Читать книгу From Wallflower to Countess - Janice Preston, Janice Preston - Страница 19

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.