Miss Fellingham's Rebellion

by Lynn Messina - Miss Fellingham's Rebellion

  Love was not an emotion she allowed herself to think about very often, for she knew it to be elusive and hard to sustain. Her own parents’ marriage was a mystery to her, and she could understand nothing of it except that it was a prime example of how spending a lifetime with the wrong person was worse than spending it alone. For this reason, she’d never really minded her unattached state.

  Having thought the matter through, Catherine decided that a few new dresses would be just the thing. Only they reminded her of another plan she meant to implement. “I would like some new gowns. Thank you,” she said. Then after a moment of silence she plunged ahead. “Mama, it occurs to me that perhaps you would like some help with the books.”

  Lady Fellingham, in the process of bringing a kipper to her lips, looked quite puzzled by this statement. She stared at her daughter blankly.

  “Perhaps you would not be forced to come up with any more…um, excellent plans if you have help with the family finances,” she explained.

  For a moment Catherine feared that she had angered her mother beyond repair, for her face turned such a deep shade of red. But then she said, “Aren’t you a good daughter? I appreciate the offer, of course, but I can manage tolerably well on my own.”

  “I’m only thinking of you, dearest Mama,” she said tactfully. “It is a burden you carry alone and I would be glad in any way to help alleviate it.”

  Lady Fellingham’s cheeks slowly returned to their normal shade, and she seemed to be considering the offer with real interest. “Perhaps you can help,” she admitted, laying down her fork. “It is an awful burden being the only one who knows how expensive candles are and how it tortures me to watch them burn down as if they were wood in the fireplace, which no one is giving away either.”

  Catherine nodded. “Good, why don’t we look them over this afternoon after our shopping expedition?” And then, as soon as she said it, she realized she already had an appointment for the afternoon. “Or perhaps tomorrow morning. I am engaged to go riding in the park.”

  “With Deverill?” her mother asked, eyes bright with pleasure.

  “No, Gerard Pearson. He’s a friend of Freddy’s.”

  “Pearson. Pearson,” she repeated under her breath. “Isn’t he the scoundrel who went running to Freddy with tales about his mama?”

  “He was only trying to help us, I assure you,” Catherine said.

  “Very well. But just see to it that Deverill doesn’t think you’ve lost interest. Although,” said her mama in her most scheming tone, “now that I consider it, it wouldn’t hurt for Deverill to imagine he has competition. A nonesuch like he has probably had everything handed to him on a silver platter. You would do well…”

  Lady Fellingham prattled happily on, advising Catherine on all manner of stealth in courtship, as her daughter stared longingly at the newspaper on the sideboard.

  Catherine returned flush from the excitement of shopping and ran upstairs to change into her carriage dress for her appointment with Pearson. The expedition had been a success in all ways save one: At the modiste, she had caught a glimpse of a stunning redheaded Cyprian who was rumored to be a recent cast-off of Deverill’s. Catherine hadn’t expected to see her nor had she anticipated being so unsettled by the sight of the beautiful woman. It was a very good thing, Catherine decided, that she knew Deverill’s real intentions and wasn’t affected by his interest, for she would have been devastated to know that was the level of perfection he sought in a mate.

  Climbing the stairs, she was relieved that she didn’t see Evelyn. She wasn’t ready to be in the same room with her yet because she was still feeling the sting of her barbs. He probably lost a bet and was forced to dance with you. Or it was a dare from one of his friends. You know what fashionable gentlemen are like. They have their jokes. It was too close to the truth for her to think about forgiving her sister.

  She did see Melissa, however.

  “Cathy,” her sister called, coming into her room and throwing herself on the bed. “I’ve been waiting for hours for you to return. You must tell me all about it. Freddy said you waltzed.” Melissa closed her eyes and tried to picture it. “Was it wonderful? Will you teach me to waltz?” she asked, jumping off the bed. “Right now. Can we waltz?”

  Catherine rang for Betsy’s help, laughing at her sister. “You know what Mother thinks of the waltz.”

  “It’s unbred,” they said in unison.

  “But she let you do it,” Melissa persisted.

  “Because I am mature and as long as I have a beau, she doesn’t care what I do.”

