Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly: Four Weddings and a Frolic, Book 1

by DeLand, Cerise

  Rory stroked her spine and kissed her forehead.

  "But as he encountered more financial troubles, he became more volatile. He took out his frustrations on my mother."

  "And you? Where were you?"

  "Frequently off at Miss Shipley's school or at my Aunt Courtland's."

  "Did your aunt know about him?"

  She pulled away. "I asked her last week about that. She did. She does not understand it now nor did she then. More, she cannot understand why my mother tolerated him nor why today, she cries for him now that he is gone."

  "Fee. You have suffered. Even if he did not put his hands to you, you suffered."

  "Did I? I think I found a way to live with it. I feared him yes. But as years went on, I feared him less and despised him more." She put a hand to his cheek. "But there is more—and it may not mean anything or it may be more."

  "I must hear it."

  She nodded and frowned. "When he became enraged, he had a litany he shouted. His financial problems were the fault of 'The List'. The list, you see, consisted of four names. His nemeses. His devils. Those who were responsible for his problems. Avery, Kinard, Linley and Charlton."

  Rory winced. "My father's cousin is Avery. Kindard is a friend. Linley, a barrister. And I know why our name is on his list. My father hurt yours financially."

  Money was the root of this? Fifi found that hard to believe. "Why? How?"

  Rory took his time, but he began a tale that left her as appalled at her father as ever she'd been.

  "Your poor mother! She must think us all animals that we would harbor such a man." She had to voice the obvious conclusion. Bitterness and sorrow choked her, but she managed to state the truth. ”Your mother does not wish us to marry."

  The sadness in Rory's eyes struck her like a blow to her heart. She shot to her feet.

  Rory was behind her, urging her to turn in his arms and look at him. "Listen to me, Fee. My mother is as horrified as you. She has always been affected by what happened that night with your father. She and my father never told a soul. Well, save for the footman who saved her and hurried her away. He came to our staff and served in the house in Wells as butler all his life."

  "Oh, Rory! Scandal or not, it was a crime to attack her. How can your mother forgive such an assault?" Tears burned her cheeks. "She'll never consent."

  "She has reservations."

  "Reserva—!" Fifi pushed back from his embrace. "I would never forgive such a thing!"

  Rory went still. "Oh, Fee, can you forgive that my father took his revenge by attempting to impoverish your family?"

  "What? But Rory! That is nothing to raping a woman."

  "It is not an eye for an eye, but something nefarious. And it did make your life more hell."

  "But your mother knows...knows that each time she'd look at me that I was his daughter."

  "But not him."

  "How can she forgive that?" She strode away from him, hands fluttering in anguish, the urge to howl her anger out as her father had all those years here inside these walls.

  "She doesn't forgive," Rory said, grief in his tone.

  She hung her head, her hopes draining from her. "I thought not."

  "But she will try to."

  She stared at him. Struck by the impossible, she shook her head.

  "She has promised me, she will try to. For me. Because I love you. And I will not give you up. Not to the past. Not to a conflict so old and not of my making, nor of yours."

  "She'll tolerate me as your wife?"

  "Not tolerate. Welcome you. Because she loves me and tells me that she's always known the woman I love would be a darling beyond compare."

  Tears tumbled down her cheeks. "I don't know what to say."

  But he caught her up in his arms and kissed her in triumph. "Say you'll marry me. Say you will help us all bury the past."

  * * *

  "Oh, Rory! I want to. I do!"

  He balked. "What else is there to prevent us?"

  "My mother."

  "She's ill, darling. We'll take her with us. Provide for her."

  "You do not know what you suggest!"

  "Fee, you could not leave her here! Nor would I...or would you?"

  She put her hands to her face. "No. I cannot. Once the heir to the earldom is found and comes to England, this house like the others in the entail will go to him. I knew she and I would have to leave and find other accommodations once that happened. Weeks ago, I had found a small house outside Bath for us to rent. But now...to marry you, you must see that knowing what we do about our parents' past, for her to come live with us would add salt to a very raw wound. How could you and I live in harmony and love, no matter your mother's decision to accept me? Rory, my love, my mother is not simply ill. Not bed-ridden. Not crippled. She's...demented."

