Refining Felicity

by Beaton, M. C.

  ‘Ravenswood?’ demanded Felicity. ‘What has he to say to the matter?’

  ‘He kindly offered us his escort to London,’ explained Effy. ‘Oh, Amy, do not let us be so precipitate. We need a gentleman’s protection in this dreadful country.’

  ‘We are not overly plagued with highwaymen or footpads at the moment,’ said Felicity, fighting down her fury at the very idea of Ravenswood’s escort.

  ‘My dear, the country just reeks with trees and birds and bulls and things like that,’ said Effy helplessly.

  Felicity decided that the last thing she wanted was Lord Ravenswood to witness her being taken off to be schooled by these quizzes. She would back Miss Amy, set off for London, and frighten the sisters into getting rid of her.

  ‘Tomorrow suits me very well,’ she said.

  ‘Leave us, Felicity,’ said Lady Baronsheath. ‘I must speak to these ladies in private.’

  Felicity rose and curtsied and left the room without a backward glance.

  ‘Now,’ said Lady Baronsheath firmly, ‘will you please explain the reason for this speedy departure?’

  ‘There’s a lot of work to be done, my lady,’ said Amy, ‘and from the look in her eye, Lady Felicity plans to be shot of us as soon as she can. I can’t begin to discipline her in her family home. If you want the next Season to be a success, the sooner we start the better.’

  Lady Baronsheath hesitated only a moment – a moment during which she thought of the mayhem Felicity could create. ‘Very well,’ she said faintly, ignoring Effy’s squawk of protest. ‘I shall send a note to Lord Ravenswood, telling him the time of your departure, but I fear he will not be able to accompany you at such short notice. But can we discuss this further? I must confess I have doubts . . .’

  She was about to say that she was regretting having sent for them. They were very odd, and this rushing off so quickly, despite their seemingly reasonable explanation, had nonetheless made her anxious about Felicity’s welfare.

  It was Effy who innocently secured the Tribble future. ‘I would much rather have the marquess’s escort,’ she said wistfully, ‘but then, it is not as if we shall never see him again. He said he was most eager to call on us when he was resident in London.’

  Lady Baronsheath looked at the two sisters. Was it possible they could effect a change in Felicity? Was it possible they could even make Ravenswood propose? She thought of coping with her daughter herself, and shuddered.

  ‘We have not discussed terms,’ she said.

  Amy opened the drawstrings of a reticule that looked like a poacher’s bag and fished out a notebook. But before she could say anything, Effy leaned forward. ‘You must appreciate, my lady,’ she said, ‘the vast expense of the routs and dinners we must hold, not to mention the hiring of a dancing master, music teacher, and water-colourist. I suggest you pay us the necessary sum in advance on the understanding that, should the experiment fail, such money as has not been used will be returned to you. I suggest we give you a letter promising that fact. Then, should Felicity be engaged by the end of the Season to a suitable gentleman, a bonus would be in order.’

  ‘How much?’ asked Lady Baronsheath.

  Amy eagerly flipped open the pages of her notebook. She planned to surprise Lady Baronsheath with the modesty of their demands.

  ‘Eight thousand pounds,’ said Effy quietly.

  Amy’s mouth fell open.

  Lady Baronsheath thought quickly. Instead of being daunted by the sum, she was strangely reassured. The best of everything always cost the most.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will give you a draft.’

  Amy turned bright red.

  ‘And now, if you will excuse me, ladies,’ said the countess, rising to her feet. ‘I must tell the maid to prepare Felicity for her journey and also apprise Lord Ravenswood of your departure.’

  Both sisters rose as well and curtsied.

  Felicity, who had been marching angrily about the lawns, stopped outside the long drawing-room windows and looked in. An amazing sight met her eyes. The sisters were capering about the room, doing a mad jig.

  They are quite crazy, she thought in amazement. I shall be shot of them before we even reach London!

  Felicity was very quiet as Lord Ravenswood’s travelling carriage set out on the long road to London. The parting from her mother had upset her more than she would have believed possible. Her whole young life had been one drive to please her father, and somewhere along the way her gentle mother had been largely forgotten. It finally sank into Felicity’s mind that her mother had been very deeply troubled indeed to send her only daughter out to be schooled by strangers.

