Refining Felicity (19 page)

That Pink of the
ton
was quite outraged, for all were speaking of the Tribble sisters with great admiration. He wished he had known earlier and then he might have tried to spike their guns by doing something to ruin their job as chaperones. Still, he suddenly thought, there might be a next time . . .

Amy and Effy had received a comfortable bonus of three thousand pounds from Lady Baronsheath. Effy was happily content with it. They had employed their own staff of servants and had even bought some of their own pictures for the walls, Felicity having learned at last where both pictures and servants had come from. But as the day of the wedding approached, Amy began to grow anxious. The eight thousand pounds Lady Baronsheath had given them to bring out Felicity had all gone, and now they were eating into the bonus of three thousand. Eight thousand pounds might appear a fortune to most of the population, but it was only a sufficient amount for an aristocratic Season, especially with the inflationary prices of the Regency. Although Felicity was engaged, they were still expected to chaperone her for the length of the London Season. There were so many callers to entertain and all the new servants to pay on quarter-day.

At last Amy was forced to darken Effy’s spirits by confiding her worries. Effy said that she was sure Mr Haddon was about to propose to her, Effy, but that piece of intelligence only served to send Amy into a towering passion and she accused Effy of being totally useless and living in fantasies.

Mr Haddon arrived. ‘But you need not worry,’ he said after Effy had been soothed down and Amy had explained the problem, although Amy could not help adding nastily that Effy was living in dreams of
someone
proposing to her. Effy had looked hopefully at Mr Haddon at this point and toyed flirtatiously with her fan, but he appeared buried in thought. She began to sniffle dismally.

‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I do not see why you are worrying. It appears to be all over London that Lady Baronsheath answered an advertisement of yours. I am sure you will not even need to advertise for a difficult girl this time.’

‘But I don’t want to go through all that business again,’ wailed Effy. ‘Difficult girls are so exhausting.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Amy, much cheered. She flung her new shawl about her shoulders and twisted this way and that to admire the effect. ‘We shall have our pick of ’em.’

In Tunbridge Wells, Mr and Mrs Burgess sat in their dark, overfurnished drawing room.

‘It is of no use discussing these Tribble people,’ said Mrs Burgess to her husband. ‘It would not work with Fiona. My niece is hardened and steeped in sin.’

‘As far as I see it,’ said Mr Burgess, rising to his feet and beginning to walk up and down, ‘we do not have much hope. She is a very wealthy heiress and you would think some man would want her.’

‘And so they did!’ cried Mrs Burgess. ‘Four, to be precise. And what happened? Each was left alone with her to pay his address, and all reeled out of the house without proposing, never to be heard of again. But even a whipping could not raise anything more out of Fiona except that they must have changed their minds and she did not know why. My niece is very rich and the management of her money passes out of our hands on the day she marries. I tell you, Mr Burgess, people will begin to say it is all our fault and that we are stopping her getting married. Have we not done our best? Have we not read the Bible to her daily? Have we not kept her on bread and water?’

‘If she went off to these Tribbles,’ said Mr Burgess, ‘she would at least be out of our hands for more than a Season. Say they took her about November to start her schooling, we should be shot of her for at least eight months. It is not our money that will pay for it, but Fiona’s. And I think the expense well justified. I have prayed nightly for guidance and I firmly believe God has sent news of the Tribbles to us.’

Mrs Burgess thought of eight months without Fiona.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘We shall travel to London as soon as this wedding is over and broach the matter to them. I suppose they are very expensive.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Burgess. ‘Lady Fremley told Mrs Jessop that she had had it from Mrs Toddy that at least ten thousand pounds plus a bonus if the girl weds well is what they are demanding. I asked Mrs Toddy, who screamed she had never breathed a word, and added that she could not have said any sum of money, for Lady Baronsheath had not mentioned money.’

‘Considering the amount of wealth our useless niece has, ten thousand is a mere drop,’ said Mrs Burgess. ‘The matter is settled. Fiona shall go to the Tribbles.’

Felicity had endured the wedding rehearsal. She was beginning to wonder whether to run away. The marquess was as cross as a bear, and when he had bent to kiss her at the wedding rehearsal, he had mumbled first that all this cursed to-ing and fro-ing was driving him mad and he was heartily bored with the whole thing. His lips had then descended on her own in a brief, cold kiss.

Miss Betty Andrews had become engaged to Lord Bremmer, and Felicity reflected gloomily that at least
they
looked like a couple in love. She had seen them in the Park the other day, and they had been gazing into each other’s eyes. Felicity had returned to be confronted by the marquess, who had taken exception to one of the Baronsheaths’ guests and had asked Felicity coldly if she would please do some of the work on the wedding herself, instead of jauntering around and leaving everyone else to cope with it.

Felicity had been as deeply hurt and wounded as only a young woman in love at the receiving end of a remark like that can be. At times she thought her mother’s sheer delight in the whole business was the only thing stopping her from teaching the marquess a well-deserved lesson by crying off.

All those aching yearnings he had started up in her body were still there, and not one of them, it seemed, was to be assuaged by the slightest caress. He reminded her of her hunting friends at her coming-out ball who had all treated her like the man her father had so wanted her to be.

Other girls might dream of their honeymoons of being alone with their beloved at last, and Felicity was no exception – except that she longed to be alone with the marquess so that she could throw something at his head and then tell him exactly what she thought of him.

The day of her wedding was wet and gloomy, and Wanstead fussed about, moaning that it was a bad omen. Felicity threw a hairbrush at her, which Wanstead deftly caught and then proceeded to madden Felicity further by giving her a lecture on how some girls never reform.

Amy was too carried away by her own new outfit to notice Felicity’s distress. It was a green wool gown of mannish cut, decorated with a jabot of gold lace and with a froth of gold lace at the wrists. Mr Haddon had said she looked ‘very fine’ and had given her a present of a fine Kashmir shawl and had begged her not to tell Effy, because the other shawls he had brought back had got the moth in them and were sadly damaged. So now Amy and Mr Haddon had a secret that Effy was not part of, and Amy delightedly hugged the knowledge to herself and told Effy that she herself had bought the shawl from Lady Rochester. Amy blithely meant to warn Lady Rochester of the lie, but forgot in all the bustle of wedding preparations.

As Felicity sat in the drawing room, waiting for the carriage that was to take her to the church, Mr Haddon whispered to Effy that he thought Lady Felicity looked absolutely furious about something, but Effy was too intimidated by the presence of the earl’s brother, Lord Devere, to pay much attention to anything. Lord Devere was very like the Earl of Baronsheath, being large, ebullient, and noisy.

Looking at Felicity’s set face on the road to the church, Lord Devere assumed she had bride nerves and told her several very warm stories in an effort to cheer her up. He had drunk a great deal and was very unsteady on his feet as he led her up the aisle.

Amy and Effy sat pressed close together during the service, and when the marquess said, ‘I do,’ Amy stifled a sob and clutched Effy’s gloved hand. How many long and weary nights had both of them dreamt that one day one of them would be standing where Felicity now was. Both sisters gave up trying to be brave and cried dismally, and at one point Amy’s wails threatened to drown the noise of the organ.

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.