Felicity and the Damaged Reputation: A witty, sweet Regency Romance

by Alicia Cameron

  Once a week, she met Miss Fleet, as arranged, in the reading room of the circulating library, where the little lady could be relied upon, due to her intimacy with the clerk, to know about the newest novels. Thus, too, she was able to hear news of her aunt and her household. She had written to her aunt, to once more give thanks for the lavish amount of clothes and the allowance she had sent her via Mrs Fenton. It was ten pounds, enough to give vails to the servants, and to buy some fripperies, but Felicity was keeping the majority for her future life. Her gratitude spilt over on the paper, and Miss Fleet agreed to take it. The response was swift and brief. You need not thank me. Her aunt had a hidden kindness in her, Felicity concluded.

  One thing that affected her a little was the absolute animosity of Miss Jane Friel. If there was a way that that young lady could create trouble for her, she did. Miss Friel extracted from a servant at Ellingham House the information that Felicity was dowerless. It was around London in a minute. There was a rather dispiriting falling off of morning visits, but at balls, Felicity was pretty and charming enough seldom to have her hand unclaimed.

  So though Felicity knew that her adventure would soon be at an end, she was quite content. Until, that is, her fortunes took her once more into the orbit of Sebastian, Viscount of Durant and his cousin, Lady Letitia Fortescue.

  Felicity missed an early ride one day, and Genevieve was able to ride on her own, with a groom behind her on a job horse. If it was her stable, this groom would be able to ride no other, for in Genevieve’s opinion he was not fitted for his position. When she visited the stables, she had noticed this. Nepotism was probably at fault as his uncle, Jobson, was head groom. She had almost mentioned his lack to Mr Fenton for the sake of the animals. However Jobson was excellent and she trusted that he would oversee his nephew until, perhaps, he was adequate. She was loath to lose any man his position, but if he pulled too sharply on the girth when saddling once more… At any rate, he offered the respectability necessary for her lone ride, which was as much as she could say of him.

  She was about to break into a canter when she saw a gentleman on foot hail her, and pulled up sharply.

  ‘Dickie!’ she said joyously.

  Looking up at her was a gentleman with dark eyes and copious chestnut hair, smiling a crooked smile which looked rather unused. He raised a hand and she took it gladly, her brows contracting as she looked at him.

  ‘Jenny!’ he said, warmly. That was more like him. ‘Your hat’s on squint and your hair is like a bird’s nest. Oh, it’s good to see you.’ They stayed like that for a moment, and Genevieve squeezed his hand. ‘I forget myself,’ he said, with an assumption of the old gay manner, ‘Let me introduce you to my friend, Lieutenant Samuel Sloane, of the 7th.’

  Genevieve had recognised the exquisite uniform of the Hussars, with the dashing Shako hat that the Duke had despised as being too like the French to make them distinct in the thick of battle. The cost of the fine outfit had, by rumour, almost bankrupted some young officers. He was an attractive young man of middling height and colouration and as he came forward to shake her hand, she saw that he limped slightly.

  Here were two heroes of Wellington’s great victory, and like all English women, she was proud. Her friend Benedict Fenton, nephew of Mr Wilbert Fenton, wore a plain blue coat and buff pantalons, his cravat negligently tied. He was as handsome as his famously beautiful sisters Serena and Honoria, now temporarily absent from town with their new husbands. She remembered when, as a green young buck, he had been punctilious about such things as cravats, anxious to be as fashionable as he could. But a stint in the Hussars had given him a new maturity, perhaps. Genevieve’s father’s estate in Yorkshire marched on the Fenton’s, and they had grown up together, she the eldest of the group. More recently, over a year ago in fact, Benedict had performed a particular service for her, risking himself in the same reckless way that he rode his horses. She would never forget it.

  ‘How come you to town?’ she asked, after exchanging pleasantries with his rather serious young friend.

  ‘To see you. I went first to Sumner Hall only to be told that you were in town at my uncle’s.’

  ‘Have you been home to Yorkshire? How are your dear mama and papa?’

  ‘Not yet. I thought I would come to see you first.’ He smiled that unfamiliar crooked smile. ‘I am not quite ready to be interrogated by Mama.’

  She smiled. ‘Well, if you wrote rather more often … She was most put out, when I saw her at the wedding, that I had received more recent news than she.’

