Lord Grenville's Choice (11 page)

Alex was forced to look away. Anabella had not invented her opinions out of thin air. The guilt was his and his alone. In the early days of his marriage, he had felt hard-used. Like a stud sold at auction. Anabella had been forced to listen to him on many occasions.

But since his much-delayed wedding night with Felicity, he had never returned to the theme. Their passion had surprised and enchanted him. And one knew that such things were never discussed with a maiden sister.

Putting his hands around her velvet-adorned waist, he raised them up inside her jacket and caressed his wife’s back. “Anabella has been operating with bad intelligence for these five years at least.”

“Do you not think someone ought to inform her of the fact?”

“I think that is chiefly a woman’s job. It could become delicate.”

He began unbuttoning her velvet spencer while he resumed his kissing of her face.

Stepping away, Felicity rebuttoned her clothing. She cleared her throat and spoke firmly. “Alex, we have solved nothing. There is a woman out there who expects you to leave me and set up housekeeping with her. Probably in the Hebrides or the Isle of Wight. She wants you. More importantly, from my point of view, she believes you want her. Do you suppose Anabella has told her I am increasing? Perhaps she thinks you only came to me once to secure the succession. I hope she will not be too shaken by the truth.”

Alex felt a weight descend upon him. He knew Felicity was right. Had he not proposed to Elizabeth, once Beaton had made his preferences known, that they should run away to the Highlands? She had turned him down.

After a week of tormented thoughts, Felicity was sanity. He did not want to leave her.

“If you will not have me in your bed, perhaps I will sleep on the cot in here,” he said. “It does not look too uncomfortable.”

His wife laughed at him. “You may have a proper bedroom, if you do not want to make the long journey home.”

“This is closer to you.”

Her eyes teased him. “I will send you a night shirt of Papa’s.”

Before she could leave the room, he captured her by the waist and kissed her nose. “
Bon nuit
, my sweet.”

“I will see that Mrs. Stephenson makes up a warm bed for you. Shall I send the footman for your valet?”

“There’s a dear. What a first class brain you have behind that pretty face of yours.”

“Flattery will not succeed, my Lord,” she said with purpose. “Good night.”

{ 16 }

F
elicity lay awake for a long time. She knew she had made the right decision to keep Alex out of her bed, but it had been very difficult. Too aware of him sleeping in the dressing room, she went over their conversation in her head.

She concluded that he went to Leicester because he could not make a decision. No doubt he needed a break from the women in his life. Would she be leaving the field to Elizabeth if she took her father to the country? Was Alex that weak-willed?

Perhaps it was a chance she should not take. Whatever the state of Alex’s will, after the episode in the park, she was beginning to take Elizabeth’s measure. Felicity recognized a performance when she saw it.

Finally, worn out from the week’s drama and suspense, she fell into a restless sleep. She was awakened by a kiss on her cheek.

“You are a sleepy head this morning,” Alex said.

Looking up at him, she saw that he was already shaved and dressed.

“What is the time?”

“It is half nine already and your doctor is with your papa.”

Felicity sat up and brushed her hair out of her face. She had dismissed Martha the night before without braiding her thick mane; hence, it was a mass of tangles.

“I have not overslept in a long time.” Looking up at her husband, she was suddenly flustered. “Would you be so kind as to tell Dr. Caldwell I will be with him shortly?”

“You look uncommonly lovely in the morning,” Alex said.

She chuckled. “I told you flattery would not work. No woman looks her best in the morning!” She pulled the bell for Martha. “Now, you must leave, Alex.”

“Have you forgotten that I am your husband?”

“No. But sometimes I think you have forgotten,” she said sharply.

He looked stricken. The desire in his eyes died. He said, “I will give Dr. Caldwell your message and then I will go up to Jack. Good day, Felicity.”

His manner caused her to wonder at herself. Was she taking the right course to constantly remind the man of her rival? Perhaps not. But she could not bear for him to think that she did not know what was going on in his heart. That she did not know what was at stake.

