Refining Felicity

by Beaton, M. C.

  Her voice was clear and distinctive. Betty’s soft voice was marred by a slight lisp.

  His hand, instead of caressing her breast, tucked it firmly back into the neckline of the gown and his head came up. At that moment the moon sailed out from behind the clouds. It was not Betty Andrews standing on some piece of masonry but Lady Felicity Vane, her eyes great dark pools in the moonlight.

  ‘Good God,’ said the marquess. ‘I thought you were Miss Andrews.’

  The slap Felicity gave him nearly sent him flying off the terrace. He reeled and regained his balance, but she had gone.

  Felicity lost her way in her flight through the great house until, tired of searching for her room and feeling sick with shame and exhausted with emotion, she curled up on a sofa in one of the saloons and went to sleep. The marquess went straight to her room, but did not find her. Instead he found his note to Betty lying open on Felicity’s toilet table.

  But he was sure he had pressed it into Betty’s hand. He could not go to sleep until Felicity was found. He had behaved disgracefully. Where was she now? He wanted to ask the Tribbles for help but feared he might scandalize them. He went downstairs and back out into the grounds, searching and searching, becoming more frantic as the sky began to grow light. At last, he returned to the house and began to search through all the great rooms, which were beginning to glow red in the rising sun.

  He found her in the Yellow Saloon in the west wing. She was tightly curled up on a sofa and fast asleep.

  He sat down on the edge of the sofa and shook her shoulder. ‘Felicity!’

  She came awake immediately and looked up at him, her eyes wide with fright and disgust.

  ‘I am sorry. So very, very sorry,’ he said. ‘That note was meant for Miss Andrews. My dear Lady Felicity, I would not have dreamt of . . . How came you by that note?’

  ‘It was pushed under my door,’ said Felicity.

  ‘But I pressed it into Miss Andrews’ hand as she left the drawing room!’

  ‘Then perhaps she knew what was in store for her,’ said Felicity.

  ‘What you must think of me,’ he said, burying his head in his hands.

  Felicity surveyed his bent head with great irritation. For one dizzy moment on the terrace, she had thought he loved her. She must have been mad. Why should she want this pompous and overbearing man to love her?

  ‘Oh, go away,’ she said sharply. ‘Does no one get any sleep in this house?’

  ‘But, Lady Felicity . . .’

  Felicity stood up and looked down at him. Her expression was haughty and he could not help feeling their roles had been reversed. ‘If you think I shall tell Miss Andrews of your behaviour, you are mistaken,’ said Felicity. ‘Now conduct me to my room.’

  He rose immediately and offered his arm, which she ignored. He tried again.

  ‘My behaviour was terrible, Lady Felicity,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You must forgive me.’

  ‘We shall go on as if nothing had happened,’ said Felicity. ‘How long is this visit going to be? You have taken me away from my Season.’

  ‘Only a week.’

  ‘A week!’ echoed Felicity in a hollow voice. ‘I shall mark off the days on the wall of my room like a prisoner. I cannot understand what your parents were about to insist I and the Tribbles came too.’

  ‘They consider it most odd of me to reside with the Tribbles when I have a Town house of my own, or could use theirs.’

  ‘And how did you explain that?’

  ‘I have not yet had an opportunity.’

  ‘And what will you say when you do have an opportunity?’

  ‘How the devil do I know? I was sorry for the Tribbles and realized they had a difficult task with you, and so . . .’

  His voice trailed away. ‘Worse and worse,’ mocked Felicity. They had reached her bedroom door. She walked inside and closed the door in his face.

  * * *

  The duchess did not believe people should lie in bed in the morning, eating breakfast in their rooms, and so it was a cross and sleepy party who assembled round the table in the morning room at nine o’clock.

  Effy kept glancing anxiously at Felicity. The girl was too pale and had shadows under her eyes. She hoped Felicity was not going to fall ill. What if she had caught some terrible sickness and should waste away and she and Amy would be blamed for it? The coffin lay on the hearse pulled by four coal-black horses. The mutes wailed dismally. Lady Baronsheath was distraught. ‘It is all your fault, Effy Tribble,’ she cried. And so to the graveside. The earth rattled on the coffin and the wind soughed through the old elms in the churchyard.