  ‘Oh, the post was not to be depended on …’ he said vaguely.

  ‘What is your direction in town? Do you stay with us at Grosvenor Square?’

  ‘I’m bunking with Sloane for the moment.’

  ‘Two lieutenants together. You’ll be catching up with Lord Carstairs again, I suppose, and carousing shamefully.’

  The crooked smile again, and Sloan clapped his shoulder in what Genevieve suspected was a supportive gesture. ‘Oh, not two lieutenants, my lady — you are looking at a superior officer. Benedict is now Captain Fenton, don’t ye know?’

  ‘You didn’t mention it…’

  The park was becoming more crowded and her horse was restive standing still. ‘Can’t keep Caesar standing, Dickie,’ she said brusquely. ‘It’s the most absurd start, but Lady Aurora invited me here to help chaperon a friend of hers. I am kept busy gadding about town, I assure you.’

  ‘You? A social butterfly? Benedict laughed.

  ‘Come to the Telford’s ball tonight and you shall meet the reason. You will like her, I am sure.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know…’

  ‘Lord Telford is an intimate of your papa. There can be no problem procuring invitations for you — and Lieutenant Sloane, of course.’

  ‘Very well. If only to see you dance again. Do you still have the dreadful peach satin gown?’

  ‘If I had, Lady Aurora would have the good taste to prevent me wearing it. Don’t be later than eight, Benedict, I depend on it.’

  She rode off, a frown between her brows. Something was wrong with Benedict. Tonight she would find out what.

  At a later hour, Lady Letitia Fortescue and Miss Friel were being driven in the startling pale blue curricle that had been the instrument of Felicity’s first abduction. Across the park, Miss Carter-Phipps was driving, with two other young ladies seated beside her.

  ‘Who is that with Miss Carter-Phipps?’ enquired her ladyship of her friend.

  ‘Miss Vivien Althorpe, I suppose. They are always together.’

  ‘No, the other one.’

  Miss Friel glanced over briefly, with a fair assumption of her friend’s superior manner, but the carriage was now too far off. ‘Probably the nobody that Miss Althorpe has taken up. Lady Ellingham’s niece.’

  Lady Letitia relaxed. It could not then be Durant’s accomplice of Hans Place, as the fleeting glance had suggested. Of course not.

  Lady Telford’s Ball was a brilliant affair, as befitted the Duke’s position. The street was blocked off to traffic not attending and lit up by fifty men bearing flambeaux, twenty-five on each side. Carriages arrived and dropped off their charges, who were then aided by a phalanx of scarlet and gold garbed footmen to enter the building. It was a house more like a little palace, Felicity thought, taking up the entire street with a private park beyond the road.

  The Duke was an amiable man of about fifty, who was in the process of abandoning his lovely Duchess on the presentation line for the more amusing card room, when the Grosvenor Square party arrived. He stayed to see Lady Aurora however, and his roué’s eye watered appreciatively. Felicity noticed and was not surprised. His Grace was a known gambler, the all-knowing Vivien had told her, and so possibly had known Lady Aurora in the days of her gaming establishment. Moreover, thought Felicity, regarding the lovely Duchess, his wife was rather in Lady Aurora’s style. She was somewhere between her ladyship’s age and Felicity’s, a handsome women with that indefinable touch of
style. Her grace’s blond head was complexly coiffured, as Felicity could nowadays discern, her dress simple satin, but shimmering with tiny stones that reflected the light in a dazzling way. She wore a high, broad collar of diamonds, which Althea had told her were the family stones, reset to her own design. With her upturned lips, like a cat’s and her green slanted eyes, she was remarkably beautiful.

  Lady Aurora was in cream satin with a band of flowers richly embroidered on the hem then climbing a little on the front of her dress. She wore a simple pearl collar of four strands around her delicate throat, which had surprised Felicity.

  ‘Do you not wear your rubies, or the diamonds?’ she had asked.

  Lady Aurora had twinkled at her. ‘Never try to rival one’s hostess in the matter of jewels. My diamonds, though inferior to the Telford set, might be thought presumptuous.’

  Felicity bobbed a curtsy to the Duke and Duchess and was soon inside the ballroom, seeking her friends. Lady Sumner was also seeking someone, and before Felicity had located her friends, she had found him.

