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

by Alicia Cameron

  Miss Carter-Phipps regarded him closely. Her schemes generally produced more resistance, or at least surprise. ‘You understand that this is only for a time, until we restore dear Felicity’s good name? And I would not attempt it, if I were at all determined on any of my suitors, I cannot seem to decide to marry anyone, although four gentlemen have asked me.’ Lt Sloane was regarding her with a strange look in his eye. ‘At the end of this season I shall simply say we do not suit. Mama will consider that fast, of course, but it will do me no harm to begin my second season with a broken engagement. Gentlemen prefer ladies whom other gentlemen desire, I find. Miss Sutcliffe was all the rage the first week of the season, though she broke her engagement to handsome Lord Stanford last season, having seen him with some dashing piece at a masquerade. And Miss Sutcliffe was engaged to Mr Fredericks after only one week. I have considered this carefully, as you see.’

  ‘Oh, then it is not self-sacrifice, only a good plan for your own betterment?’ said the lieutenant with a wisp of humour.

  ‘Certainly!’ agreed Miss Carter-Phipps seriously.

  The lieutenant regarded her just as seriously and was overcome by his admiration. She did not even know how fine her little person was. He grasped her a little more closely around her tiny waist and looked deep into her eyes. ‘I have little fault to find with your plan, Miss Carter-Phipps. Except in one instance.’ Her eyebrows raised, but she continued to mind her steps, dancing quite instinctively with the Lieutenant. ‘I shall seek your father’s permission, propose — and then we shall set our wedding date.’

  ‘But of course, that is usual.’ But her breath was a little laboured, he thought, and her cheeks a little flushed.

  ‘And then, you shall marry me.’

  Her brows raised themselves even further. ‘What an original idea.’ She answered calmly — but he was not deceived, for she trembled in his arms. ‘We shall have to see about that.’

  He looked at her, trying to gauge her mood more exactly. ‘Then my amendment to your plan is not repellent to you?’

  ‘Not at all repellent.’ She blushed, but retained her matter-of-fact tone. ‘I shall consider it intently. However, the world might call you rash, for we are so newly acquainted.’ He smiled down at her in a very disturbing way. ‘And bold too.’

  ‘I assure you, I have never before been accounted rash. I am only certain, you see. You are the most beautiful, determined and perfect young lady that I have ever met. Think of that as you consider.’

  ‘I shall,’ he found that Miss Carter-Phipps could grin wickedly. ‘And any other similar sentiments you wish to add. But Lieutenant, perhaps two proposals in one day might sap your strength?’

  ‘My dear girl—’ he started, drawing her even closer, but she pulled away.

  ‘Not until you have spoken to my papa!’

  ‘My dear Miss Carter-Phipps, meeting you has been the most energising experience of my life.’

  ‘As well as good character, I find your discerning taste in women quite unerring, Lieutenant.’

  And so ended the most significant dance of his life. As the lieutenant led his partner in the direction of her parents, he realised that he had not noticed his leg limp once.

  Felicity danced with Mr Bishop — hardly listened to his prattle, just glad to be dancing, to be twirling and unable to see the faces around her, to escape the constant guessing of who would turn away and who would not, and the worse dread of someone saying something about the affair directly to her. Mr Bishop returned her to Lady Sumner just as Benedict joined her with another gentlemen. He was introduced to her as Lord Carstairs, and his blushes and stammers and the chin lost in the high collar made her pity his predicament greatly. When he asked her to dance, Felicity said in a low voice, ‘Oh you need not be so kind sir, I can see that certain, well — rumours, have made you uncomfortable.’

  ‘No. Assure you, I’m always like this talking to a lady!’ Then he blushed some more at his unaccustomed outburst and Felicity laughed. Her delight made them all laugh, and Lady Aurora noticed that the girl’s natural warmth was having an effect on the room. Could such a young lady be guilty of immoral behaviour? She took the floor with Carstairs and the world looked on as he blossomed under her warmth and beauty.