  ‘Oh, it is all too much,’ cried Effy, bursting into tears.

  ‘What ails you, woman?’ snapped the little duchess.

  ‘Poor Felicity,’ sobbed Effy. ‘Died so young.’

  Amy realized her sister had wandered into the grip of one of her fantasies and kicked her under the table. Effy yelped and started up and her elbow caught the teapot and sent the contents flying over the snowy cloth.

  ‘You silly bitch,’ howled Amy. ‘Now look what you’ve done. Oh, don’t cry, Effy,’ she added in a softer voice. ‘It’s a bastard of a teapot anyway and made to be knocked over. A pox on these newfangled things. Bad cess to them.’

  ‘You,’ said the duchess awfully, ‘need your mouth washed out with soap.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Amy. She saw Effy was blindly scrabbling about to find something to dry her streaming eyes and obligingly put a corner of the tablecloth into her shaking hands. Effy seized it gratefully and raised it to her eyes, sending teacups and plates scattering. Foot-men ran about, fielding cup and saucers and mopping up tea. Felicity began to laugh and the marquess laughed as well. Betty Andrews looked from one to the other and wondered what on earth they could find so funny about this horribly embarrassing scene.

  When things were restored to normal, Effy said in a shaky voice, ‘You are looking so white and tired, Lady Felicity, I was afraid for you.’

  ‘Of course I am looking tired,’ said Felicity, helping herself to coffee while the butler made more tea. ‘It seems we are not allowed to rest in this mansion.’

  ‘No stamina, that’s your trouble,’ said the duke.

  ‘I have plenty of stamina,’ said Felicity, suddenly deciding she did not care whether the marquess’s parents liked her or not, ‘but I am not made of iron.’

  The duke turned a dangerously purple colour.

  ‘Felicity!’ cried Amy. ‘Apologize this minute.’

  ‘I only spoke the truth,’ said Felicity calmly. ‘It is not my behaviour which is odd. What is more odd than to chivvy your guests with the household ledgers for half the night and then roust them out of bed at this ungodly hour?’

  ‘I have just one thing to say to you, pert miss,’ said the duchess awfully, ‘and that is . . . Oh, what is it, Giles?’

  The butler coughed apologetically. ‘Lord Bremmer has arrived, your grace.’

  ‘Bremmer? I never asked him.’

  ‘Lord Bremmer says his carriage has broken down at our gates.’

  ‘Then take the young jackanapes and give him tea in the study and send the blacksmith down to repair his carriage.’

  Amy noticed that Betty’s eyes, which had begun to sparkle, now held a disappointed look. She did not want the marquess to marry Betty. Perhaps this might be a way of turning Betty’s affections away from the marquess. She had noticed the way the young lord had hung about Betty at the play and how he had avoided Felicity.

  ‘I know Bremmer,’ she said casually. ‘Why not ask him to join us, your grace?’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ said the duchess. ‘I met him two years ago and he seemed a very pleasant and prettily behaved young man, not at all like some of the rude young people one finds today.’ With this she cast a look of loathing on Felicity, who smiled sweetly back and helped herself to more toast.

  Lord Bremmer was ushered in. His eyes went straight to Betty, who blushed and looked down at her hands. ‘I a
m most sorry, your grace,’ he said to the duke. ‘My carriage simply fell apart.’ He thought of all the trouble he had gone to to break it himself and hoped the sabotage would not be too obvious.

  Lord Bremmer then stood helplessly wondering where he could sit down. Felicity was staring at him in a way he did not like, and the marquess was giving him a warning look. A footman came forward with a chair and Betty moved her seat sideways so that Lord Bremmer could sit next to her.

  Amy began to talk loudly about Walter Scott’s latest poem, saying she did not like it and had heard Scotland was a place full of savages. The duke, who had property in Scotland, protested hotly. The marquess said he had once emulated Boswell and Dr Johnson and had journeyed as far as the Hebrides. Amy and Felicity began to question him on his travels and Lord Bremmer talked to Betty in a low voice, bringing that sparkle back to her eyes and colour to her cheeks.

  But both colour and sparkle fled as breakfast finished and the marquess said, ‘Come for a stroll in the grounds with me, Miss Andrews.’