  She was intimidated by the presence of the marquess, who was travelling inside with them. Somewhere deep inside, he seemed to be laughing at her.

  Miss Effy had promptly fallen asleep as soon as the carriage set out, and Miss Amy, after exchanging a few pleasantries with the marquess, had followed suit. Both sisters were exhausted after a sleepless night of elation. Felicity turned her profile to the marquess, who was sitting opposite and looked out of the window. A thick blanket of fog had rolled in from the Channel to blot out the Sussex Downs, the chalky Downs where she had recently ridden, free as a bird.

  The carriage moved inexorably on, through tiny villages of flintstone houses, water from the thick mist dripping from the thatch. Behind came a fourgon, laden with Felicity’s trunks and guarded by her lady’s maid.

  The marquess studied the averted face opposite. He reflected lazily that Lady Felicity had a certain attraction when she was as modishly dressed as she was for the journey. She was wearing a habit of dark-green Georgian cloth, ornamented with military frogs. On her head was a dashing hat of green velvet trimmed with white fur. It was tilted rakishly to one side, exposing a cluster of glossy curls. He opened his mouth to enter into conversation with her, thought the better of it, took a book from his pocket and began to read.

  Immediately aware his attention was elsewhere, Felicity turned and looked at him, and then down at the book on his lap. He was leaning forward with his chin on his hand. Greek! The book was written in ancient Greek.

  ‘I don’t believe you can read a word of that,’ said Felicity crossly. ‘You are simply trying to impress me.’

  ‘No, Lady Felicity, I am not trying to impress you,’ he said, without raising his eyes from the page. ‘In fact, I cannot envisage any future time where I should want to do anything at all to capture your attention.’

  Felicity flushed angrily and bit back a retort. Unbidden, a sharp memory of her coming-out ball came to her mind. Before that ball, she had enjoyed her easy popularity with the gentlemen of the county, particularly the gentlemen of the hunt. It had been forcibly borne in on her at that dance that her father’s training had worked all too well. Despite her ballgown and elegant coiffure, they had almost regarded her as another man. Jack Dempster, her companion of the hunting field, had been quite white with emotion after a dance with Miss Betty Andrews and had confided in Felicity that if Miss Andrews did not smile on him but once, he would go and shoot himself. No man had sighed or trembled under her gaze. For the first time in her young life, Felicity longed for some of that magic feminine power that could make strong men weak.

  They broke their journey at a posting inn for some refreshment. Felicity would have liked a glass of wine, but Effy quietly ordered lemonade for the ladies. As they journeyed on again, Felicity began to hate her companions. The marquess’s sheer indifference to her was galling. She detested the Tribble sisters. She became sure her mother had been tricked by them. Such a shabby pair could not possibly have the correct entrée to the polite saloons of London.

  They stopped at six o’clock in the evening at another posting house to rack up for the night. It was built on the old plan with the bedrooms leading off wooden galleries overlooking a square courtyard.

  The marquess was supervising the stabling of the horses and the Tribble sisters were leading the way up one of the wooden staircases t
o the bedrooms, with Felicity following behind, when Felicity dropped her reticule. Before she could stoop to retrieve it, a gentleman darted forward and picked it up for her. Felicity was about to thank him in her usual free and frank manner when she remembered Miss Betty Andrews. Some imp made her lower her eyelashes and glance up at the gentleman from under them as she took her reticule from him. She murmured a shy ‘Thank you.’ He was a tall, athletic young man of her own age with a mop of thick black curls. With a dawning new feeling of power, she noticed the glow in his eyes.

  ‘Do you travel to London, Miss . . . ?’ he asked.

  ‘Lady Felicity Vane,’ whispered Felicity. ‘And you are . . . ?’

  ‘Bremmer. James Bremmer.’

  ‘I thank you, Mr Bremmer. I am fearfully clumsy.’

  ‘Lord Bremmer, Lady Felicity.’

  ‘Yes, Lord Bremmer, I go to London to be prepared for a Season.’

  ‘May I say, Lady Felicity, in my opinion you need no preparation whatsoever.’

  Felicity simpered. ‘La, sir, you are too bold.’