Dr. Caldwell greeted her warmly. “Now we can try our experiment,” he said. Turning to his patient, he asked, “Are you ready to try sitting, my lord?”

Her father replied, “Les give it a go.”

His valet helped the physician to position Papa onto the edge of the bed, his legs over the side.

“Bravo, Papa!” she cried. “You are magnificent!”

Dr. Caldwell and the valet brought the armchair close to the bed and helped Lord Morecombe with the transfer. Felicity quickly found his slippers and draped his lap with a wool rug.

“Now you are ready for your newspaper,” she said.

*~*~*

The few days remaining before the benefit concert passed quickly. Alex visited Jack and Felicity’s father each day, but had little to say to his wife. She knew jealousy had driven her to anger him and could only hope that it had not driven him to the seemingly sweet Elizabeth as well.

Papa continued to do well, allowing her time to practice her arias with Aunt Henrietta. Her voice was not at its best. Her diaphragm was cramped and knotted with tension. She found that she could not relax her vocal chords enough to comfortably sing her high notes with the full range of her voice.

What was she to do? On Aunt Henrietta’s advice, she gargled with salt water. She took a teaspoon of honey before practicing. She put a warm flannel over her throat at night. All to no avail.

The day before her performance, she made a difficult decision. She knew what was causing her tension. When Alex made his morning visit to Jack, she waylaid him as he came down from the nursery.

“My lord, could I speak with you for a moment?” she asked.

“It depends upon your mood.”

“I am not feeling particularly shrewish,” she said.

“Very well.”

He followed her into her dressing room, and she shut the door. “I cannot sing. I cannot relax.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Your concert is tomorrow night, if I am not mistaken.”

“I am a bundle of nerves. I believe it is because I have angered you.”

“Come! This is not like you! You never apologize.”

She sat on the divan. “I am not apologizing, precisely. I just . . .” she hesitated, not certain how to proceed. She cast about for a topic. “Have you heard from John?”

Her husband’s stern countenance lit. “Yes. This morning, as a matter of fact. He swears your honey did the trick! He is fit. There was no serious inflammation. But of course that means he is back on the battlefront and the fighting is fierce.”

She smiled. “I am glad he is fit again, but I share your worry. It is a wretched war.”

Alex sat down beside her. “I know I have you to thank for restoring John’s health. Let us not quarrel.”

She restrained herself from mentioning Elizabeth, asking instead, “Will you be at the concert?”

“Of course.”

“I am afraid I will take one look at you and my voice will come out strangled.”

“Why should that be?”

“Because you never come to hear me sing, and I am afraid I will do poorly.”

He chuckled. “It is not like you to be so unsure of yourself, my dear.”

“I told you, I cannot seem to relax.”

“Well, now,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “You know the recipe for wounds, but I think I may know how to help you to relax.”

Suddenly his arms were around her and he began to kiss her gently, teasing her into participating. Before she knew it, he was kissing her like a starving man, urgently and demandingly. Gradually, as he assuaged the sharp edge of his hunger, his lips strayed to her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead, her hair. Knowing she was the object of his desire untied the knot in her breast. Felicity kissed him back heatedly, abandoning herself to his caresses.

Oh, how she had missed this! Time dissolved and Felicity lost awareness of everything except her husband. Finally, she relaxed in his arms, her cheek against his waistcoat.

“Oh, Alex. You do that so well.”

“I have missed you devilishly, my dear.”

Biting back words about her rival, she simply enjoyed the moment and felt herself more at ease than she had since Lord Beaton had died.

“Do you think you could administer some of that medicine before my performance?”

“Willingly. I shall instruct Norse to make his pantry available to us.”

*~*~*

Felicity felt strange being back in her home at Grenville House. The space of time she had spent helping her Papa convalesce seemed to have happened in another life. As she greeted her guests at Alex’s side, dressed in a dark cocoa-colored evening gown, she nearly forgot that a specter lay between them.