  Felicity’s next dance was not so successful. As she joined a set with Mr Rush, the other partners left, abandoning them on the floor. Mr Rush blushed and tried to lead her to another set that was forming, but another couple sheared off from this one, and Felicity begged Mr Rush to take her back to her friends. But at that moment, a couple joined them. It was Lord Durant and his cousin. Felicity thought that she would sink, but then Genevieve and Benedict joined them too, and Vivien Althorpe arrived, dragging Lord Crewe. The dance began, Felicity hardly knew how she got through it. Lady Letitia was focused on her partner and hardly looked her way. Durant’s kind looks, when the dance brought them together, had nearly slain her. Only Benedict was a salve to her spirit. Her own partner, Rush, was embarrassed and seeking to be far from there. Benedict whispered anecdotes about Cumberland splitting his breeches, and she laughed. Mr Rush looked more comfortable and she could bear Durant’s hand on her (though it made her tremble) and ignored Lady Letitia.

  Durant ended the dance and led his cousin off the floor. ‘There — I danced with her — will that suffice?’ said she with a high colour.

  ‘No.’ Durant decided. ‘You will invite her to supper. You and she will laugh together. You will let it be seen that you like her. That any idea that you blackened her character is absurd.’

  ‘It will never be believed.’

  ‘You had better make it believable, my dear. Or it will be the worse for you.’

  ‘I will try. I hate this evening. You are too cruel, Bastian.’

  ‘If you cannot see, after watching what Miss Oldfield has had to endure this evening, that those words apply to yourself, Letitia, then you have no soul.’

  ‘I will do it! Do not be horrid to me, or I will cry…’

  Lord Stanford, who had been standing nearby, came to claim Lady Letitia for the next dance, and she moved off, lifting her head. But Durant knew she would obey him.

  Vivien followed Felicity to the ladies withdrawing room, where she cast herself into her arms with a squeak. ‘It is going splendidly, is it not?’ she said to her friend. ‘We are routing your enemies! They are on the run.’

  Felicity, who was barely dealing with the cold shoulders of her former friends, was not so sanguine, but she did not say so. She smiled.

  ‘Even my mama is doubting the story now. Since Lady Letitia has denied the story and even been dancing in a set with you, she said that the account of Miss Jane Friel is hardly credible. Her friend, Mrs Temple, went so far as to say that Miss Friel had had a wicked disposition as a young child, once hitting her music master with his timing stick.’

  ‘It is hardly fair if Miss Friel is branded a liar. She has only repeated Lady Letitia, after all.’

  ‘Felicity! It is not the time to be thinking of the reputation of that cat, but your own.’

  Felicity returned to the ballroom, to be claimed by another of Benedict’s friends for the Boulangère. As she passed the set that Jane Friel and her partner Captain Wallace had formed, that young lady turned a haughty shoulder, two pink spots on her cheeks. Somehow, Felicity remembered that Miss Friel had not been dancing so much this evening and she wondered if her own success was that young lady’s downfall. She could not like her, but Felicity wished this dreadful fate on no one.

  Lady Letitia was standing by the Fentons upon her return, accompanied by her friend whom Felicity remembered was called Lady Beatrice Fox.

  ‘Miss Oldfield,’ said Lady Letitia in a slightly strained voice, ‘My friend and I are going for some supper and I wondered if you would care to join us.’

  Felicity strove to keep her smile in place. ‘Why certainly!’ she replied.

  The young ladies walked together to the supper room, Felicity in the middle, and Lady Letitia
smiled and hissed, ‘Do smile. You make us both ridiculous!’

  Felicity wished she had a handy carpet bag, but she smiled, nevertheless. ‘How do you enjoy the ball, Lady Beatrice?’ she enquired of Letitia’s friend.

  ‘No, no! Speak to me! Durant insists.’

  Felicity, who was slow to ire, felt the smile freeze on her face. ‘If only you were so obedient to Durant’s wishes two months ago—’

  ‘Insolent!’ said Lady Letitia, but still she smiled. There was a pause. ‘What do you think of Miss Michael’s dress, my dear?’ she said, as they approached the supper table, where a milling crowd might overhear them.

  ‘The blue sarcenet? It is elegant, I think.’

  Lady Letitia tittered and Lady Beatrice joined her. ‘Elegance is simplicity - Miss Michael’s gown has rather too many trimmings.’

  ‘And the surfeit of braid!’ agreed Lady Beatrice. ‘A complete quiz!’