  ‘Forgive me. Your beauty has made me bold. Do you dine this evening?’

  ‘Yes, my lord, my chaperones keep London hours and I have not yet eaten.’

  ‘Nor I. Perhaps we shall meet . . .’

  ‘I think not, Bremmer,’ said a cold voice. ‘I have bespoke a private parlour. To your room, Lady Felicity.’

  The Marquess of Ravenswood stood there, his handsome face dark with displeasure.

  To his surprise, Felicity cast him a scared look and then an appealing one in the direction of Lord Bremmer, before picking up her skirts and scurrying up the stairs. She raised her skirts too high, showing Lord Bremmer and the marquess that Lady Felicity Vane had a well-turned ankle.

  Lord Bremmer flushed angrily. ‘What is the meaning of this, Ravenswood?’ he demanded. ‘You go on like a tyrant. Is Lady Felicity your niece?’

  ‘No,’ said the marquess curtly. ‘I happen to be escorting her and her chaperones to London. The Tribble sisters.’

  ‘The Tribbles!’ exclaimed Lord Bremmer. ‘I thought I recognized them. What are two of London’s most eccentric eccentrics doing chaperoning such a delicate and beautiful lady?’

  ‘Bremmer,’ sighed the marquess. ‘Mind your own business.’

  Felicity had been looking forward to the prospect of enslaving Lord Bremmer further at dinner. She was, therefore, most disappointed to find out that the arrangement for the private parlour still held and picked at her food in sulky silence.

  The marquess apologized for the paucity of the fare and suggested ordering something else, but the Tribbles said happily there was more than enough. Dinner consisted of beans and bacon, a roasted chine of mutton, giblet pie, hashed goose, and a roasted rabbit with peas, followed by tarts, puddings, and jellies.

  The Tribbles ate in a steady, preoccupied silence. At one point, Amy opened the strings of her reticule and cast a furtive look at the marquess. Felicity yelped in surprise as Effy kicked her under the table in mistake for Amy. Amy looked at Effy, Effy shook her head and smiled, and Amy dropped her reticule to the floor. Felicity wondered what the pantomime meant. Amy had, in fact, been wondering whether to hide some of the food in her reticule and had been stopped by Effy. Amy was the one who could not believe their luck and dreaded a return to the days of insufficient food.

  The marquess then began to talk to them about various people in Town whom Felicity did not know. She wondered whether to flirt with the marquess to see the effect, but one look at his hard and handsome face persuaded her it would be a waste of time.

  Finally, she begged to be excused. When she left, she stood outside the door and listened.

  ‘Oof!’ she heard Amy exclaim. ‘Peace at last. May we take wine with you, my lord? I confess that all this lemonade is making me feel bilious, but Lady Felicity has too much of a fondness for strong drink for a girl of her age.’

  ‘By all means,’ Felicity heard the marquess say in an amused voice. There came a gurgling of wine being poured, and then the marquess’s voice again. ‘To your success, ladies,’ he said, ‘and may you find Lady Felicity a husband. It should not be too difficult. There will be plenty of gentlemen prepared to overlook her gaucherie for the sake of her dowry.’

  Felicity walked angrily away. And so she did not hear Amy’s gruff reply. ‘You are too hard on the child, Ravenswood. She simply needs some Town bronze. She is not precisely beautiful by fashionable standards, but, bless me, she has a figure like a Greek goddess, which is, to my mind, far more appealing than these roly-poly dimpled misses you gentlemen swoon over.’

  The night was clear and frosty, and Felicity stopped outside the door of her room and leaned her elbows on the wooden rail of the gallery and looked down into the courtyard. There was a young man strolling up and down, smoking a cheroot. Lord Bremmer.

  Felicity dived into her room, soaked her handkerchief in the water jug, and returned to the balcony. As the young man walked below her, she squeezed the handkerchief. A drop of moisture fell on Lord Bremmer’s hand. He looked up. Felicity gave a choked sob.

  He could see her in the moonlight. She was wearing a white muslin gown and had a richly coloured Norwich shawl about her shoulders.

  ‘Lady Felicity,’ he called softly. ‘Why do you cry?’

  ‘Oh, sir,’ said Felicity in a choked voice. ‘What is to become of me?’