  “I know. I heard all about it from Freddy. How you stole one of Evelyn’s partis and how she’s being awfully mean about it. I don’t care,” Melissa insisted, “if her heart is in tatters as long as you are happy. Are you happy, Cathy?”

  “Right now, puss, I am very happy. But you must be nicer about Evelyn,” she advised. “She’s younger than I and not so mature.”

  “As am I, and I am nice to you,” Melissa pointed out pertly.

  Catherine gave her sister a hug. “I know you are, dear.”

  After a moment, Melissa danced away. “I have to return to my lessons now or Biddy will come looking for me. I got to sneak out for only a moment.” She walked to the door and stopped just short before turning around. “Do say we can go back to the museum soon? We were not there for nearly enough time and having seen a little of the marbles, I want to see more.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Now back to your lessons.”

  She waved and left the room just as Betsy arrived.

  Catherine was pleasantly surprised to discover that Gerard Pearson was a tolerable whipster.

  “I am very impressed,” she said as he competently evaded a carriage that seemed on an inevitable collision course with them.

  Pearson blushed as he finished the maneuver. “I am not a four-in-the-hand like Deverill or Withering, but I muddle through well enough.”

  “I don’t go riding often, you know, so this is a veritable treat for me,” she assured him.

  He smiled and directed the curricle safely around a large hole in the road. “I like coming to Hyde Park. My family’s principal seat is in Kent, and when I am here, I miss the wide open spaces.”

  “We are from Dorset, but I know exactly what you mean. You don’t feel quite so confined, do you? When you want to break out into a full gallop, you break out into a full gallop,” she said on a wistful sigh.

  “Yes, that’s the very thing. Miss Fellingham, I should like to tell you— Oh, I say, is that woman in the blue hat waving at you?”

  Catherine followed his gaze. “I do believe it is our hostess from last night, Lady Sefton. And she is with Lady Courtland.” Upon seeing her, her stomach pinched in quite a painful way. Was she prepared to face her mother’s friend yet? From the way the noblewoman was waving, the decision was clearly not hers to make.

  “Catherine, dear,” Lady Courtland said as she pulled her gig up to Pearson’s. “What a lovely surprise. Lady Sefton,” she said to the woman sitting next to her, “you do remember Miss Catherine Fellingham? She was in attendance last night. And this is Mr. Gerard Pearson.”

  After the introductions were completed, Catherine said, “Lady Sefton, I had a marvelous time at your ball last night.”

  Lady Sefton smiled kindly. “Fellingham, you say? Aren’t you the chit who waltzed with Deverill?”

  Catherine felt herself blushing. “I…uh…I,” she stammered, wondering what she meant to say and how she would say it.

  Lady Courtland came to her rescue. “Yes, indeed this is the same girl. She has the town all aflutter wondering where she came from. I assure you, Lady Maria, that she is the daughter of my dear friend Eliza Fellingham.”

  Lady Sefton nodded and addressed Catherine. “No need to blush, child, you dance charmingly.” She examined her carefully. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at Almack’s.”

  “No, ma’am,” said Catherine softly.

  “I don’t believe her mot
her has applied yet for vouchers for her and her younger daughter,” Arabella said, clearly angling for the much-coveted entrée.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Lady Sefton assured her before addressing a newcomer. “Ah, looks who’s here.”

  Catherine turned around and cringed when she saw Lord Deverill approaching on a beautiful chestnut mare. He was dressed in snug leather riding breaches and a sloping tailcoat. When he noticed her, he smiled, seemingly delighted to see her. She smiled back, but it was a thin smile, and she didn’t really mean it. She hadn’t wanted to encounter him again so soon. The image of the beautiful courtesan she had seen at the modiste was still too fresh in her mind. She looked down at her worn afternoon dress and suddenly felt inadequate. For the first time in six years, she found herself longing to be beautiful so that a gentleman would pay her some attention. Catherine knew that if she had Evelyn’s clear blue eyes, her heart-shaped lips and porcelain skin, Deverill would flirt shamelessly with her. After indulging these thoughts for several moments, she began to feel ashamed of herself. A woman was more than her appearance, Catherine thought. She was more than her appearance.

