Refining Felicity (17 page)

Lord Bremmer and Betty drank a great deal of champagne and chatted about various people they knew. The marquess drank steadily and silently and occasionally looked broodingly at his fiancée but did nothing to break up her conversation with Lord Bremmer.

The marquess thought of his disappointing love scene with Betty and began to wonder whether the girl’s coldness and fright had been because Felicity had told her about that unfortunate accident on the terrace. Perhaps his own lack of response had been because of Betty’s coldness. He became determined to ask Felicity, and when the meal was finished, dismissed the servants. Betty said she would like to walk to the end of the island where there was a white-pillared temple, a folly built by one of the Handshire ancestors. Lord Bremmer eagerly offered to escort her, blushed, and looked guiltily towards the marquess. But the marquess merely nodded in an abstracted way, so Lord Bremmer led Betty off, leaving the marquess alone with Felicity.

‘Lord Bremmer is enamoured of Miss Andrews, I think,’ said Felicity, unpinning her hat and placing it on the grass beside her. ‘You should not let them be alone together.’

‘I shall attend to them in a minute,’ said the marquess, hugging his knees and staring at the grass. ‘I wanted to talk to you in private.’

‘Good heavens! Why?’

‘Did you tell Miss Andrews of that unfortunate episode last night?’

‘On the terrace? Of course not. That would be cruel.’

The marquess made a move as if to get up.

‘Why do you ask?’ demanded Felicity. Her heart had lifted when he had said he wanted to talk privately to her. Disappointment that the only reason he wanted to be alone with her was to be reassured that his monstrous behaviour had not reached the delicate ears of his fiancée, who must be cherished and protected unlike such a hurly-burly girl as herself, enraged her. There was no pleasing anyone. Her father had wanted her to be a boy, and so she had tried to the best of her ability to be as boyish as possible. Now her mother wanted her to charm some man into marriage, and she could not oblige her and get on with it because she was stuck down in the country with this heartless satyr.

‘There was a certain coldness in her treatment of me,’ he said.

‘Dear, dear,’ mocked Felicity. ‘You probably mauled her the way you mauled me last night.’

‘What!’

‘I said, you probably mauled her the way you mauled me last night.’

‘I did not maul you. I made love to you under the impression you were Miss Andrews.’

‘Mauled me! Mauled me!’ jeered Felicity. ‘You with your great, hot, greasy,
disgusting
hands!’

‘How dare you, you jade!’

‘In fact,’ went on Felicity in a maddeningly cool voice, ‘if you want to get Miss Andrews to the altar, then I suggest you do not try to subject her to the intimacies of the bedchamber beforehand. Faugh!’

He leaned towards her threateningly. ‘Why so faint and disgusted now, Miss Prim? As I recall, you returned my caresses.’

‘I was humouring you. You are quite, quite mad.’

There came a growling rumble of thunder from the west, but the marquess paid it no heed.

‘You are a spoilt brat,’ said the marquess, raising his voice even higher as the grumbling of thunder grew louder.

‘And you are a fool,’ said Felicity. ‘I can guess what happened. You were horrified that such as I could rouse you to passion. You are the sort of fellow who thinks one woman is the same as another. And so you made love to her and nothing happened and now you are taking your frustration and spite out on me.’

‘Oh, I apologized for my behaviour,’ he said. ‘I admit I became carried away, but I was very tired and I think the wine at dinner must have gone to my head.’

‘Perhaps you have the right of it,’ said Felicity in a suddenly calm voice. ‘I am sure many men could rouse such a response. I must start experimenting right away as soon as we return to London.’

He rolled over towards her and grasped her arms and forced her back on the grass. ‘Listen,’ he said between his teeth, ‘you have caused the Tribbles enough pain and anguish. You will behave!’

‘You are hurting me!’

‘And I will hurt you a lot more if you persist in your wild ways.’

A tremendous crack of lightning split the sky. Felicity looked over his shoulder at the boiling purple clouds that had suddenly appeared over their heads.

She wriggled in an effort to free herself. ‘Let me go! We shall be soaked to the skin.’

Her face was flushed and her hair was tumbled about her face.

The anger died out of his eyes and he looked down at her in dawning surprise.

She looked up into his eyes, and then her gaze fell to his firm lips. Her body felt hot and heavy.

Lightning flashed again and rain began to drum down upon them.