  Lord Bremmer mounted swiftly up the stairs. ‘What has happened?’ he cried.

  ‘Shhh!’ said Felicity. ‘If they find you here, they will beat me.’

  ‘Who? Ravenswood?’

  ‘No, the Tribbles.’

  ‘This is monstrous. What are your parents about to send you off in such company?’

  ‘My father has gone to America,’ said Felicity, ‘and Mama is not strong. These wicked women advertised themselves as chaperones in the newspaper and Mama was quite gulled by them. They say I must marry the first man who asks me, for Mama is to pay them well if I am engaged before the Season is over.’

  ‘I shall ride to your home and tell your mother of your plight,’ said Lord Bremmer.

  Felicity looked at him with a certain amount of irritation. He was supposed to propose to her, so that she might know that her new act worked well.

  ‘Alas, she would not believe you,’ said Felicity with another pathetic sob.

  ‘Then,’ he said, striking his chest and tossing back his curls in a way that Byron would have envied, ‘I shall marry you myself!’

  Felicity swayed towards him like a sapling in the breeze. ‘You are too kind, so very kind,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘But Ravenswood is in league with them. He wants me for himself, and even Mama says it is her heart’s desire that I should marry Ravenswood.’

  ‘But why does he want to marry you? He does not seem to look on you with affection.’

  ‘Ravenswood has recently lost all his money on “Change”,’ said Felicity, ever inventive. ‘I am very rich, you see.’

  There came the sound of the marquess’s voice raised in farewell. ‘Goodbye . . . forever,’ breathed Felicity, and she fled to her room and collapsed face down on the bed, giggling. The beginnings of an absolutely splendid plan were beginning to form in her head. She was still giggling helplessly when Wanstead came in to prepare her for bed.

  The Tribble sisters were beginning to feel more and more apprehensive as London drew nearer. They felt they would be starting at a disadvantage when Lady Felicity found they had not any servants. Amy privately meant to ask the marquess for help. She knew Effy would be shocked at such a suggestion and planned somehow to see the marquess on his own. They stopped again at another posting house. Both sisters were now too worried to notice the strange docility of Lady Felicity.

  Dinner was over and still Amy had not found any opportunity for a private talk with the marquess. Sharing a room with her sister, she lay in bed and read and read until gentle snoring told her Effy was asleep. Amy rose and dressed and made her way quietly alo
ng to the marquess’s room and scratched on the door.

  There was a surprised ‘Enter.’ Heart beating hard, Amy pushed open the door and went in. The marquess was lying in bed, a book on his lap.

  ‘Miss Amy!’ he cried. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I need your help, my lord,’ said Amy, carrying a chair over to the bed and sitting down. ‘The fact is, we have no servants.’

  ‘None at all? No lady’s maid. No . . . ?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Amy, flapping her large feet up and down in embarrassment. ‘We now have enough of the ready from Lady Baronsheath to hire the lot, but it will look bad when we arrive with Lady Felicity and she finds an empty house. We cannot discipline the child and we do not gain her respect.’

  The marquess lifted his dressing-gown from the end of the bed and put it on. ‘Let us sit by the fire, Miss Amy,’ he said, ‘and try to decide what is best. You could always say it was the servants’ day off.’

  ‘Yes, but she would see us interviewing servants on the following days, and she will think we are tricksters who have taken her mother’s money on false pretences.’

  The marquess’s face cleared. ‘I will send one of my men ahead to my Town house and tell him to move my staff to your home for the first week. You must let me have the key to your house.’

  Amy opened her reticule and emptied it out on the floor in front of her. There was an odd assortment of pins and books, knitting, an enormous key, and a half-eaten pie. ‘Don’t know how that got there,’ said Amy, blushing and stuffing the pie out of sight again. She handed him the key. ‘My lord,’ said Amy solemnly, ‘you are an angel.’

  ‘I am only helping to set you up in business.’ He laughed. ‘Go to bed, Miss Amy, and leave everything to me.’

  Felicity had been out walking in the posting-house garden. She had hoped Lord Bremmer might have followed them, but there was no sign of him. She was returning to her room when the door of the marquess’s room opened. Felicity drew back into the shadows, not wanting him to see her.