  His mother had said as much, but this from Fifi sounded infinitely worse. He’d come this far, he would have the future he envisioned with her! "I've heard of cases of older men and women who forget names and—"

  "Rory, this is more. This is often…intolerable!”

  "I cannot accept that we can find no solution. Not after all you and I have been through."

  "Come with me. Meet her. See what I mean. But first, I must ring for a footman." At his questioning look, she added, "We may need him."

  The servant who arrived was a huge, burly fellow with hands big as hams.

  "This is Porter," Fifi said by way of introduction. "He often assists me and my mother's nurse, Pritchard."

  Porter led the way up the stairs.

  Fifi took the steps slowly, her ankle still bothering her.

  Rory followed her, apprehension tightening his chest. He and Fifi would have to think of a solution to the their mothers meeting. Nothing could be worse, he now understood fully. Prior to these revelations, he had thought he might refurbish the small cottage at the edge of the copse near the stables at home for Fifi's mama. That didn't seem useful. Not for one who might wander or...whatever Lady Marlton did in her state.

  Porter rapped twice on the hall door and an elderly maid opened it. This he deduced must be Pritchard, the nurse.

  "Mama!" Fifi stood on the threshold and he just in back. "I've come to see you."

  Rory saw no one inside the sitting room.

  Porter stepped inside first, Fifi next, Rory last.

  A tall woman—white hair untamed about her head—dashed toward Fifi.

  Porter blocked her passage.

  She elbowed him, her scowl as ugly as her growl. "Out of my way, fool."

  Fifi took two more steps inside. "Do not hurt Porter, Mama. He seeks only to protect you."

  She snarled. "He's a bear."

  "Mama! No insults. Please."

  Fifi's reprimand calmed her mother. "Very well," she said, in sing-song, her voice a coquette's. "A guest. How delightful! This time, you've brought me a handsome rogue."

  Rory's stomach turned.

  The woman danced around him, arms waving, clucking at his good looks. "I like this one. But oh, did your father meet him? He won't want him near me."

  Fifi cleared her throat. "You may say hello."

  Lady Marlton approached him and tweaked his cravat. She wore a loose fitting gown of natural muslin, her feet bare. She gazed at him with curious brown eyes and leaned close to sniff at him. "Cologne. I like him. What is your name, my good fellow?"

  Rory had seen enough. He was in utter despair. What could they do? He would never suggest Bedlam, but most would put Lady Marlton there without hesitation.

  Fifi glanced at him, a warning glint in her eyes. "This is the man I'm to marry, Mama."

  "Marry!" Her mother drew back, insulted. "I thought you brought him for me."

  "No, Mama. This is Rory Fletcher."

  He understood Fifi wished to ease in to the introduction so he stood allowing the older woman to absorb the announcement of his given name.

  Her mother narrowed her eyes, an avaricious light dawning there. "Rory. Good name. Fletcher.
.. Fletcher."

  "Rory and I met at your sister's."

  "Alice. She gives those frolics. You went?" She shot her daughter a forbidding look.

  "I did."

  "I told you not to. Alice never liked me. She wanted your father for herself."

  Fifi locked her gaze on Rory's and shook her head.

  "Did you like the frolic, Rory Fletcher?" Laughing, the woman winked at him and began to unbutton his waistcoat. He covered her hands with his to stop her.

  She glared at him. "You must not touch me. My husband is very jealous. He will punish you."

  "Madame, you will not undo my clothing."

  "Ouuu, so mighty."

  Fifi turned toward the door. "We will return when you are more civil, Mama."

  "You leave?" She rushed forward and grabbed Fifi's arm. "You cannot!"

  Fifi shrugged her off. "We will return, I say.”

  "The hell you will. You will not take this marvelous man away. He is mine!" She lunged to grab Rory's arm.

  "Madame, I beg of you, do unhand me." He peeled her fingers away.