He felt her breasts pressed against his chest and he could smell the light flower perfume she wore.

Approaching screams heralded the return of Betty and Lord Bremmer. The marquess released Felicity and said quietly, ‘We had better get to the boats.’

He helped her to her feet and they turned to face the dripping spectacle of Betty Andrews, who was being helped towards them by Lord Bremmer.

A great clap of thunder shook the heavens and Betty tripped forward and threw herself into the marquess’s arms. ‘I am so frightened,’ she said.

‘Come along,’ he said, putting an arm about her waist. He called over his shoulder, ‘The servants have gone back, Bremmer. I hope you can manage the boat.’

Lord Bremmer and Felicity looked at each other, rain pouring down their cheeks like tears.

Then they made their way to one of the boats while the marquess helped Betty into the other.

As Lord Bremmer pushed off with the long pole, Felicity picked up a scoop and began to bail rainwater from the boat. With clumsy, inexpert pushes with the pole, Lord Bremmer propelled them towards the middle of the lake. Another long fork of lightning striking down unnerved him. He gave the pole an extra-hard thrust and it stuck fast in the mud. The boat and Felicity sailed on, leaving Lord Bremmer up the pole like a monkey. ‘Help!’ he screamed. ‘I can’t swim!’ Then pole and Lord Bremmer fell in the water.

Nearby, Betty’s cries sounded like an echo. ‘Help! I can’t swim.’ For the marquess had told Betty to bail and then had concentrated on poling the boat, not knowing that Betty had made no effort at all to obey his instructions, thinking that bailing was a job for servants. The boat had quickly filled up and had slowly begun to sink below the surface.

Lord Bremmer was gasping and screaming. Felicity dived off the boat and swam to him. Then she heard the marquess shout, ‘You can stand, Bremmer. It’s shallow.’

Felicity stood up. The water reached to her neck. She caught hold of the thrashing and plunging lord and shouted at him to stand still. Lord Bremmer floundered and staggered and stood up.

‘What a fuss about nothing,’ laughed Felicity, and then the laughter died on her lips. Through the curtain of rain, she could see the marquess making his way towards the shore with Betty cradled in his arms. It was a tender scene.

Felicity felt cold and depressed. She waded towards the bank and then felt herself being seized and lifted out of the water. The marquess set her down, his eyes alight with laughter. ‘Did you ever see such a ridiculous situation, Felicity?’ he said. ‘Both of them howling like banshees in a few feet of water.’

Betty Andrews stood shivering and shaking, watching them with hate-filled eyes. All her old jealousy of Felicity had returned. Lord Bremmer had been sweet and tender and she had even let him steal a kiss. But Betty was determined to be a duchess, and Felicity was not going to get in her way.

She gave a faint moan and sank artistically on the grass in a pretended faint. There came the sound of running feet and she felt herself seized in strong arms and raised up. She pretended to recover consciousness and opened her eyes. Lord Bremmer’s face appeared above her own. ‘Lie still, my precious darling,’ he said. ‘I have you safe.’

Betty twisted her head round his protective arm and looked back. The marquess and Felicity were walking side by side. They were both laughing helplessly.

The sheer indifference and cruelty of it made Betty feel genuinely ill.

Felicity had accused the marquess of hard-heartedness and the marquess had pointed out that Betty’s faint was the best effort he had seen off the stage. It had struck them both as funny that Betty, when she pretended to recover, would find herself in Bremmer’s arms and not the marquess’s, though neither of them would dream of confessing such an unkind thought to the other.

The Tribbles stood side by side at the window of the downstairs drawing room and surveyed the returning party. ‘She’s got him!’ exulted Amy, meaning Felicity had got Ravenswood. The dripping-wet couple were still laughing helplessly, each in the grip of that insane fit of giggles which only lovers and children know.

‘No, she has not,’ said Effy quietly. ‘Miss Andrews is very ambitious and she wants to be a duchess one day. She will not release Ravenswood from the engagement.’

‘We must do something,’ said Amy. ‘Where’s that duchess?’

‘Why? I must say her grace proved most kind and the cordial she gave me for my headache worked almost immediately.’

‘Thought of something’ was all Amy would say.

She strode off with great mannish strides.

To underline her fragile condition, Betty would have been happy to spend the rest of the day lying down in her darkened bedchamber. Her maid opened the door and came quietly in. Before she closed the door behind her, Betty heard the faint tinkling of a piano.

