From Wallflower to Countess. Janice Preston

      ‘Have you come down from London, Dom?’ Felicity asked. ‘It is such an age since I was there. Tell me, how do they go on at Westfield?’

      ‘What, and where, is Westfield?’ Stanton enquired.

      Felicity’s mother and stepfather joined the group at that moment and, hearing Stanton’s question, Lady Katherine immediately claimed his attention.

      ‘Oh, it is merely some nonsense of Felicity’s, Stanton. Nothing for you to concern yourself with for I am persuaded Felicity will have vastly more important matters to occupy her once she is married.’

      Before Felicity could respond, Stanton said, ‘You may indeed be confident of Felicity’s future preferences, my lady—and I bow to your superior knowledge of your daughter —but I do find in myself a desire to know what Felicity has to say on the subject.’

      His voice held the perfect hint of apology, and Felicity could not be quite sure if he had just delivered a most elegant setdown to her mother. As she pondered, he glanced at her and she caught the devilish glint in his eye. She pursed her lips, trying to suppress the laugh that bubbled in her chest.

      ‘My dear, would you care to enlighten me?’ Stanton’s voice and expression were suitably grave as he tilted his head and raised a brow. ‘I asked you about Westfield, if you recall.’

      ‘It is a haven for thieves and pickpockets,’ Farlowe interjected. ‘That is what it is. A waste of good money. It shouldn’t be allowed, that’s what I say.’

      Her stepfather had never struck Felicity as a perceptive man, and now he sank to new depths in her estimation. How could the man be so blithely oblivious to Stanton’s scowl?

      ‘It is my allowance, sir, and I spend it how I please,’ she said.

      ‘Felicity! Do not put dear Farlowe down in that unbecoming manner. Why, whatever will Stanton think—’

      ‘Stanton,’ interrupted a silky-smooth voice, ‘thinks his future wife has her own opinion and should be allowed to voice it without interruption.’

      ‘Oh, good man, Stan. Well said,’ Dominic said, laughing.

      ‘Dominic—’ Cecily grabbed her nephew’s arm ‘—the dancing is about to start. Would you be so good as to stand up with your elderly aunt for the first?’

      ‘Oh, transparent, dear aunt. Come then, let us leave the newly betrothed and their relatives to play at happy families.’

      Cecily led Dominic away and Felicity breathed easier, knowing he was more than capable of adding further fuel to an already fraught situation.

      ‘Westfield—’ she turned to Stanton ‘—is an asylum in Islington for orphans and destitute children. I’ve supported it for five years, and Dominic became involved about a year ago.’

      ‘And will you tell Stanton where you find these orphans and destitutes?’ Farlowe’s voice rose in anger. ‘The criminals you willingly consort with?

      ‘I tried to talk some sense into her, Stanton, I promise you, but the provoking girl would not listen to me. Mayhap you will have more success in curbing her wayward tendencies.’

      ‘Wayward tendencies?’ Dark brown eyes turned to Felicity, appraising her. Heat washed over her skin. He bent his head, his lips close to her ear. ‘I am intrigued, Felicity Joy. Positively intrigued.’

      Felicity suppressed her tremor as the small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, swallowing past the sudden constriction in her throat.

      ‘They are children.’ She struggled to keep her attention on Farlowe, ‘They cannot help the things they must do to survive.’

      ‘Pshaw!’

      ‘Well, what would you do, Mr Farlowe, if you were starving?’ Felicity’s customary caution vanished. ‘Might you not be tempted to steal a loaf of bread? Or pick a coin from someone’s pocket?’

      Farlowe bristled. ‘Might I remind you, miss—’

      ‘Come, my darling.’ Lady Katherine, after one look at Stanton, tugged at Farlowe’s arm. ‘Let us dance.’ She pouted and cajoled and finally succeeded in dragging her husband to join a reel forming in the centre of the room.

      Felicity’s heart sank. Why on earth had she risen to Farlowe’s provocation? She glanced up at Stanton. Would he be appalled by her lapse in manners? He was staring after his future parents-in-law, his expression a study in perplexity. He switched his attention to her and raised one dark brow.

      ‘Thieves and pickpockets, Felicity Joy?’ One corner of his mouth quirked up. ‘Might I enquire what other dens of iniquity you frequent?’

       Chapter Ten

      He was neither appalled nor, it seemed, dismayed that Felicity had argued with Farlowe. It appeared he was diverted.

      Felicity swallowed her giggle. ‘Do not tease me, Stanton, I beg of you.’

      She could cope with Stanton in this playful mood. But when his voice deepened, and his eyes fixed on her in that particular way...intense...the heat of promise swirling in their depths...another shiver caressed her skin as her insides looped in a most peculiar way. She willed her voice not to tremble.

      ‘Did you ever hear such nonsense? What infuriates my dear step-papa, of course, are the donations I make to the school. He even, would you believe, suggested I should pay him rent for living under his roof instead of contributing to the living costs of the children.’

      ‘His roof?’

      ‘Indeed. As soon as he and Mama wed he made it very clear to me upon whom my future depended. Which is why—’

      ‘Which is why you are willing to marry me?’ Stanton looked around the ballroom, then grabbed Felicity’s hand. ‘Come. Let us go somewhere quieter. I am curious to discover something of those wayward tendencies your mama warned me about.’

      Felicity’s insides swooped again but the thought of being alone with Stanton made her hang back. She wasn’t ready. She needed to harden her heart against him, prepare herself for the intimacies to come. He stopped and looked round. Studied her face, then smiled, his eyes crinkling as he shook his head.

      ‘Felicity Joy, whatever am I to do with you? Come. Shall we dance?’ He sketched a bow and, at her nod, led her to join a nearby set.

      * * *

      The energetic country dance afforded them scant opportunity or, indeed, breath to talk further and it was not until supper that they continued their conversation. The other guests—in a rare show of consideration—allowed the newly betrothed couple to eat their food in relative privacy.

      ‘We have much to discuss.’ Stanton deposited a plate piled high with food in front of Felicity.

      ‘I find I am not very hungry, sir,’ Felicity said, her stomach clenching at the sight and smell of the food. ‘What do you wish to discuss?’

      ‘The wedding itself is in hand. Leo and I met with your mother and Farlowe earlier and it has been agreed the wedding will take place on Thursday morning, as long as the rector is available to perform the ceremony. Will that give you enough time to prepare? Your mother was anxious about your dress.’

      ‘I have a suitable dress I can wear, my lord.’

      ‘Good. Farlowe has undertaken to speak to the rector as soon as you arrive home tomorrow and, as I already told you, I shall call on the Bishop of Bath and Wells to procure the licence on my way to Bath. As long as the rector has some spare time before noon on Thursday there is no reason why we cannot be married on that day. If not, we shall have to wait until we can be fitted in.’

       It all sounds so businesslike and unromantic.