  ‘Lady Sumner!’ a young man was bowing over her hand. ‘It is half past eight of the clock and you have left me here with nothing to do this half hour.’ He spoke with the intimacy of a friend and his companion, a young military gentleman, also bowed to Lady Sumner briefly.

  ‘Benedict!’ Mr Fenton clapped his hand on the young man’s shoulder, his usual mask of suave indifference swept away by apparent joy.

  ‘Uncle! And my beautiful new Aunt. But I really cannot call you so. You are by far too young.’

  The nonsense continued throughout the greetings and introductions. Felicity felt rather shy at meeting this handsome young man, who smiled at her with great appreciation. ‘This year’s belle, I’ll be bound!’ he remarked. Felicity blushed.

  ‘Forgive my friend, Miss Oldfield,’ said Lieutenant Sloane, ‘He has no manners to speak of and has forgotten how to behave in an English ballroom.’ He said it gravely, but there was a hint of laughter in his eyes that allowed her to smile.

  Lady Aurora looked at her step-nephew and seemed to perceive something. ‘Why don’t you four young people,’ Genevieve started at being so included, ‘make it your business to find the refreshment rooms. It is an excellent beginning to a ball to know where they are located. And in this rabbit warren we may all be parched to death before we find them, no matter how many footmen are about. I—’ she added, ‘must dance with my husband before he disappears from my side.’

  Captain Benedict Fenton laid Lady Sumner’s hand on his arm and Lt Sloane and Felicity followed suit. They soon located the various rooms set aside for drooping guests, plus several card rooms and withdrawing rooms for ladies taking the faint, or needing to pin a flounce, or even wishing to chatter — away from the hot ballroom. It was the largest ball that she had yet attended, and the magnificence of the space hardly needed the garlands of fresh flowers that festooned the walls in swags. Everyone who was anyone in the Beau Monde was here, the ladies’ jewels and spangled shawls glittering; the gentlemen, in knee breeches and well cut evening coats, their perfect foil.

  Felicity looked around her, capturing the memories to put in a glass jar, rather as she had caught beautiful butterflies as a child. This was all a temporary dream, and she knew it. When it was over, she would resist any pity that her wonderful host and hostess might show her, and find herself that position which was the only way she could hope for independence. The hope of achieving more, like a proposal, was not in her mind. For all her joyful optimism, Felicity was a practical girl. The success that was assured for her friends Vivien and Althea, both with family and wealth, would not be for her.

  Althea was even now planning her revenge on Miss Friel for the general knowledge of Felicity’s lack of a portion, but it would not help.

  The friends had discussed this in the park, on a day when Althea had let them know that Mr Quincy had indeed proposed.

  ‘Miss Friel has gone too far this time, she has always been set against you, for you receive too much attention. It was perfectly foul of her.’

  ‘Do not be silly, Vivien, any gentleman would be bound to find out that I was portionless before he offered. Miss Friel has simply saved time by setting it about.’

  ‘She may be caught out by it. There are many men of property that will be undeterred. But she must be made to pay.’ Althea’s determined little person made Felicity amused and afraid for Miss Friel.

  ‘Let it be, Althea, I beg you,’ she’d laughed.

  But she knew that while popular amongst the young set, she was unlikely to receive an offer. The morning calls and particular attentions had dropped off. In fact, Felicity had received a proposal by a drunk Lord Stanford, when he had caught her in an antechamber alone, but she had politely declined. Even for a position as a baron’s wife and the tempting thought of returning to London next year and staying in touch with her dear friends, she could not reconcile herself to such a marriage as that. He slurred his words, breathed fumes on her and squeezed her to him. Rather like the occasion with the carpet bag, her foot had risen quite on its own and stamped hard on his until he let her go. As well return to Oldfield and the dreadful Mr Lawson as be the wife of such a man.

  For the moment though, she had this wonderful time, with friends and balls and beautiful clothes just as though she deserved it. And she would ring every ounce of joy from it, for she would need to remember it in the years to come.

  Genevieve and Benedict had now exited the ballroom to a large balcony over the back garden, with four or five stone benches around it. Due to Lt Sloane’s limp, they were rather behind and Felicity saw her friend sitting with the Captain talking rather seriously. Lt. Sloane also saw the position and gestured her to a bench two spaces over from them and out of earshot of their low voices.