‘Who is playing?’ she asked sleepily.

‘Lady Felicity,’ said the maid. ‘My lady is entertaining the gentlemen.’

Colour flooded Betty’s cheeks and she began to struggle out of bed. ‘Oh, she is, is she?’ she muttered. ‘Get me dressed quickly.’

Betty’s idea of dressing quickly meant only an hour was allowed for pinning the gown, fastening the tapes, dressing the hair, and applying rouge to the cheeks and lips. Then there was all the agonizing business of choosing the right fan and arranging a Norfolk shawl to hang in the correct way, and then the right colour of gloves had to be found. It was all so exhausting a business that Betty sometimes wondered whether the lower orders ever realized what a tremendous amount of work a society lady had to do.

She was just about ready to leave her room when Amy walked in. Betty eyed her with disfavour. Some of the bone pins had fallen out of Amy’s hair and one iron-grey lock was hanging over her face. She was wearing one of her old shabby round gowns, despite the fact that the dressmaker had made her several flattering new ones. Amy hated the waistline being up under her bust and preferred it to be where a waistline ought to be. The slim line of her new gowns did not allow her the same freedom of movement as her old ones.

‘Came to see how you were,’ said Amy gruffly. She sat down in a chair and stuck her feet out in front of her and examined them as if she had never seen them before.

‘I am much better,’ said Betty stiffly. ‘I am about to go downstairs.’

‘Devil of a business finding one’s way about this barn,’ said Amy. ‘I admire your courage. Terrible thing being a duchess and having to run all this. Of course, that might not happen for a long time. Frisky is the duke. Very.’

‘He must be nearly sixty,’ said Betty impatiently.

‘Tol-rol.
His
father was ninety when he died. Still, Ravenswood’s got a big place of his own. He often says he don’t really want to be a duke. Got half a mind to hand the succession over to his younger brother Harry, the one who’s at the wars.’

‘He would never do that.’

‘Oh, he just might,’ said Amy. ‘He doesn’t appear to pay much heed to his parents, but the fact is he dotes on them. Now the duchess was saying to him that she did not think you had it in you to manage Ramillies House, and I could see that was worrying him. He says to her, he says, “Don’t worry, Mama. I am sure Harry will find the proper duchess for you.”’

‘I have never heard of such a thing!’ gasped Betty.

‘It happens,’ said Amy laconically. ‘Look at the Marquess of Drent. He turned down the dukedom in the last century.’

‘I know about that,’ said Betty impatiently. ‘But Drent was mad.’

‘Exactly,’ said Amy cheerfully.

‘You mean . . . ? I don’t believe you. There is no madness in Ravenswood’s family.’

‘You ain’t met his Aunt Matilda,’ said Amy, who really enjoyed lying once she had got into her stride. ‘Thinks she’s Queen Elizabeth. But if you’re set on marrying him and getting to be a duchess one day, you’d better start convincing this duchess that you’re suitable for the job. Ask her advice. Get her to show you around. Ravenswood’ll love that.’

‘If you will excuse me,’ said Betty stiffly. ‘I wish to go downstairs.’

Amy watched her leave and then got to her feet. ‘I hope she’s taken the bait,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Now to find Effy and hatch out a way of making her think Ravenswood is mad.’

‘I’m in love with him and I want him for myself! There!’ said Lady Felicity Vane to her own reflection. She heaved a great sigh of relief. She had admitted it at last. But there was no hope. Betty was pleasing the little duchess greatly and was to be seen dutifully scurrying after her from cellar to attic, examining linen, quizzing servants on their duties, and working in the still-room. Ravenswood had become cold and distant and formal and Lord Bremmer had become more Byronic than ever – Byronic, that is, in his view, but moody and sulky in everyone else’s. His carriage was mended, there was no reason for him to stay, and yet stay he did.

Felicity wished she knew what the marquess was thinking.

Amy was no help. Felicity had found her muttering to herself something that sounded like ‘She’s pleasing the duchess and I didn’t think she would and he don’t look a bit mad.’

Felicity turned as Wanstead came into the room. ‘Would you please do something pretty with my hair, Wanstead?’ she asked. ‘There is to be dancing after dinner. The duchess wants a demonstration of the quadrille.’

‘Beg pardon, my lady?’