Refining Felicity

by Beaton, M. C.

  When they left the church, Amy was about to climb into their carriage to follow the happy couple to the wedding breakfast when she suddenly saw Desmond Callaghan standing in the crowd outside. He gave her such a malevolent look that Amy shivered. Then she comforted herself with the thought that there was little such a weakling could do to them.

  The wedding breakfast was held at the Handshires’ Town house, which had been specially opened up for the occasion, the duke and duchess preferring to spend the year round in the country.

  Speeches were made and toasts were drunk and dances were danced, and then Felicity was off again with her marquess to take up her new life.

  She kissed her mother and hugged Amy and Effy and climbed into the closed carriage – closed because there was a steady drizzle falling. She jerked down the window and threw out her bouquet, and with an enormous leap Amy seized it and waved it triumphantly.

  Felicity smiled and waved back and then sank into her seat.

  ‘I have something to say to you, my lord,’ she said, turning and looking at the marquess.

  ‘Thank God, that is all over,’ he said, taking off his hat and throwing it on the seat opposite. ‘What have you to say, my love? You have been looking daggers at me this age.’

  ‘How dare you bully me and treat me so coldly,’ raged Felicity. ‘If you think that is what you are going to get away with now we are married, be sure you are much mistaken. I am not frightened of you, you great oaf.’ And with that, she drew back her fist and punched him hard on the side of his face.

  He seized her hands and held them prisoner. ‘I have not been cold,’ he said. ‘Goodness, all these medieval preparations were enough to drive a man mad.’

  ‘Miss Andrews is engaged and in love for all the world to see,’ said Felicity, struggling to free her hands. ‘Lord Bremmer smiles on her and dotes on her, and yet you appear hell-bent on showing everyone you do not care for me one jot.’

  ‘I want you in my bed, you silly goose. I love you and I was afraid to touch you lest I found I could not wait for our wedding. Oh, Felicity, I ache for you.’

  ‘Really, Charles?’ asked Felicity in a mollified voice.

  ‘Kiss me, my love, and I will show you how much.’ He held her close in his arms, feeling all the familiar passion she roused with a heady exaltation. Felicity’s white wedding gown was embroidered with tiny seed pearls. Some began to rattle on the floor of the carriage under the strain of questing hands and heaving bodies.

  They came to their senses, both blushing as they realized the carriage steps were down and a wooden-faced footman was holding open the door.

  The marquess got down and brushed aside the footman and lifted Felicity in his arms and carried her into the house.

  Humphrey, the butler, was standing there, looking more pompous than ever. Humphrey knew how things should be done. Although Felicity already knew all the servants, Humphrey felt it was only correct that the new marchioness should be introduced to them all over again, and so the staff were lined up in the hall.

  The butler unrolled a long piece of parchment and began his prepared speech. But he only got as far as the first sentence.

  ‘Splendid, Humphrey,’ interrupted the marquess, still holding Felicity in his arms. ‘Good to be home. Serve champagne to the staff and give them a guinea each.’

  He made for the stairs.

  ‘My lord!’ called Humphrey, outraged. ‘I have no instructions. Do you not wish to dine?’

  ‘No,’ said the marquess crossly, ‘we are fatigued and are going to bed.’

  Humphrey blushed scarlet, but mindful of his position, he tried again. ‘And when would my lord and my lady like breakfast?’

  ‘Next week,’ called the marquess and bounded lithely up the stairs with Felicity.

  He ran straight into his bedchamber, kicked the door shut behind him, and then gently placed her on her feet. He tilted up her chin and looked deep into her eyes.

  ‘Just us,’ he said softly. ‘Just the two of us.’ He pulled her gently to him and kissed her on the lips. Then he smiled at her and added, ‘No terrible Tribbles.’

  ‘How can you call them terrible?’ exclaimed Felicity. ‘It is thanks to Amy and Effy that we are married.’

  ‘But you must admit they can be quite ferocious, my sweet. We’ll drink a toast to them before we go to bed.’

  Felicity looked at the very large four-poster bed with the covers turned back. ‘Now that we are here, Charles,’ she mumbled against his chest, ‘things do seem a bit strange and frightening. There are delicate matters the Tribbles’ school for manners did not . . . prepare me for.’

  ‘I am as nervous as you,’ he said. ‘Come, we shall make our discoveries of love together. There are some things, darling Felicity, that you cannot expect two old spinsters to know.’

  In the house in Holles Street, the two spinster Tribbles toasted each other in champagne, giggled and avoided each other’s eyes, as two shocking and unmaidenly Tribble imaginations followed their charge over the last threshold.

  ‘Will it ever be our turn, Amy?’ sighed Effy.

  ‘Bound to be,’ said Amy stoutly. She waved a drunken arm. ‘Lots of men out there, Effy. Lots and lots. Next year, it’ll be our turn, never fear.’

  Effy turned her face away to hide the sudden glitter of tears in her eyes. That was what Amy always said, Season after Season after Season.

  ‘Mr Haddon,’ announced the butler.

  Both sisters leaped to their feet. Happiness and dreams were reanimated. While there was a man around, there was still hope.