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

by Alicia Cameron

  She looked surprised, ‘Oh in books, certainly. There are such dastardly deeds practised on innocents—’

  ‘Will you cease to speak of novels, Felicity?’ he said, frustrated.

  She quaked at his use of her name, but she said as calmly as she could, ‘I think you are correct about real life, though.’ He was very close now and she moved back, chattering wildly, to stop him taking back the subject, ‘I have never really met anyone truly wicked. For example, my own dear butler was very grumpy, but I discovered that he had an arthritic complaint, which he had to hide lest he was turned off, poor man,’ she said, ‘I had to arrange things a little differently in the house to make it easier for him and he soon stopped being gruff with the chambermaids.’

  ‘Felicity, Miss Oldfield, will you marry me?’

  ‘So that you can have exchanged one arranged marriage for another? I am truly sensible of the honour you do me, but you do not have to. Whatever happens in the world, I know now that my place is here. I do not need your sacrifice anymore.’

  ‘Bah! I do not offer you a sacrifice. I ask you because I need you, and only you, to become my wife. But if you feel nothing for me, do not marry me because you are honoured. I don’t think I could bear that.’

  Felicity’s chest was heaving, and she knew if he came closer she would be undone. If a hand touching hers could have kept her awake at night, if a look from him across a crowded room could make her head spin, she could not allow him to come closer.

  ‘Please, sir, remain where you are,’ she ordered.

  He smiled a little at her tone. ‘And why is that, Felicity?’ His voice was low, as he watched the effect on her, he knew he stirred her, and it was not fear, but some other thing.

  ‘I did not give you leave to call me by my name.’

  ‘I give you leave to call me by mine. It is Sebastian.’

  ‘I know, I was not sure of your others for some weeks until I met you again. You featured in my thoughts as Sebastian mostly, for that is what your cousin called you.’

  ‘You thought of me then, in those weeks?’

  ‘How could I not? You were a most magnificent personage to me. It was otherwise with you, I fear.’

  ‘I thought of you often, you filled my thoughts annoyingly, even when I was proposing to another woman.’

  ‘My lord!’

  ‘I drove down Hans Place in the hope of seeing you.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, and then I saw you at that dratted ball, and I was so pleased.’

  ‘You did not look pleased.’

  ‘Concerned, then.’ He admitted. ‘But I had wished to see you. Why, I could not explain to myself. After our meeting in this room, I knew.’

  ‘Yes?’ Her heart could have leapt from her chest, yet her voice was small.

  ‘You are the opposite of me in every way. My dear friend Anne told me it would take more than her good humour to change my crusty disposition. And she was right. It would take a beautiful young girl who knows how to turn a complete household into her devoted slaves, who seems to lack the ability to judge others harshly, who spreads joy like the roses I want to spread beneath her feet. Do you think now that I want an arranged marriage? But what of you? I will hold my tongue if it is not the same for you.’

  Felicity looked down. ‘My friends Vivien and Althea were always remarking that I never seemed to like any of the gentlemen who danced with me more than another. Althea said it was not possible. But I had already met the handsomest man, the man who made me smile. All the others seemed painted in lesser colours.’ She looked up at him. ‘I tried hard not to dream of you.’

  ‘Felicity!’ She was in his arms in a trice, both of them making up the gap. He kissed her passionately. ‘You are perfection. I never thought to find a woman as beautiful or as good as you. I do not deserve you,’ he said between kisses.

  The door opened, and in walked Benedict, Genevieve and Mr and Mrs Fenton.

  ‘Still at it, Durant? You made a meal of a simple proposal.’

  ‘Felicity!’ Felicity ran to Lady Aurora. ‘You shall not be married until next year. I shall have that time with you!’ she said smiling and holding her close.

  ‘Congratulations, my lord!’ said Mr Fenton. And more quietly, in Durant’s ear. ‘And if I see her once cry, you shall answer to me.’

  Durant nodded and they exchanged an amused look.