  “Lord Deverill,” continued the patroness, “I was just telling Miss Fellingham how much we look forward to seeing her at Almack’s. Perhaps you would like to waltz with her there.”

  Catherine could have sworn that for a second Deverill looked much taken aback by the bold suggestion, but then he reined in his mount and the moment passed. Most likely, she decided, he was surprised that Lady Sefton would trap him so brazenly into yet another dance with her. He could not be pleased.

  As Deverill answered Lady Sefton’s query, he kept his eyes fixed on Catherine, making her feel warm with embarrassment. “I would be delighted to have another waltz with Miss Fellingham. Assuming,” he added, a smile dancing across his handsome face, “of course, that Miss Fellingham would like to waltz with me.”

  All eyes turned to Catherine, who felt a tremendous urge to slide down in the curricle and hide from them, and from the imposing man on the chestnut mare in particular. But restraining herself, she maintained eye contact with him and said only, “Yes, of course.”

  Deverill sketched a bow in return. “I shall look forward to it, Miss Fellingham.” After much contemplation of her, he finally looked away. “And I must thank Lady Sefton for arranging it so deftly.” He kissed the hand of the lady in question. “I don’t know when I would have danced with Miss Fellingham again if it weren’t for your clever handling.”

  Lady Sefton laughed. “Doing a bit too brown, Lord Deverill. You are known for your clever handling of young ladies.”

  “Ah, but not ladies with as much countenance as Miss Fellingham here,” he said, with a sidelong glance her way.

  Hearing this, Catherine felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. All of a sudden, her head started to pound and she had trouble breathing. How could he be so cruel as to mock her like that?

  Catherine regained her composure and examined the group to see if anyone had noticed her odd behavior. A quick glance at Arabella revealed that she wasn’t following the conversational undercurrent as carefully as she could be. Indeed, Lady Courtland looked delighted with this turn of events and completely oblivious to the derision Catherine had suffered at the hands of her friend. Lady Sefton was equally unaware, and Mr. Pearson seemed miffed at the impudence of the marquess in arranging a dance with her under his very nose.

  Only Deverill appeared to notice something was amiss. His eyebrows furrowed and he seemed to be asking her with a look if she was well. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks again and looked away. Why must he be so perceptive?

  “Lady Sefton,” said Deverill, “Wednesday at Almack’s seems so far away. Perhaps you can arrange for Miss Fellingham to come riding with me tomorrow?”

  The patroness laughed, delighted by this ploy. “You are shameless,” she said admiringly. “Well, girl, will you do Deverill the pleasure of your company tomorrow for a ride around the park?”

  “I’m afraid my family does not keep stables in London. Alas, I must decline,” she said with insincere regret, pleased that she had a legitimate reason to demure.

  “Pooh,” dismissed the interfering Arabella. “Deverill keeps a full stable and would be glad to provide you with a mount.”

  “It is true, Miss Fellingham,” he said gently, as if taking care not to disturb her again. “I do have a full stable, and the truth is you would be doing me a favor. My horses do not get nearly enough exercise.”

  Catherine saw no gracious way out and, with an apologetic look at Pearson, agreed. “I’d enjoy that. Thank you.”

  Deverill’s horse began to fidget, and he pulled the reins in tight. “I’m afraid I must be off. Gale here has no appreciation for the finer things in life. Lady Sefton, I must thank you for a very profitable afternoon. Is nine acceptable to you, Miss Fellingham? Yes? Good. Until then.”

  Catherine bid him adieu and the two ladies followed closely on his lead. Catherine and Mr. Pearson resumed their ride, but for her the enjoyment had gone out of the afternoon. She responded to Pearson’s questions and even asked some of her own, but neither her mind nor her heart was in it. She was too busy thinking about other things—about what her mother would say when she found out Deverill was lending her a mount and dancing the waltz with her at Almack’s, what spiteful words Evelyn would hurdle when she knew, and how let down she would feel when this wretched adventure was over and she went back to spending her days in the study.

  Catherine expected dinner that night to be a subdued affair—she planned to be on her best behavior and hoped that Evelyn would follow suit—and it would’ve been if Sir Vincent hadn’t asked about Deverill.