  ‘I am no judge of such things.’

  ‘Evidently!’ said Lady Beatrice.

  ‘Smile, my dear! You promised.’ Instructed Lady Letitia.

  All three ladies smiled.

  ‘Perhaps I will join my friend Captain Fenton,’ said Felicity desperately. ‘I see him there.’

  ‘We shall all go. Captain Fenton, will you make a plate for Lady Beatrice, Miss Oldfield and I?’

  ‘If I must.’ Benedict’s tone as he bent over her ladyship’s hand belied his smile.

  Felicity found herself amused at last. It was too ridiculous — an entire company whose faces expressed the exact opposite of their feelings. ‘Thank you, Benedict.’

  He smiled more genuinely. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked, his tone meant to reach Felicity only.

  ‘Their ladyships are just discussing fashions with me. I’m hoping I can change the topic from what they do not like to what they like. But I fear that is not what their dispositions enjoy.’

  They enjoyed a complicit smile before she turned back to her captors, and Genevieve Sumner, entering the supper room, saw it and was glad. Benedict was at last able to see Felicity’s charms, that was good. One day (though hopefully a far off one) Benedict would come into a tidy estate in Yorkshire. Which, now free from the drain of Mr Wilbert Fenton’s debts, was a comfortable living. Felicity might make, Genevieve thought, a very good mistress of same. Maybe she, Genevieve, could teach Felicity how to listen to him without sensibility, which was necessary to release his tongue, to help him share his troubles. It was a delicate task, Genevieve knew. Otherwise he would be brave, but keep his feelings locked, and that was not good for him. However, he must marry one day, and Felicity’s joyous nature would make a good wife for him, perhaps.

  Since Benedict had arrived in town his devastating good looks — no longer boyish, but dark and daring like Lord Byron’s — had had the predictable effect on young unmarried ladies (and even the married ones). Genevieve had seen this in every social situation. Maybe Benedict noticed, but he did not appear to. Admiration was perhaps so usual to him. She could only imagine the females he had met when stationed abroad. At first, his letters to her had been amusingly sprinkled with references to pretty females, but after the great battle, his tone had changed. He was more sombre, though he strove to hide it. Genevieve was worried. Perhaps Felicity’s plight was just the diversion he needed. He was, after all, always a rescuer. Of everything from birds with broken wings to family friends trapped in a destructive marriage.*

  Durant, too, was watching his cousin’s conduct from a distance, as he walked towards Lady Jersey, and saw Benedict Fenton’s exchange of smiles with Felicity, which jolted him somewhat. This was genuine feeling, not social exchange, and they looked like an impossibly beautiful couple, her eyes shining into Fenton’s with amused intimacy. She put all others to shame, he thought. Even Letitia’s polished surface dimmed in her presence.

  ‘That match might work to save the girl,’ came Lady Jersey’s voice beside him. ‘You should encourage it. But not for this season, it is too late for that. But if she returns to town as Mrs Benedict Fenton, no doubt the talk might die down,’ said Lady Jersey, adjusting her shawl, but talking a little less stridently than was her wont.

  ‘You could save her, Sally. If you were to go and greet her, offer new vouchers?’

  ‘I’m afraid the patronesses have voted and we feel that the whole sorry tale leaves us with little option but to blackball her, as they say into your nasty gambling clubs. We cannot afford to let the standards slip and I have had various representations even this evening, relating to our permitting the entrance of a fast girl. So do not ask me, Bastian. It is already decided.’

  ‘Sally — the whole tale is something in nothing—’

  ‘The report is false then? She did not drive off with you unchaperoned?’

  He hesitated. ‘Sally—’

  ‘No, Bastian. You have the means to secure her reputation if you so wish so. Do not blame me—’

  ‘I cannot. There is something no one knows — Anne said yes, but we can’t announce it until her mother’s demise. It would not be seemly.’

  ‘Dear Anne? Oh, how wonderful, Bastian! She has been tied to that house so long. I hear her mother’s death is nigh.’

  ‘Weeks, perhaps days only, the doctors say, but obviously we cannot wed at once. You won’t mention it Sally?’