  Amy looked sharply at Felicity, but that young lady was looking unconcerned.

  Betty trotted silently at the marquess’s side, wishing he would not take such long steps. He led her through the Orange Grove, where orange trees stood in tubs against a hedge of laurel, and then to a conservatory at the end and ushered her in. It was full of rare plants in circular beds. Two recesses painted to look like marble held comfortable sofas where visitors could recline in the warmth of the glasshouse and study the plants.

  As the marquess led the unresisting Betty to one of these sofas, she was suddenly reminded of a visit to the dentist. Her mother had taken her a year ago to have a back tooth drawn. She remembered the sinking feeling in her stomach and her attempt to pretend she was somewhere else entirely until the ordeal was over.

  She sat down on a sofa and he sat beside her and took her hand in his. He looked very handsome, she tried to tell herself. ‘We have never been alone since the announcement of our engagement,’ said the marquess.

  ‘No,’ whispered Betty.

  ‘What happened last night? And how did Felicity come by the note meant for you?’

  ‘I lost it,’ lied Betty. ‘One of the servants must have picked it up and put it under Felicity’s door.’

  ‘That sounds highly unlikely,’ he said. ‘All my parents’ servants know you are my fiancée.’

  ‘Perhaps they thought it was my room,’ said Betty desperately.

  ‘Are you sure you did not put it there yourself?’ asked the marquess.

  ‘No,’ said Betty with all the sudden fury of the truly guilty. ‘Is that why you brought me here . . . to lecture me?’

  He smiled at her suddenly. ‘No, my sweeting, I brought you here to kiss you, as I have been longing to do since the day I met you.’

  He bent his mouth to hers. Betty primmed up her lips and closed her eyes.

  He tried very hard to conjure up even just a bit of that passion he had felt when he held Felicity in his arms, but he felt nothing. He tried harder, forcing her head back and kissing her savagely, and holding her in a crushing grip, almost as if he were trying to wring some passion out of her.

  When he finally raised his head, she said in a shaky voice – rather the same voice she had used to the dentist – ‘Is it over? Can I go now?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the marquess bleakly. ‘I am sorry if I alarmed you.’

  ‘You were very fierce and you hurt me,’ said Betty, close to tears.

  ‘Come,’ he said softly, ‘and I will take you back to the house. You are too beautiful to be so distressed.’

  Betty brightened immediately, and rapped him playfully on the arm with her fan.

  ‘You are a great brute,’ she said, ‘and you must promise your Betty never, ever to behave in such a cruel way again.’

  ‘I promise,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we are not suited.’

  ‘Oh, now you are being terribly cruel,’ said Betty, bursting into tears. ‘You don’t want me to be a duchess.’

  ‘Hardly,’ he said drily, ‘since making you a duchess would mean the death of my father. Dry your eyes.’

  Lord Bremmer, peering through the laurel hedge, watched the couple return. He heard Betty’s gulping sobs and thought that Ravenswood was the biggest brute in the world – almost as brutish as Lady Felicity Vane!

  9

  ‘No, no; for my virginity,

  When I lose that,’ says Rose, ‘I’ll die’;

  ‘Behind the elms last night,’ cried Dick,

  ‘Rose, were you not extremely sick?’

  Matthew Prior, A True Maid

  Despite his mother’s insistence that the good weather would not last, the marquess went ahead with preparations to take the small party out on the lake. The duchess protested that the joint of her big toe on her left foot was never wrong and it was now throbbing at such a rate that it could only mean a storm.

  But as if to prove her big toe wrong, the sun continued to shine and the sky was clear blue. It was a cross and miserable party which set out for the lake. Betty was mildly comforted by Lord Bremmer’s compliments, but secretly felt her mama would never forgive her if she threw away the chance of becoming a duchess. Amy and Effy were feeling their age and suffering from lack of sleep. They had sat up for a long time during the night discussing the marquess and Felicity. Amy would have it that there was a certain attraction between them, and Effy would have it that they cordially loathed each other and that Ravenswood should be allowed to go ahead and marry Betty Andrews without any interference. Amy had a nagging pain in her lower back and Effy could feel the beginnings of a truly horrible headache coming on. She had tied her chin-strap too tight when she eventually got to bed, and it had left a red mark on her neck. Lord Bremmer was sure he loved Miss Andrews as no woman had ever been loved before. He, too, was tired from his long journey and his exertions in wrecking his own carriage. The marquess was grimly determined that life should go on, and yet he felt it would go on better if Lady Felicity Vane would take herself somewhere else. Her French dressmaker should be shot for contriving such seductive gowns which were just this side of indecency. Felicity was trying to persuade herself that she hated Ravenswood with a passion, and that was why her body behaved so peculiarly when he came anywhere near her.