  ‘Genevieve! I am to be married after all! And I did not use even one of Althea’s hints to bring him to the point.’

  ‘I am so pleased, Felicity. You will make a fine viscountess. Whereas I have never been suited to the role of peeress. So I too will change my position in life, to become plain Mrs Fenton.’

  Felicity looked from one to the other. ‘Is it really true? I knew you were dear friends, but…’

  ‘The dearest,’ said Benedict with such joy in his face that Felicity remained in no doubt.

  ‘Well,’ said Lady Aurora, ‘I hope dinner is very fine tonight for we have much to celebrate.’

  ‘Oh, but if the beef you ordered is a little overdone, Lady Aurora, you must not mind,’ said Felicity in a confiding voice, ‘I was speaking to Hervé yesterday and he awaits news from Tours of the illness of his maman.’ All six marched towards the dining room in pairs, and in a jaunty spirit.

  ‘I do not know how you find out these things, Felicity,’ said Benedict amazed. ‘My wife will not have that talent. She doesn’t give corn plasters to the chamber maid, as I found you doing once, my dear. If you are not a horse, she isn’t interested.’

  ‘Very true,’ said Genevieve, placidly.

  ‘Maman or no, if the beef is spoilt he may look for a new master, if he were my chef,’ said Durant.

  ‘Oh, Sebastian, you cannot mean so,’ said Felicity, stopping dead.

  Durant smiled down at her, ‘The only way you could stop it is by becoming my wife quickly. On household matters I will naturally defer to my viscountess.’

  Felicity skipped to keep up with the party, while Mr Fenton said, over his shoulder, ‘Good try, my lord, but you will never prise your treasure from these walls until my wife has planned the most lavish of all weddings. And it may take some time.’

  ‘Why dear Mr Fenton, it seems you too, want me to stay a while,’ said Felicity teasingly.

  ‘How else are we to comfort Hervé, at the inevitable death of his maman?’ drawled Mr Fenton, with his customary suavity.

  ‘Let us hope the beef is delicious. There has never been such a delightful day, and we need to celebrate,’ said Lady Aurora. ‘I thought I needed to lie down from exhaustion, but I now I think I could eat a horse.’

  In a few minutes, Mr Fenton stood to make a toast. ‘To the various matches and marriages that have been arranged this day, I cannot well remember between who,’ his lady laughed and smiled at him, while Benedict banged on the table and jeered, ‘to Felicity’s return, and to the end of her dashed Damaged Reputation.’

  Lord Oswald Sumner, come into kiss his mama goodnight before his nurse put him down, added his offering to the cheers. ‘Durdle-durdle-durdle-de!’

  Epilogue

  That night, much too happy to sleep, Felicity wrote a letter.

  Dearest Miss Fleet,

  I write this from home once more, for though I indeed left for a post in Brighton, which I feared to upset you by telling you about, I have had a more thrilling day than any of our favourite novels. I wish to tell you all in person, so please be at the park after breakfast. However, I must tell you just enough to think about tonight.

  First, I have saved the black-hearted lady from a terrible fate, and found out that she is not black-hearted at all. Second, the coachman who delivers me tomorrow will be— my intended husband!

  I know dear Beatty will see this letter into your hand tonight, for I shall tell the footman to say it is from me.

  There are wonderful surprises ahead for you, too, my dearest Miss Fleet. You cannot imagine!

  I have told you enough to keep you up
a little, and as I will be too.

  Until tomorrow, my dear friend,

  Felicity

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  I have really enjoyed writing Felicity, though it took me a lot longer than my previous three full-length Regency Romances. I had my model for Lord Oswald Sumner in little Dann Mercier, with whose family I spent a magical summer.

  It would be quite comme il faut, or très gentil of you to LEAVE AN HONEST REVIEW ON AMAZON☺ I will love you very much, probably for ever…

  For those of you who are new, I welcome you and invite you to join me on Twitter, on Facebook, Bookbub, and on Pinterest. You might like to follow my Regency Blog on www.Alicia Cameron.co.uk, which also should keep all the news.

