his gaze dropped to her mouth without volition. He studied her full, shapely lips. She was not as insipid as he had first thought—Leo was right, she merely did not show to advantage beside her mother. She had a neat figure and her smile was infectious, lighting her whole face.

He was sure this marriage was the right decision for him, and that he and Felicity would rub along well together. His life was full and satisfying. He boasted a wide circle of like-minded friends with whom he shared an interest in a variety of sports. And, once he was wed, his mother would remove to the Lodge and he would happily spend more of his time at Fernley attending to the estate.

What he was less certain of was if it was the right decision for Felicity, standing quietly, her hands limp in his. Richard focused on her.

‘Lady Felicity, would you do me the very great honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’

Her features appeared carved out of rock. Not even an eyelash flickered.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

Her voice was as colourless as her complexion. His jaw clenched. He moved closer. She stepped back. He tightened his grip and tugged until her body was pressed full length against his. Another tremor ran through her as he wrapped one arm around her waist. But she did not look away. She held his gaze as he lowered his lips to hers.

Her lips were sweet and soft and relaxed as he kissed her and they opened readily enough. She allowed him to explore her mouth but she made no attempt to kiss him in return. She merely permitted the kiss. Dissatisfied, Richard was about to tear his lips from hers when he registered her tension. It was as though he held a statue in his embrace. Despite his earlier thoughts, he wondered if she was, after all, wary of the intimate side of marriage.

‘Relax,’ he whispered against her lips. ‘This is meant to be enjoyable.’

He feathered butterfly-light kisses over her cheeks, her brows, along her jaw then nudged her head to one side to nibble at her earlobe. Suddenly, she exhaled with a whoosh, and the long rigid muscles down her back softened under his hands. Her body relaxed against his and she lifted her hands to his chest and pushed.

‘I am sorry. This is hard for me. I wonder...might we wait until after we are married? Someone might come in.’

‘We are newly betrothed, Felicity. We should be allowed a celebratory kiss, do you not think?’

Again, her expression eluded him as she wiped her hands down her skirts. Nerves? He would give much to understand what was going through her mind right now.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We will wait until after the wedding. Speaking of which, I am minded to wed as soon as possible, if that is agreeable to you?’

He quashed the thought he was being unfair. He couldn’t escape the feeling that, if given time, Felicity would renege on her acceptance, and he was suddenly determined not to afford her the opportunity.

‘If you return to Bath tomorrow, I shall call in the Bishop’s Office at Wells on my way through and procure a Common Licence. We will not then have to wait for the banns to be read, and we could marry by the end of the week.’ His sense of fair play intervened, forcing him to add, with reluctance, ‘Or do you need more time to prepare?’

Felicity straightened. ‘No. That will not be necessary.’ Finally, there was a hint of conviction in her tone. ‘I shall go and inform Mama of our plans. Thank you for understanding,’

Understanding? Richard wasn’t sure he understood anything about his bride-to-be.