  ‘Very well, Benedict, now you must tell me why you did not go home to Yorkshire. Dear Lady Fenton and Sir Ranalph worry about you, you know.’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘I just hoped I could belay the questions for the moment. Except yours of course. I knew I could not escape that fate.’ There was a pause while they both smiled wanly, Genevieve rather depressed by Benedict’s unaccustomed dark mood.

  ‘A Captain now — are you not very young for that rank?’ asked Genevieve, still very conscious of a false note between them, usually the very best of friends.

  ‘It was a battlefield commission. It makes no odds.’

  ‘I expect it does to your pay, my dear.’

  ‘The dashed new uniform eats it up, I assure you. My friends wear their regimentals in town to save money, but I’m dashed if I will be seen in a damned Shako hat in Brooke Street.’

  ‘Your language—’ began Genevieve dryly.

  ‘Sorry, Jenny, I’ve lived too long in barracks. But since when were you such a high stickler, my Lady Sumner?’

  ‘Since I play the role of duenna.’ She looked across at Felicity, who was talking with Lt Sloane ‘Isn’t she charming?’

  Benedict glanced over. ‘She is. A very friendly girl.’

  Genevieve was a little surprised at his tepid admiration, but she supposed that having two beautiful sisters inured him. ‘And so true, I assure you! And she’s beginning to ride rather well.’

  ‘Trust you to count that as one of the womanly virtues. Can she play the pianoforte as well as you?’ Lady Sumner, who was excessively inept on the instrument, hit him with her fan. ‘I do like your dress tonight, Jenny,’ he said of the brown silk with one fawn ribbon sash beneath her bosom. It was fashionable, but understated, ‘But,’ continued he, ‘A fan and a cap? It is though you were quite an antidote.’

  ‘I am three years older than you, Benedict Fenton, and a widow.’

  He looked at her gravely for a moment, she had expressed herself to him about Lord Frederick Sumner’s death, in her letters. She had been estranged from him, but she still was sad to see any young man lose his life to his own debauchery. ‘How fares his young lordship — and the horses?’

 
‘All thriving! For which I give thanks daily. We shall soon drag the estate out of debt, I assure you. We sell at Tattersall’s. I send my groom, Rooney, since the presence of a female trader would cause revulsion. What I need is another young gentlemen who can ride a horse well, or drive a pair in town and then recommend them. It would certainly pay better.’

  ‘I know just the young buck for that,’ said Benedict.

  ‘You? With my horses?’ she laughed, ‘certainly not.’

  ‘Rude! No not me. I don’t go about much these days. I only came to town to see you, Jenny.’

  She reached and took his hand, grasping it. ‘What troubles you, Benedict?’

  He looked straight at her, and did not dissemble, ‘So many friends gone, Jenny. I saw them fall. Even my promotion — every time I am called Captain Fenton, I see poor Boffy Sutliffe, whose captaincy I inherited, dead on the battle ground.’ He grasped her hand more tightly and released it. ‘Not the topic for a ballroom.’

  ‘You can always speak to me, Dickie,’ she said in a low voice, ‘Ride with me tomorrow.’

  ‘I will, Jenny. I won’t repeat my sad tale. There are any number of soldiers back from the war who are showing a happy face to the world. I must do better. But I cannot return to Mama until I do. It would break her heart. So I come to you and burden a poor widow with my megrims.’

  ‘I am very glad you did. You know that I have no sensibility.’ She said calmly.

  Benedict looked deep into her eyes, his incredibly handsome face grave, a curl falling over his brow, ‘That is what I do not know. You have the truest feelings of any woman I know. But you seldom betray them.’ Genevieve dropped her eyes. ‘Well, brave girl, will you at last let me give you the money to repair your fortunes the quicker?’ He was referring to the money he had recovered for her from the gamesters who cheated her feckless husband — nearly two years ago now, when Benedict had been a reckless youth.

  Something trembled inside her. He was calling her “brave girl” as though he were the elder, yet what he had gone through in these past two years had made it so, she felt. She tried for a light tone. ‘Do you still have it, Benedict? I felt sure that you had spent it in gambling, carousing and bribing Spanish duennas.’