  Have you joined Audible yet? The home of audiobooks. Even in the car or making dinner, you can keep reading by listening to the audios. I have been so lucky in finding the talented actors who recorded my books. Each one has brought life to the stories in their own ways. You could choose one from all my available titles, and get it FREE with an Audible trial! Here are the links:

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  I wish you happy reading. Spreading some laughter is much of what I seek to achieve – I hope you found a smile or two here.

  Alicia

  Here is a chapter of my last book, Delphine and the Dangerous Arrangement to tempt you:

  Considering that the house had received no visitors for some years, excepting the occasional visits by old Mr Rigby-Blythe, and considering that she had just become an orphan, Delphine Delacroix’s house seemed remarkably full of relatives. Especially aunts. There were probably a similar number of uncles, but as they gathered around sipping wine and indulging in desultory conversation, the worst she could say of them is that they blocked any heat from the cavernous fireplace. The aunts, on the other hand, gathered around one like gnats, even entering her bedchamber and pulling and picking at her dress and hair, buzzing with words that overlapped each other so much that she barely understood them. They were her mother’s sisters, which did not recommend them to Delphine, but as unlike her in appearance as they were each other. Her mother had brown hair, one aunt was fair beneath the turban, another dark and definite. The third was plump, unlike the others, and her hair was russet as an autumn day.

  The throng followed her downstairs, surrounding her, and flew around her whilst she entered the drawing room which contained sundry male relatives that she had been briefly introduced to, as well as a number of unknown neighbours that the aunts had seen fit to invite to the funeral. These last could be seen to have wandering eyes, taking in the rooms and the appointments of furniture of the biggest house in the vicinity, about which their curiosity had been denied so long. She too, they had taken in hungrily - the young lady they had been permitted to bow to, never approach, as she sat stiffly upright in the carriage whilst her mother entered one of the village draper shops.

  She was twenty-two years old and alone in the world, despite the chattering hoard that she had only just met. Mr Rigby-Blythe was her only acquaintance, and she met his ancient eye as she entered. She suspected he was to blame for the swarm. He was wearing the same rusty black suit as he always wore, and was so similarly ruined and rusty in his person that he always gave alarm, lest he gave his last breath under one’s anticipatory eye. Only his watery eyes gave any sign of life. They glittered at her as they had in those few minutes that she had been allowed to sit with him - before his lawyerly business with her mama.

  There was to be a will reading, of course. Delacroix House was a large manor that had been raised in old Queen Anne’s day and her mother had been proud of it. Its many features had been spelt out to her, as had the life story of the great-great grandfather who had built it. She was aware that she came from a long illustrious line, whose closeness to monarchs had resulted in being granted many favours, including a Baronetcy that was now lost for lack of a male heir. It was a knife in her father’s heart, her mother had frequently informed her, that she had been born female, so much so that he had not been able to look at her. His death three years after she had been born had made this less of a blow than it may have been. She did not remember him. But the frequency of her mother’s reminder let her know that the knife had also penetrated the second parental heart. But then, so much that she had done in her young life had wounded her mother. ‘You will oblige me, Delphine, by …’ Refraining from slouching. Modulating your tone. Foregoing to run. Keeping your opinions to yourself. Eating what has been provided for you. Straightening your dress. Avoiding speaking to the servants. Wearing what I set for you. Reading what I choose for you. Never entering my chamber.

  She was wearing a dress her mama had had made for her for this very day, once she knew that consumption was hastening her demise. It was of the finest black silk brocade, over an under-dress of heavy black satin. The whole thing had about twice as much skirt as any lady’s present, they wearing the finest muslin or silk, caught under the bust, with skirts that draped to show the body. Aunt Eloise, in particular, though a woman of fifty-five, wore a dress that was so diaphanous as to be shocking. On her fair head was a silken turban and a plume (dyed black, of course) and though she had fretted at Delphine’s dress, Delphine considered her deranged. Her own gown must have cost a great deal more than her aunt’s feather-weight affair. And that lady must be pierced with cold in these ancient, but draughty, halls.

