From Wallflower to Countess. Janice Preston
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Lady Felicity Weston.’
As he digested Leo’s words, Richard conjured up a mental image of Lady Felicity. They had not been neighbours at dinner and so had not conversed, but she had appeared monosyllabic and subdued throughout. Perhaps it was nerves, knowing she was to meet her future husband? He dredged up the memory of their encounter last year, but this girl had shown none of the spark and wit she had exhibited then.
Her mother, in contrast, was the life and soul of the gathering, but too loud and foolish for his taste. The other daughter—she had died young, he recalled—had inherited her mother’s beauty, but not so Lady Felicity. No wonder she had jested about being overlooked, for it was no more than the truth. Certainly, next to her flamboyant parent, she slipped into anonymity.
A further image arose, from his perusal of the occupants of the drawing room before the meal. Lady Felicity—head to one side, eyes bright, hands animated—had been chatting with Leo’s sister, Cecily, who had clearly found it hard to contain her giggles. Then Felicity had looked up. Their eyes met, and immediately all her liveliness had leached away. He had barely noticed at the time.
He chose his words with care. Leo, he knew, was fond of her.
‘She is a little insipid, is she not?’
An image of his mistress of the past year materialized in his mind’s eye. Harriet—now there was a woman: curvaceous, experienced, uncomplicated, fun. He frowned into the amber liquid swirling in his goblet. What had been his stipulations for his future wife? Well born, of an amiable and compliant nature, and not minded to interfere with my life. He had said nothing about appearance and, indeed, why should her looks matter? She was not ugly. She was...plain.
‘She doesn’t show to advantage next to her mother,’ Leo said, ‘but she’s a good girl, she has a kind heart, she wants a family, and she’s the daughter of an earl. And Lady Katherine’s father was a marquis, so her breeding on both sides is impeccable. Or have you changed your mind, and now desire a love match?’
Richard glared at Leo, who met his eyes with a grin. He leaned forward and gripped Richard’s knee.
‘Are you sure you want this, Stan? Neither Felicity nor her parents know your identity, and need never know if you do not wish to proceed.’
Was he sure he wanted this?
No. He had not thought to wed for several years to come.
But Craven’s death weighed on his mind, as did the premature deaths of his father and his brother. He was loath to agree with his mother but, if anything should happen to him... It was not about what he wanted any longer.
It was his responsibility.
His duty.
His decision.
‘My mind is made up. I must secure the future of the title and estates.’
Leo leaned back. ‘So, given that you are still minded to wed, how do you wish to proceed? Is it to be Lady Felicity?’
He had a choice. He could either choose to settle the matter now or he must seek another bride. The thought of suffering the matchmaking efforts of determined mothers and importunate fathers during the coming months in London was enough to bring him out in hives. Which left...
‘She is very young.’
‘She is almost five and twenty; older than she appears.’
Richard felt his brows lift. He had thought her younger. At least she had a spark of personality, although her dress sense was appalling—that pale-pink gown she was wearing tonight had done her no favours, and her figure, probably the reason he had thought her so young, was almost boyish. But, on balance, would he prefer someone like her mother—beautiful, but empty-headed and fluttery? No, that would drive him demented in a trice. At least Felicity had demonstrated a sense of humour and a down-to-earth manner he could countenance.
As long as she did not entertain girlish notions of his falling in love with his own wife, he thought Lady Felicity Weston would suit nicely.
‘Very well, Lady Felicity it is. At least I can deal with you, and not Farlowe, over the settlements and so forth.’
Leo grinned and gripped Richard’s hand. ‘Welcome to the family, Stan. I will go and extract Felicity and Katherine from the throng, hopefully without causing too much speculation.’
It was not long before he returned with Felicity and her mother. Richard stretched his lips into a smile as he stood up, pushing a hand through his hair, smoothing the unruly curls back.
He hoped he concealed his true feelings with more success than Lady Felicity. Her expression as she came through the door, and their eyes met, was one of sheer horror.
What was so very special about Lady Felicity Weston to suggest the Earl of Stanton was not a good enough match for her?
Richard had no further opportunity to study his bride-to-be. Lady Katherine sailed past her daughter and captured his hands, standing so close her floral scent made his nostrils twitch. She gazed up at him through fluttering eyelashes. Already knocked off balance by Felicity’s reaction to him, Richard’s muscles quivered with the effort not to snatch his hands from her mother’s soft, moist grasp. From the corner of his eye he caught the resigned look that passed between Leo and Felicity. Mayhap he was not the only person who found Lady Katherine a touch overwhelming.
‘My dear, dear Stanton. Such joy...oh!’ She giggled breathlessly. ‘How droll am I? Joy is my dear girl’s middle name: Felicity Joy. Does that not suit her a treat, Stanton? I am certain she will bring you as much joy as she has brought to me and her dearest papa—God rest his soul—and now to my beloved Farlowe.’
Richard extricated his hands. ‘Indeed.’ He shot a baleful look at Leo, who shrugged and grinned before manoeuvring Lady Katherine to the sofa facing the fire. He then proceeded to engage her in conversation, leaving Richard to get to know his intended.
Which proved to be as difficult as drawing blood from the proverbial stone. Felicity, her face quite colourless, had taken her place beside her mother, her attention firmly on the flames as Richard sank into the nearest chair. Her expression was hard to read but her rigid posture and tight fists told their own story. Something—something about him, he must conclude—was not to her liking. Contrarily, her seeming reluctance fanned his determination to proceed with the marriage.
‘Well, Lady Felicity, who could have guessed when we met on the stairs last year that we would be here now, discussing our forthcoming marriage?’
‘Indeed, my lord.’ Still she avoided eye contact, staring into the fire.
Richard, momentarily nonplussed, continued to study her. Nondescript was the most fitting adjective he could conjure up. She was a touch taller than average, with a slight build. Another woman of her stature might be described as willowy, but, somehow, Felicity was not quite tall enough, and not quite slender enough, to earn that accolade. Her features were regular, her complexion dull. Her oval face was a shade too long and her chin a touch too determined, for delicacy. Her nose was straight, but a little too strong to be considered dainty, and her mouth was... Richard paused in his appraisal. The compression of her lips did little to disguise their rosy fullness. They, at least, could be declared alluring.
Her brown hair was pinned up in the Grecian style, with curls—already wilting—framing her face. Her eyes were a striking amber and, at this moment in time, they stared dully ahead as Felicity sat straight-backed, her hands white-knuckled in her lap.
What was she thinking? According to Leo, Felicity had asked her mother to find her a husband, but her reaction to Richard almost suggested she would be entering the union against her will. Richard hoped not. Now he had made his decision he was impatient to proceed. He vowed to win her over.
‘It’s