  Porter was right behind her.

  "You cannot leave. You have lied to me. Lied!"

  "Mama, that is not true."

  "This is not any Rory Fletcher. I know him. I do! I recognize the eyes. Oh, yes. Grey, dove grey. Yes...and the jaw. You!" She pointed a finger at him, her dark eyes wild with recognition. "You're Charlton! Charlton!"

  "It's time to go, Fifi," he told her and stepped around her mother to take Fee's hand.

  The woman pounced at him.

  Porter caught her by the upper arms.

  Rory gathered Fifi close.

  The nurse maid ran toward her charge.

  But the Countess bared her teeth and nails and ripped at the nurse's face. Pritchard screamed. Porter wrapped both arms around his charge and hauled her backward. But she bucked and whirled on him.

  Rory pulled Fifi right behind him, headed for the stairs.

  "You devil!" He heard the woman scream. "I will have you! You ruined us. You and your oh-so-pure little wife. The bitch. He could have had her. Would have. Would’ve been happy too. But you had to ruin that."

  Rory took the stairs, Fifi close. The scuffling of the footman met his ears.

  At once, Fifi fell against him and she stumbled against the bannister.

  Claws drew him back. He reached for Fifi, fearing she'd fall down the stairs.

  But her mother reached out for him.

  He side-stepped her...

  And she hurtled down the stairs.

  Head first, she hit one step and another, crumpling at the landing. But teetering on the edge of a step, she fell all the way to the foyer.

  "Nooooo!" Fifi started after her, but her ankle went out from under her.

  Rory caught her and helped her limp to the bottom.

  Porter was upon them.

  Pritchard was a step behind.

  The four stood over the unmoving body of Lady Marlton.

  Fifi reeled.

  Rory caught her in his arms and took her to a chair. "Porter," he shouted to the footman, "get a physician. Hurry!"

  Chapter 16

  Four days later, Fifi walked arm in arm with Rory from the churchyard. A small group of mourners followed. Jerrold her butler, Porter the footman, Pritchard her mother's nurse had all attended.

  The wind picked up her veil and she tugged it down over her chin. She was tired, weary of conflict and sapped by her mother's sudden death. Never had she thought such a disaster would befall her mother. But never had she thought many disasters could occur.

  At the end of the lane, she stopped to thank the vicar. "I am grateful for your words today."

  The clergyman had praised her mother, but Fifi knew it was his duty. He had known her mother only briefly, only summarily. He was young—Fifi's age, she thought—and had been assigned here only a year ago. He had called upon them and Fifi had introduced him to her mother, but then had quickly ushered him from her presence. A few minutes were enough to illustrate her mother's poor grasp on reality.

  "I know you leave Bath to go with Lord Charlton." He nodded at Rory. "It's been a trying time."

  The past few days had been one more nightmare to add to her many others. Her mother's accident. Her death. The physician's declaration of her passing. And the coroner, his inquest, the final determination, never in doubt, that her death was truly an accident.

  "Should you need me," offered the vicar, "at any time, write. I will happily come to you."

  "Thank you. I will remember your kindness to me in this."

  "I wish you great happiness in your marriage." They had told him how they had planned to wed. Rory had shown him the license. "I urge you not to wait. This has been a tragic time for you and what society says must be done to honor the dead is not often what one should do for one's own sake."

  She gave him a small smile. "I think you are very wise."

  "You, Lady Fiona, are the only one in Bath who thinks that."

  "People are often wrong, sir. I know it first hand."

  Rory expressed his own thanks and led her to his coach. At the door, she stood and bid her servants goodbye. "You have been wonderful to me. Take your time to pack and clean the house. You have the list of what items belong to me by right of purchase. If you have questions on anything, do not hesitate to write to me for clarification. When you are finished, Jerrold, write to me to settle any final issues. I will return to lock the doors."

  "We both will," Rory added. "And then we will welcome you to Charlton Manor."

  Jerrold, who would retire on Rory's estate, beamed at that. "We are eager to come, my lord. We’re pleased to see Lady Fiona start afresh.”

