From Wallflower to Countess. Janice Preston

      She buried any hint of regret deep inside. She did not want love. It was her decision. Love hurt. Love destroyed. She watched as Stanton played with his wine glass, his long fingers stroking the stem. Was he not quite as composed as she imagined? He must be like granite if he did not feel some emotion. Marriage, even a marriage of convenience, was not to be entered into lightly.

      And yet, here they were, two virtual strangers, planning their wedding. She gazed around the room. The chatter of the other guests intruded, dispersing the haze of unreality that had enveloped her.

      ‘Will you tell me more about Westfield? How did you become involved in such a place?’

      She tensed. Would he disapprove? His question reminded her of the power this man would wield over her. He was, surely, more open-minded and charitable than Farlowe? She gripped her hands in her lap.

      ‘It was established by my childhood friend, Jane Whittaker, and her husband, Peter, who is a schoolmaster. Jane inherited a large house and some money from her great-aunt, and they set up a school to help the children of the poor better themselves.’

      ‘It is a school, then.’

      ‘That was the original intention, but Mr Whittaker’s brother is a magistrate and he told them how many orphans were brought up before him, so they decided to provide a home for orphans too. The children are taught their letters and numbers and, as they get older, we find them placements with tradespeople and in households, where they are trained to become useful members of society.’

      ‘Which trades?’

      There was no denying the genuine interest in his voice.

      ‘Any and every trade you may imagine. Shoemakers, coopers, butchers, tailors, milliners—we try to match the child to some trade they have an interest in or aptitude for. That, I must confess, is where both Dominic and I can help, as well as collecting donations, of course. We can be most persuasive. We seldom meet with a flat refusal to take a child.’

      ‘I was astonished to hear of Avon’s involvement.’

      ‘He was very young when his mother died and that experience nurtured in him a kinship, of sorts, with children who are orphaned. However painful his loss, how much worse would it be to lose both parents and to have no family or wealth or position to fall back on? When he heard about Westfield, he was eager to help.’

      Felicity paused, studying Stanton’s expression. She might as well tackle the subject now. It would ease at least one of her worries.

      As if he could read her mind, Stanton said, ‘I should like to visit this place with you, after we are married, Felicity. And, in case you were worrying I might be of the same opinion as Farlowe, allow me to set your mind at rest. I shall not raise any objections to your involvement with Westfield, as long as you do not put yourself in any danger.’

      Felicity’s tension eased. ‘Thank you.’

       Chapter Eleven

      On her wedding day Felicity rose early, unable to sleep despite the exhaustion of travelling up from Cheriton the day before. She sat by the window, mind and stomach churning with equal intensity.

      The ceremony did not worry her. But the afterwards...the afterwards was the rest of her life. That did not merely worry her, it terrified her.

      A tap at the door broke into her reverie and Beanie’s familiar, smiling face, deep cracks fanning out from the corners of her faded brown eyes, appeared.

      ‘You are awake,’ she said, shuffling into the room, followed by the kitchen maid carrying a tray. ‘I said you would be. There you are, Nell, put the tray down and off you go. Did you manage to get any sleep, my lamb?’

      Felicity’s throat tightened at the familiar endearment. How would she manage without Beanie? She had raised Felicity, been more of a mother to her than her own had ever been. And the other servants were like members of her family.

      ‘Are you sure you won’t come with me...us, Beanie?’

      ‘Bless you, dear. If only I was ten years younger. But I am too old now to get used to a new home and fresh faces and strange ways of going on. I am content here in Sydney Place. I shall miss you but at least it will oblige you to take on a trained lady’s maid at last.’

      ‘Oh, Beanie, as if I care for that. You know I would much prefer you. Do not forget, I shall be in an unfamiliar place full of strangers, too.’

      ‘Ah, but you will be the mistress. And you will have your new husband by your side. And you are young. No, my lamb, I will not change my mind, but I shall enjoy seeing you when you visit. Come now, drink your chocolate and try to eat some bread and butter.’

      Felicity picked up the cup of chocolate and wrapped her hands around it. ‘This will be enough. I cannot face—’

      ‘Or I’ve brought up a slice of Cook’s apple cake, if that might tempt your appetite?’ Beanie picked up the plate and followed Felicity to her chair by the hearth. ‘I know you, Lady Felicity. At the first hurdle, your appetite flies away with the fairies. You must eat something. You do not want your stomach gurgling in the church because you haven’t eaten, do you?’

      Felicity burst into laughter. ‘Oh, Beanie, I am going to miss you. Gurgling stomach, indeed.’ But she did as she was bid and, after sipping the warm chocolate, she nibbled on the cake and the hollow swooping inside eased to a flutter. Not perfect, but better.

      After Felicity bathed and dried her hair by the fire, Beanie helped her to dress. Her gown was of fine white muslin and she would wear a lace-trimmed cap on her head. Her delicate silk shawl, white shot with primrose, and a pair of dainty primrose slippers, would complete the ensemble.

      ‘You look lovely, my dove.’

      * * *

      Later, after Beanie had dressed her hair, Felicity stood before her mirror scarcely able to believe what was happening. She...Felicity...always the plain, overlooked member of the family...was about to wed society’s most eligible and desirable bachelor. She pinched at her cheeks to bring some colour to her face. That was better. She tried a smile. Better still. As long as she did not forget to smile, she could at least look attractive for her wedding, and for Stanton.

      ‘Darling.’

      Felicity started. She hadn’t heard her mother come in, so lost in her thoughts had she been.

      ‘Let me look at you.’

      At Lady Katherine’s prompting, Felicity twirled a circle.

      ‘You look very well, my dear. Oh, to think of it. Lady Stanton. I never dared to believe you would make such a match, Felicity. Now, if had been Emma...’ Her voiced faded into silence and she sighed before continuing in a determinedly bright tone: ‘Still, it is your future we must look forward to now, dearest. Except...’ She moved closer and began to fiddle with Felicity’s hair. ‘Oh, dear, I knew I should have sent Wilkins to you but, as dear Farlowe said, who then would have helped with my toilette? It is important I should look at my best, as mother of the bride. We do not want Stanton to think he is marrying into a family of peasants, do we?’

      Felicity stepped back, out of the reach of her mother’s fidgety fingers. ‘Please, Mama, do not fret about my hair.’

      ‘Oh, you have ever been a tiresome girl, Felicity. Tiresome and stubborn. Now, the carriage will be outside in twenty minutes—darling Farlowe bespoke it last night after he saw the rector. What a truly attentive and selfless stepfather he has been to you, has he not?’ She paused, regarding Felicity with raised brow.

      ‘Indeed, Mama.’

      Words cost nothing, particularly as she would no longer reside under the same roof as Farlowe. That was reason enough for the step she was about to take. She was rewarded with a glorious smile.

      ‘Mama,