He had never imagined this side to Felicity. She was poised and alluring—an enchanting orchid rather than the earthy daisy he had always thought her.
When Elizabeth approached him afterward, she said, “I particularly recall how you detest opera. This must have been a terrible bore for you.”
He smiled at her, but her words put a barrier between them that he had never felt before. “I make an exception for my wife. She is clearly a brilliant performer.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “It was obliging of her to sing for your Aunt’s charity. Such an excellent idea, do you not think so?”
“I do. And although my her aunt has been an immense help, the idea for this event and for the charity was Felicity’s. We would both be most delighted if you would see fit to offer your aid.”
She appeared to examine her gloves. “Do you really think your wife would welcome
my
presence in a party to gossip and roll bandages?”
Alex shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. “I do not see any reason that she would object to your presence.”
Elizabeth’s hand went to her bosom, her eyes looking as hurt as if he had wounded her there. He felt a shaft of guilt and added, “It is tedious work, you know. She will be glad of everyone’s help. May I fetch you some cake?”
“No, thank you. I see Anabella, and I must have a word with her, if you will excuse me.”
She extended her hand. He took it and bowed over it formally, but did not kiss it. There were a good many people about, including his wife. As Elizabeth walked away, he followed her figure with his eyes. That had been a dashed uncomfortable encounter.
His aunt approached him, saying, “You are not still mooning over that gel, are you Alex?”
Ignoring her question, he asked, “Do you ever hear any gossip about the Beaton marriage, Aunt?”
She surveyed him severely. “Dealing in gossip now, are we?”
“Lady Beaton has asked me to believe some scurrilous claims about her husband. Felicity does not believe them and tells me that you would know the truth of the matter.”
“I suppose I would, if there was anything to know. Lord Beaton’s first wife, Philippa, and I were fast friends.”
“He treated her well?” Alex felt stirrings of unease.
“Admirably. He was a faithful, kind husband, if a little too indulgent. I have no reason to believe he would have treated Lady Elizabeth any differently.”
So Elizabeth had intentionally misled him. His anger stirred, and it must have been plain for his aunt said, “She could never bear to be crossed, you know.”
“Elizabeth?”
“Yes. The only one who has ever been able to do anything with her is her father.”
He thought for a moment. “Perhaps it was her father and not her husband whom she was speaking of to me. She said a ‘he’ had mistreated her. Maybe she was explaining why she was coerced into marrying Beaton.”
Alex knew he had never been a favorite in Lord Whitby’s eyes. He remembered Elizabeth trembling at her father’s side when he paid her that first visit of condolence. Was she afraid of him?
Aunt Henrietta said, “Everyone knows Whitby’s temperament. He thinks all women are fools. But it would surprise me greatly to learn that he mistreats his daughter.”
Alex’s fists were clutched at his side.
“You must stifle the intention to be her White Knight, my dear. You are no longer free,” Aunt Henrietta reminded him before she was interrupted by one of the hired waiters to see to some detail.
Alex stood lost in thought. Had someone as delicate as Elizabeth truly been treated “as a slave” by her father? She was in the conversation group next to him, and he watched her fragile white throat as she sipped a glass of wine.
Felicity joined him at that moment and, before he was aware of it, noticed the direction of his gaze.
“Perhaps it was her father who abused her,” he said. “Perhaps I misunderstood.”
“You are a blind man,” his wife said. Lifting her skirts, she turned her back on him and hurriedly left his side. Alex watched as she left the company and went into the hall. From where he stood, he could see her climbing the stairs.
Confound it!
Not only had he been caught staring at Elizabeth, he had also neglected to compliment his wife on either her singing or the success of her event.
I am in hot water again
.
He had been hoping she would stay with him tonight, but now he had ruined any chance of that. Setting his wineglass on the mantle, Alex plunged his hands into his pockets and walked to his aunt, who stood speaking to their cousin, Eustace Marston, a vain young man with a pale face and puffy hands.