  They bid each other farewell and Rory handed Fifi up into the cab. Beside her, he arranged a lap rug about her and put his arm around her. She watched the churchyard recede into the distance.

  Rory put two fingers to her chin and turned her to look up at him. “We go to a new life, far from these memories.”

  “We make a new life,” she sighed into his tight embrace.

  He blessed her forehead with a kiss. “New memories.”

  Chapter 17

  Tuesday, May 28, 1816

  Charlton Manor

  “Now you’ve seen every bit of the house, Lady Fiona.” The Countess of Charlton sat down on the grand settee in the green room. She’d given Fifi an extensive tour of the Manor, complete with stories of numerous Charltons of yore. This had been a sign of a thaw in the lady’s regard of Fifi. “What do you think of it?”

  “I enjoyed it tremendously. Rory has told me other tales and I long to lose myself in the library to learn more.” Fifi headed for the wing chair near the grand Adam’s fireplace.

  “Please, Fiona,” the countess beckoned—and Fifi noticed she’d been more familiar, the lady’s first. “I do hope I may address you that way?”

  “I would be pleased, my lady, yes.”

  “Good.” She patted the cushion. “Sit beside me.”

  This was also a first. Fifi had arrived at the Manor three weeks ago hoping she might bridge the divide between this lady and herself. Accepting his mother’s need to become acquainted with her, Fifi called upon her good manners and her patience. Rory’s mother had welcomed her that first afternoon when he had taken her to his home. Her words had been polite, her manner stiff, even as Fifi also saw in her hazel eyes the curiosity and hope they might come to a new mode of living. His mother was attempting to come to terms with Fifi in her home and in her family—for all their sakes.

  Fifi had less of a challenge. Rory was his gracious self, filling in during tense moments when conversation lagged. Annalise who had immediately accepted Fifi as her prospective sister-in-law, was her natural buoyant self. Not knowing of the rift between Fifi’s family and her own, Rory’s sister was a boon companion and eager reporter of myriad facts about the Manor, the tenants and the estate.

  At the countess’s invitation, Fifi happily took her p
lace beside the lady.

  Barging into the room was Star, Rory’s favorite dog from his hunt kennel. The animal had met Fifi the day after she and Rory arrived and had taken a distinct liking to her new mistress. Star now jumped fences to join Fifi on walks and opened doors to sit at Fifi’s feet in the house. Rory had repeatedly ordered the dog back to the kennels, but no avail. Star had her heart set on Fifi. Surrendering to the improbable of a hunting dog in the house, the countess insisted the dog have a bath before he was permitted the run of their private rooms. Fifi had taken the compliment as an omen all here might come to love her. He loped over to sit atop her slippers now and Fifi bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Oh, do chuckle, all of you,” insisted the countess—and the three younger ones in the room did. “I will not have her in my suite, but in any instance, she prefers you, my dear Fiona.”

  My dear Fiona.

  With that endearment, Fee sat taller.

  A footman approached and placed a tray laden with fine cakes, biscuits and pastry upon the table before Lady Charlton.

  The countess began to serve. When Annalise, Rory and Fifi had received their tea, she began to pile high a plate for Fifi. “I know you like Cook’s tiny chocolate cakes. Two, today?”

  Usually Fifi’s mouth watered at the teatime delights here. But an odd queasiness in her stomach told her to refuse the sinful delicacies. She smiled, but shook her head. “Wedding nerves have destroyed my appetite. Thank you, my lady, but I will have only tea.”

  The woman sent her a curious look, her hand mid-air over the pastries. “Nothing to be concerned about. One marries only once. The bride is expected to have butterflies. Never more than the groom. Do you have them, Rory?”

  Fifi’s husband-to-be looked nothing like an anxious bridegroom. Dressed in a forest green vest, dark silver frock coat and shockingly white cravat, her intended sat with one long leg over the other, nonchalant as a favored cavalier paying court to a king. “You see me here, Mama, but I assure you—” and he looked straight at Fifi, “—I am already at the altar.”