It was also gratifying to see so many of the
ton
had turned out for the benefit concert. Her friends Maeve Huntington and Sarah Anne Northam were also performing. Previously, the others had performed at
ton
gatherings and been universally acclaimed. Felicity had only performed for relatively small groups. As she tried to bridle her nerves, she was pleased to see that the former Prime Minister’s widow was moving toward her.

“Oh, my dear Mrs. Perceval, how glad I am to see you. I should have called, but my father has been very ill and I have been tending the sickroom.”

The sweet-faced woman squeezed Felicity’s hands in greeting. “He is improving, I hope?”

“Yes, thank heavens. How are you?”

“I am managing. I am glad that being in mourning does not prevent me from musical evenings such as this. Being forever at home in the evenings is not good for the spirits. And of course I am very anxious to be of help to your charity.”

“I hope the program will give you pleasure.”

Aunt Henrietta had overseen the placement of white tulips in silver vases throughout the large drawing room, and the erecting of a performance dais where the pianoforte stood. The wall behind it had been hung with silver cloth.

Why ever did I think to attempt this? I have not practiced nearly enough.

Felicity knew such thoughts would not benefit her performance, and she did her best to master them by directing her thoughts to such mundane things as playing spillikins with Jack and throwing bread to the ducks in the pond. She was on the point of asking Alex to take her into the butler’s pantry to perform his magic when Aunt Henrietta approached her.

“I am going to greet everyone now and talk about our charity, my dear. The other soloists are seated on the stage. I advise you to join them. The guests will soon settle.”

Alex approached, winking at her, and brought her gloved hand to his lips. “You will sing beautifully. All that is necessary . . .” he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “is to pretend I am ravishing you with complete abandon.”

She blushed deeply. “More than likely I shall choke if I look at you. You must promise to sit in the back where I cannot see you.”

Aunt Henrietta greeted everyone with her particular good cheer. She thanked them for supporting their efforts, talked about the need they would have for women to tear and roll bandages for the abandoned soldiers in Dr. Caldwell’s East End Clinic, and endeavored to persuade those interested to join them there in Grenville House on Wednesday mornings.

She then introduced Felicity as the first performer, sat down at the pianoforte, and waited for Felicity to raise her head as a signal to begin.

The arias were demanding, but Felicity need not have worried about her voice, as the music claimed her. The arias she had chosen were light and playful, and she acted the part with artistic abandon. She was not standing in front of people in evening dress, for her imagination carried her into the scenes of the operas she had so long loved and enjoyed. And Alex’s “treatment” had undoubtedly succeeded, for the tightness in her throat and diaphragm had left completely. Applause rang out loudly, and Felicity made her bows with a large smile on her face. For the two other performances, she sat in the afterglow of her own success, so very glad she had been able to sing her best.

Wine and cakes were served following the entertainment. Many ladies she knew but little crowded around her, congratulating her and giving their support to her charity project. When she was thus surrounded, she happened to look through the crowd to see Anabella arm in arm with Elizabeth, conversing in a lively manner with Alex. Elizabeth tapped his lapels playfully with her fan, as though chastising him for some teasing words.

If there was one person she did not want to speak with that night, it was Elizabeth. Felicity felt the wind go out of her sails. She moved to her aunt, standing behind the sign-up table for the bandage project.

“I can do this, Aunt. You go mingle with your friends.”

Unfortunately, the first people to join her at the table were Anabella and Elizabeth.

“We must come every Wednesday morning without fail, Elizabeth,” Anabella said. “Someone has to chaperone Felicity. I believe the poor doctor to be half in love with her. And he is very handsome to look at.”

“I cannot wait to meet the man,” Elizabeth said, covering a giggle with her fan. “I have heard such accounts of him.”

After writing their names on Felicity’s list, they walked away simpering and whispering like two schoolgirls. She was left feeling as though she were a wallflower at her own event.

{ 17 }

A
lex was moved by his wife’s arias. He chastised himself roundly for never having participated in this part of her life. Though she was a soprano, her voice was not shrill as he had feared, but round and full. While she made her bow, he leapt to his feet. “Brava! Bravisima!” he called.