“Excuse us for a moment, Marston,” he apologized, taking Aunt Henrietta’s arm and leading her away. When they were out of earshot, he said in a low voice, “Felicity has gone upstairs. I wanted to let you know that I am off to my club, which leaves you as the remaining hostess.”
She pursed her lips. “For Felicity, there is forgiveness. She is increasing and most probably, her performance has worn her to a thread. But, you, my good man, will stand by me until the last guest has left.”
“You make a poor bully, Aunt. Tell the guests whatever you like. I am leaving.”
“Even if it makes your marriage look a sham? Everyone saw you in conversation with Elizabeth. I hope not too many were aware of your languishing glances, but Felicity certainly was. And her cut direct after a mere two words with you was noted. Add to that the fact that you are living separately, and there is plenty enough food for gossip without your disappearing to your club.” Her eyes were unwontedly stern. “Be Felicity’s White Knight for a change.”
Being made to see the evening from his aunt’s perspective was a severe set down. “She is a very difficult woman, Aunt.”
“She would be blissfully easy to get along with if you could only see when you were well off. And tonight, it is
Felicity
who needs rescuing.”
Aunt Henrietta then twisted the white rosebud in his buttonhole, gave it a pat of her hand, and glided back toward Marston, whom Alex remembered was a reputed Opera critic.
Tonight had been a triumph for his wife and, clothead that he was, he had ruined it for her. His aunt was right. He must do his bit.
He managed to speak in a gentlemanly manner to many of Felicity’s musical friends whom he had never before met. They regaled him with the outstanding success of her past performances, obviously with the hope that he would attend another one in the future. Then Marston found him and said, “She was born too high, Grenville. Were she not an aristocrat, she could have taken the world by storm as a soprano. If you’re ever down on your luck, she can always take to the stage and repair your fortunes.”
Alex patted Marston on the back. “Do not, I pray, go putting ideas into her head.”
“Unfortunately, she is a very sensible woman. It is the Opera’s loss.”
Sir Winton approached him. “I say, after doing our duty tonight, I am bound for a bit of frivolity. Shall we organize a party for Vauxhall Gardens? There is a costume ball tomorrow night. You will be masked. You could take who you wish.”
Alex frowned . “You are not a married man. A wife can see through any disguise, and so can all her friends. But, perhaps after tonight’s performance, I can tempt Lady Grenville to appear as an opera sensation by means of purchasing her a lavish gown. Deep rose. Possibly Georgian in style. With a towering white wig. I’ve always wondered if one could dance the waltz in panniers.”
“And you must mince about in red-heeled slippers with foams of lace at your neck and wrists,” Winton said.
“I shall make certain that Lady Grenville wears one of those cunning Georgian patches just above the right corner of her lip.”
“I shall bring my cousin Elaine, who is making her debut. She and Lady Grenville will get along famously, and you and I can roam the dark walks or scare up a card game.”
“It sounds very relaxing after this formal occasion,” Alex replied. “Send us an invitation in the morning. Felicity is in the sullens. It will be just the thing.”
Finally, the guests began trickling out the door, saying their good evenings to Lady Henrietta and Lord Grenville, with especial requests to convey their compliments to Lady Grenville.
Alex took his courage in his hands and went upstairs to try to make things right with Felicity. He was not very surprised when he found that she had undressed, leaving her elegant performance gown across her bed, apparently redressed in less confining clothes, and fled through the back door back to Morecombe House with her maid. .
Sick at heart, he undressed himself without the help of Richards. When he went to bed, he tossed and turned, replaying Felicity’s arias in his head, seeing her almost as a stranger would. That part of her was a stranger. It had been many months after they were married that he had even learned that she could sing, that she was living her life at musical soirees in the evening, not staying home alone during the nights while he went to Brooks.’ He was not musical, and she had never asked him to attend. It seemed rather absurd and very sad that it had taken five years for him to become acquainted with the fact that Felicity was, in fact, somewhat of a diva in her own world.
In the beginning of their marriage, he had not valued her for much of any reason. When he had finally consummated the marriage, that had changed. They had developed a powerful intimacy in the bedroom that eventually extended to their love for Jack. And they had rubbed along reasonably well after that until Lord Beaton’s death had upset their delicate balance. Now, he found he missed the relationship she had upended when she left for her father’s house.