  “What’s this I hear about my Cathy and that damned stiff neck Deverill?” he asked as he chewed some peas.

  Evelyn made a pathetic little peep like a sparrow in pain.

  Her father looked at her oddly for a moment and then continued. “They’re talking about it like a cackle of damn hens down at White’s.”

  Again Evelyn squeaked in anguish.

  “Errant nonsense, I told them. Catherine with the Marquess of Deverill,” he said with a muffled laugh, as if unable to decide whether to be amazed or amused by the idea. “A nonesuch like that interested in our Cathy! It defies logic. To be honest, it puts my mind at ease, for I cannot like the notion of having him in the family. Too high-minded.”

  When Evelyn let out yet another grief-stricken wail, her father threw down his fork and knife. They clattered loudly in his plate. “That’s it. Eliza, what the devil is wrong with the chit?”

  Evelyn stood up in her chair, tears crawling down her cheeks. “I can’t take it,” she cried. “I just can’t take it anymore. Why does no one care about me? Everyone’s so happy for Catherine. Well, I’m not.” She screeched and stomped her foot. “I’m not. Catherine doesn’t deserve him. She’s too old. She’s too old,” she said again and ran, crying, out of the room.

  For a moment they all watched the door where she had passed through. Then Sir Vincent yelled, “Hawkins. Hawkins?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Where’s my port?”

  “Coming, sir.”

  Freddy and Melissa kept their eyes on their plates, and Catherine could tell they were holding in smiles. Catherine felt one tugging at her own lips. No, she thought, it wasn’t right to laugh. But then Melissa let out a giggle and all was lost. Hawkins was carrying in the port as the three broke into laughter.

  Sir Vincent took a reviving sip and considered the group of Bedlamites sitting around his table. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on? What the devil was Evelyn prattling about?”

  His question only made them laugh harder. Their mother gave them each a stern look to no avail. Their laughter was beyond chastisement.

  Deciding it was best that she explain, Lady Fellingham said, “It’s true, Sir Vincent. It seems that Deverill has taken a fancy to Catherine.”

  Catherine,
hearing this and knowing the truth, laughed even harder. Tears started to stream down her cheeks.

  “They did dance the waltz together last night at Lady Sefton’s ball. Although you know I don’t approve of the waltz, I thought they made a handsome pair, to be sure. And he is taking her riding tomorrow in the park, lending her a mount and everything. It is so exciting.” Seeing no answering gleam of excitement anywhere in her husband’s countenance, she continued. “However, Evelyn had counted him among her beaux and she is a teensy bit upset at the defection.”

  “A teensy bit?” said Freddy between bubbles of mirth. “She was a teensy bit upset when she couldn’t get that sable-lined pelisse.”

  “Remember how she wouldn’t eat for three weeks?” laughed Melissa. “Said she’d rather starve than face life without the pelisse.”

  “But then she had Betsy sneak her up meals when she thought nobody was looking,” Freddy added with more than a little lingering amusement.

  Their mother did her best to ignore their ill-timed humor. “Evelyn is full of sensibility. She feels things deeply. No doubt this will pass quickly.”

  “No doubt,” echoed Freddy, who was beginning to get hold of himself.

  Sir Vincent looked unsatisfied with this explanation and downed some more port in response. “I don’t like Deverill dangling after Cathy.”

  “He’s a gentleman.”

  “He’s used to cavorting with high-fliers and dashers and Incomparables in their first blush of youth. What does he want with Cathy?”

  Abruptly Catherine stopped laughing, as did her siblings. She looked at her father and thought again how easy it was for people to be carelessly cruel. “I don’t know,” she said, standing up and leaving the room in much the way Evelyn had, only she managed to take her dignity with her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The following morning, Catherine woke with a new resolve. She would not go riding with Deverill. She would not play her role in Lady Courtland’’s drama. She would not be a pawn who was moved around the chessboard at another’s will. It was humiliating, and although her confidence had taken several direct hits recently, she had enough self-respect left to find it unbearable. With these thoughts in mind, she dressed in a lavender walking dress and went downstairs to wait for Deverill.