  ‘Yes, but Bastian, it makes it even worse for your little Miss Oldfield. For those who know you, know that you would save her reputation if there was no truth to the rumour—’

  ‘I know. I am caught in a quandary. I can’t say why I don’t just offer for her. You could save her, Sally.’

  Lady Jersey adjusted her spangled shawl again. ‘You know I cannot. You cannot even deny the offence.’

  ‘There was nothing in it, Sally, I swear. I bullied the poor girl into doing a practical task for my own ends.’

  ‘She should not have gone with you.’

  ‘In an open carriage, Sally. Hardly best placed for an illicit liaison. And she had little choice, my dear. Think what I bullied you into when we were that age!’

  Lady Jersey smiled, remembering escaping her bedroom to join him on night-time badger hunts as a child, but said, ‘It is not just my decision, Bastian. I cannot help you.’

  Durant watched her go and looked over to Felicity, who was still smiling with Benedict Fenton in that intimate way. He surprised the eye of Viscountess Swanson, who looked at Felicity too, and he read in her eyes how Benedict’s easy confiding smile in Miss Oldfield’s direction was now given a new interpretation. She was fast, not just friendly, as might have been supposed before the dreadful accusations. One eyebrow raised in the old Viscountesses face. You know who she is, the witch was saying. And there was nothing, nothing he could say or do to make it right.

  Lady Jersey seldom questioned her own judgement on social matters. The way of the world was the way of the world and everyone, including even herself, must abide by the rules. She just happened to be in a position to enforce them. But her old playmate’s appeal had affected her and she followed Miss Oldfield to a room set aside for the comfort of ladies, which adjoined the supper room. She saw Felicity’s progress, and how she raised her chin a little as she passed a turned shoulder. She was a brave girl. This evening must be a trial for her. Her ladyship had no notion what she wished to say to the girl, only that she wished to observe her more closely.

  There was someone else in the room before them, besides the couple of attendants ready to pin a curl or stitch a ribbon, or move a screen for more intimate arrangements. A young lady whose blond head was sunk a little as she rung her lace handkerchief. Lady Jersey hung back in the doorway, which had swung to a little, and wondered what would happen as Miss Oldfield now came into an intimate space with her nemesis, Miss Jane Friel — for it was she. She just caught Felicity Oldfield’s low tone and could not believe her ears, ‘I am so sorry . . .’

  The blond head raised. ‘You!’ Lady Jersey saw tears in the young girl’s eyes. ‘It is all your fault! Ho
w dare you pity me?’

  ‘I cannot help it. I could see that you have suffered this evening. Many people have shunned me tonight, but I cannot help but see that those who have not, blame you. It must be dreadful for you.’

  ‘I did not behave like a slut. I did not disgrace myself, yet such persons as Mr Rush have turned their back on me. Only because I said—’

  Felicity sat on the next chair and held Miss Friel’s hand. Miss Friel pulled away abruptly. ‘And now even my friend virtually accuses me of lies. Lady Letitia — as if she had not said—’

  Felicity took her hands again. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Why are you being kind to me?’ Miss Friel’s expression had softened and she looked like the frightened girl she was.

  ‘I would never have anyone’s reputation, even for truthfulness, questioned. You do not deserve it, and I wish I could aid you.’

  Miss Friel stopped crying and pulled her hands, which had begun to grasp Felicity Oldfield’s back, free. ‘I see what it is — you wish me to leave this room with you and make myself look foolish and false. Well, I will not do it! You are a hateful, fast female and I will not—’ she choked. Then stood up, and walked off. Passing Lady Jersey at the door, she gave a start and continued on, her face a flame. Lady Jersey looked through the doorway, but stood so the door still obscured her presence. Miss Oldfield still sat, looking after Miss Friel, sadly shaking her head.

  The girl was quite genuine. And just that compassionate, so that in the midst of her own troubles, she could feel for another who had meant her no good whatsoever.

  How sad that there was nothing to be done. Lady Jersey turned on her heel and went back to the ballroom, shaking off her sadness with each step she took.

  On her carriage ride home the scene in the withdrawing room played once more in her head. So much so, that when she had returned to her house and discarded her gloves and cloak, she sat down at her writing desk to write to her old friend, Anne Clarence.

  It was little enough to do. But her conscience was salved.