Tomorrow, he would call on her with orchids, beg her forgiveness, praise her performance, and convince her to go to Vauxhall with him.
{ 18 }
F
elicity had been so angry with her husband’s behavior at her
musicale
that she had left her guests, torn off her new gown, put on an old walking skirt and pelisse, and sneaked down the servants’ stairs and out the back door into the dark night. By the faint light of the street lamps, she and Martha made their way the four blocks to Morecombe House in silence, shivering in the spring air. Laughter tumbled out of several mansions lit with hundreds of candles for the balls that were taking place. Orchestras played waltzes, reels, and minuets. Felicity’s spirits sank lower and lower.
She had reveled in Alex’s loud praise after her performance. She thought finally she had done something that had made him see who she really was, when not being a difficult wife. Then:
Elizabeth
. He had been watching her and he had been thinking of her. Swallowing her lies.
Felicity’s only prayer was that Elizabeth would expose herself one of these days, and that Alex would wake up from his long infatuation. Aunt Henrietta felt it was bound to happen sooner or later.
When she reached home, she was glad to find Papa soundly asleep. She checked on Jack. He was well-settled, his cheeks pink from dreaming as he held his stuffed bear with both arms. Wanting to leave the memories of the night behind, Felicity decided suddenly to sleep in the nursery near her son instead of her lonely bed where she would only be pursued by bitter thoughts. She lay down in the empty bed beside Jack’s. The bed where someday her new child would sleep. She steered her tired thoughts to that event and tried to leave the exhausting and disappointing night behind.
*~*~*
Felicity was eating breakfast with her father in his room when Alex called.
“Good morning, my dear. Good morning, my lord.” He bowed to them both and seated himself at their small table, handing her an exquisite white orchid. Attached was a card reading, “From your ardent admirer, Alex.”
Felicity said, “Ardent?” in cool tones. Her father, who knew the history of the evening, merely inclined his head.
“Ardent to the greatest degree,” her husband said. “You left last night before I had a chance to express my appreciation. Your arias were superb. It is a rarity for me to appreciate a soprano voice.”
“Is that why you have never been to hear me before?”
“Yes, I confess it is. I dislike shrill voices. But your voice is unusually clear and brilliant. Marston told me you could take Europe by storm, should you wish.”
“I imagine Napoleon would have something to say about that,” Felicity said, disappointed in herself that his praise meant so much. She was actually blushing.
“And how are you feeling today, my lord?” Alex inquired of her father.
“Well,” he said with a nod.
“Papa’s speech is improving daily. Today, Dr. Caldwell plans to try to get him to take a few steps.”
“I am very grateful that your recovery is progressing so beautifully,” Alex said to Papa. Turning to her, he said. “Should
we
enjoy a walk this morning? The sun is shining.”
“I promised Jack an outing after Dr. Caldwell’s visit.”
“Allow me to join you, then.”
“If you wish.” Felicity kept her voice cool and low-pitched. “We are to take a hackney to the new toy emporium.”
A footman entered to clear away.
“That sounds amusing,” Alex said.
Felicity spoke to the servant, handing him the orchid. “Would you please see that this is put in the silver bud vase and placed on my vanity table?” She had never had orchids before. However, she reminded herself, Alex’s behavior of the night before had been more hurtful than even the gift of an orchid could banish. Alex looked a bit too pleased with himself.
“Perhaps you might like to go up and visit your son? Papa and I are discussing private matters.”
A scowl marked her husband’s forehead. He left them.
“Private madders?” her father asked.
“I needed to humble him a bit,” she confessed to her father.
He smiled at her and patted her hand.
Later, when the physician came, Papa was able to stand on his own and take a few small steps.
“Champagne!” he demanded in elation.
*~*~*
The visit to the toy emporium was a success. Jack selected a miniature archery set as a gift from his father and a toy stuffed terrier from his mother. Thrilled with his purchases, he demanded a trip to the park to try out his bow and arrow.