  The party stepped into flat-bottomed boats moored among the water-lilies. Effy trembled like a frightened steed. She would much have preferred to stay indoors. She did not mind formal gardens, but this lake surrounded by artistically wild undergrowth and foreign trees smacked too much of the untamed countryside. A deer came down to drink at the water’s edge, and Effy thought it looked a terrifying and disgusting creature which ought to be in a zoo.

  The marquess had meant to sit beside Betty, but he was the last to climb into one of the boats. Betty was sitting with Effy and Lord Bremmer, which left the marquess the only choice of going into the other boat with Amy and Felicity.

  Servants climbed into a stout rowing-boat with hampers of champagne and cold meat and salad and rowed ahead to an island in the middle, where they were to have an al fresco meal.

  Effy thought that rowing-boat looked eminently serviceable and wished herself on it instead of the flimsy craft she found herself in.

  The pain at her temples was growing worse. A footman seized a long pole and the boat began to slide out over the water. She thought she saw Lord Bremmer press Miss Andrews’ hand and felt she should remonstrate with him, but another wave of pain crashed about her head and she let out a whimper.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ exclaimed Amy from the other boat. ‘Effy’s having one of her turns.’

  She stood up and the boat rocked perilously. The marquess called to the footmen in the boats to return to the shore, and said, ‘Do sit down, Miss Amy.’

  ‘But I cannot go,’ cried Amy. ‘You do not know what Effy is like when she has these attacks.’

  She jumped ashore as soon as the boat bumped against the bank and shrieked to the footman in Effy’s boa
t to bring her back.

  ‘Stop frowning and scowling, Ravenswood,’ said Felicity suddenly. ‘Miss Effy is sick and cannot go. I suggest we all return to the house.’

  ‘And I suggest we go without Miss Amy and Miss Effy,’ snapped the marquess.

  Amy was helping her sister out of the boat and then she began to lead her away from the water. Effy did look very ill indeed. Felicity made to rise to get out of the boat herself, but the marquess shouted to the footman, ‘Push off, man. We haven’t got all day.’

  The boat set off again with a jerk and Felicity collapsed back in her seat.

  ‘Well, my lord,’ she said acidly. ‘I feel I have been kidnapped. Is this your idea of a pleasure outing?’

  ‘It is a fine day and the water is pretty,’ he said.

  ‘But you are in a bad temper and determined to spoil everyone else’s pleasure,’ remarked Felicity.

  ‘I am not in a bad temper,’ he said savagely and turned his head away, affording Lady Felicity a good view of his excellent profile.

  ‘Then don’t sulk,’ said the incorrigible Felicity.

  ‘Do you really love him?’ Lord Bremmer was whispering to Betty.

  Betty blushed and hung her head. ‘I – I think so,’ she said softly, ‘and yet he frightens me.’

  ‘I would never frighten you,’ said Lord Bremmer, removing his hat so that he could toss back his curls in what he hoped was a Byronic manner. He gave her a smouldering look. ‘I would cherish you. You are so very delicate and beautiful, I fear you might break.’

  Betty sighed. If only Ravenswood would say such lovely things. She glanced across at the other boat. He was scowling fiercely and Lady Felicity was lying back against the cushions, one hand trailing in the water. Her muslin gown was embroidered with little blue cornflowers. Betty felt a pang of envy. She must try to get Mama to lure that dressmaker away from the Tribbles. Felicity was wearing one of the new ‘transparent’ hats, a circle of gauze decorated with poppies and cornflowers and long blue satin ribbons that trailed down her back.

  They arrived at the island. It was a pretty strip of land with a small artificial beach made of sand behind which was a carefully cut green crescent of lawn, surrounded by trees.