  Delphine made her stately way around the room, nodding to the village people, which was more condescension than she would have been allowed to show in her mother’s presence. A poor little scrap of a woman in a fluttery grey dress moved forward and put out her hand saying, ‘Oh my dear, how very sorry-’

  Delphine stopped and looked at the hand. She had no notion what to do with it, no one had had the temerity to offer her such intimacy in her life. One of the aunts, plump good natured Aunt Sybilla, said, ‘Oh, Miss Beauford, so kind of you to have come,’ and shook the poor lady’s hand lightly.

  Miss Beauford’s eyes looked into Delphine’s with an expression she had never seen before, but that she feared maybe pity, and then smiled faintly and fluttered away.

  That such a woman should pity her held Delphine stiff with humiliation. But she was moved to say to her aunt, ‘Beauford … but that is Mama’s own name?’

  ‘Of course my dear, Beauford is my late Papa’s name. We were all Miss Beaufords. Phoebe Beauford is, I believe, a second or third cousin of yours. Surely you were made aware when your mother introduced you?’

  ‘I have never been introduced to her before.’

  Aunt Sybilla stared. ‘But she is a relative. She lives in the village.’ Delphine said nothing. ‘Perhaps your mama feared that she and her sister would batten onto their more prosperous relatives.’ She looked again at Delphine’s face. ‘But it is very strange of Emilia not to apprise you of-’

  Her aunt led the way forward to another group of villagers, none of whom repeated the attempt at intimacy, but contented themselves with slight bows (the gentlemen) or curtsies (the ladies) which Delphine reprised, even more slightly.

  ***

  Lady Marguerite Pelleter, the most brisk of the aunts, with thick dark brows as decided as her character, and a chanteuse dress draped à la Diane, was regarding Delphine from a distance. ‘She holds herself very high. She’s as cold as Emilia.’

  ‘I think, don’t you, that we should give her a chance,’ said Lady Eloise Carswell, she of the shocking gown, but with large blue eyes that expressed her caring nature, ‘She has had only one pattern-card for behaviour and I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but Emilia was-’

  ‘Yes. We all mu
st do what we can for her. But if she really is of Emilia’s nature-’

  ‘Quite!’

  ***

  After the guests had left and the will had been read, there had been the chattering dinner to be endured before Delphine had been released to her bedchamber. She was in shock. As well as the trial of the whole day, exposed to more society than in her whole life preceding, she had just found out that she was very wealthy indeed.

  She had previously considered that her mother’s choice of restricted society and travel stemmed from a similarly restricted income. They ate frugally and had a fire in very few of the rooms. Their clothes were the only luxury mama had permitted - this Delphine had thought of as display of consequence for the village and the servants - with all the other economies practised to support the display. So much she had worked out. But it was quite untrue. The Delacroix estate was the largest and wealthiest in the county. Her late father had owned other properties throughout England, some let to wealthy families, including a whole London Square. There were bonds and investments of many kinds, and apparently she could ransom a king.

  Her maid Susan, over forty with a face of frozen biliousness, had that night removed her mistress’s clothes silently, but permitted herself a few acid words before she left the bedchamber.

  ‘Your wealth will attract only the sewer rats of London to your side - Lady Delacroix said as much to me before her death.’ The bitter lines around her mouth tightened before she turned to go. She had been her mother’s devoted slave - and spy.

  Delphine seldom exchanged words with this attendant of all her young days. ‘You need not worry about London, Susan.’

  ‘You do not go, then?’ said that upright dame, surprised - and pleased, the girl thought.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Delphine, ‘at the beginning of the season. But you will not accompany me.’

  Susan blinked, then left her with a look that could turn milk.