Lord Grenville's Choice (3 page)

{ 3 }

E
ven after seeing his son, Alex was in a foul mood. It seemed to him that Felicity was bent on making an issue of Elizabeth. All the gratitude he felt toward her for the idea of sending supplies to John had vanished. Why was his wife so confounded difficult? Why could she not be content? Why did she always want
more
from him?

After Richards had attended him in his own dressing room, he found his way to a linen drapers and bought a bolt of bleached white linen. After asking that it be delivered to Felicity at his father-in-law’s house, he made his way to Brooks’ for breakfast. While there, he ascertained from the
Morning Post
that Lord Beaton’s funeral would be held the next day. Alex’s thoughts turned to Elizabeth. How was she holding up? She had seemed so fragile the day before. Her trembling had quite alarmed him.

Maybe she could use a friend. Felicity already thought he was secretly cherishing hopes of his former love interest. Was he, in fact? He certainly did not think of her all the time, as he once had. He was curious, that was all. In fact, Felicity was making a mountain out of a molehill. Folding the newspaper, he put it down with sudden determination. He would go see her. It probably was not proper, but hang propriety. He was worried about her. As a friend.

When he arrived at the Beaton townhouse, it was to find the door knocker shrouded in black crepe. He knocked regardless.

The door was opened by the same long-faced butler with the bulbous nose Alex had seen yesterday. He handed the man his calling card, saying, “I know she is in mourning, but I think she is expecting me.”

The butler showed him into a different room than he had been in yesterday. It was relatively small and furnished with delicately colored chintz sofas and chairs in a pattern of sweet peas. Just seeing the colors made him think of Elizabeth—fresh and cool. The room held her essence. It calmed the strong emotions that had disturbed him since he had left Felicity.

She came. Standing in the doorway for a moment, she merely looked at him. Dressed in black silk, her blonde head was draped with a Spanish mantilla. Unlike his wife, she was small boned, her form tiny rather than full. Elizabeth closed the door.

In a moment, all was changed. She ran across the room, flying into his arms, weeping and holding on to him as though her life depended upon it. He was so shocked he merely stood, arms at his side.

“It is over! Thank heavens, it is over,” she said in dramatic tones.

Alex did not know what he expected, but certainly not this. Elizabeth had always been so self-contained. Feeling clumsy and awkward, he held her away from him so he could look into her face. It was tear-stained and desperate-looking.

“Now, then,” he said. “Suppose we sit down, and you can tell me about it.”

“He was a horrible brute!”

Alex clutched his fists as anger percolated through him. Elizabeth sat on the sofa, leaving room for him to sit beside her. Not altogether comfortable, he took a seat in a chair across her. “You have been through great tribulation. I am sorry.”

“It was too awful. He treated me like a slave.”

Alex shifted in his chair, not quite understanding his emotions. This was so unlike the cool, untouchable woman he knew. He certainly did not like the images that rose in his mind at her words, but more than anything, he did not like seeing her so discomposed.

“Did your father know?” he asked.

“I could have told my mother, were she still alive. But not my father. He would either not have believed me at all or would have thought I was making too much of it. He and Beaton were friends, you know.”

“I am glad for you that your ordeal is over,” he said. He knew the words sounded overly formal, but he did not know how else to respond. He had never anticipated such a situation.

“I have made you uncomfortable,” she said.

Her observation was right, of course. And obviously, he had disappointed her. Deciding to change the subject, he said, “I called because I was worried about you yesterday. You were trembling. I thought you might faint.”

She rose. He sprang to his feet.

“I’m sorry for spilling everything out like that,” she said. “I had to tell someone. For a few moments, I forgot that you were married, that things were not as they once were.”

“Do not be sorry. I should like to think that we can be friends,” Alex said, grateful that she had returned to the woman he knew.

“Thank you for your visit. I hope your wife is well?”

“Splendid, yes.”

Elizabeth’s smile was a bit forced. “I am happy for you.”

She opened the door to the room and stood by it, obviously wishing him gone. He bowed, restored his hat, and left the house, his feelings seriously disturbed. He admitted to himself that he should not have gone. Part of him was distressed that her marriage had been such an unhappy one, but the other part of him felt uneasy at the new intimacy she had forced between them.

In order to dispel it, once he was home he went directly to his stables, saddled his bay stallion, Orpheus, and rode to Richmond and back. The feeling that finally distilled from all others was guilt.

*~*~*

He was even more chagrined the next morning at his club when he read a thinly veiled account of his visit in the gossip column of the
Morning Post
.

Lord G———has wasted no time in resuming his pursuit of Lady B——. He was seen leaving her house alone yesterday morning.

The column made him so angry, he actually tore through the newspaper. Not only would this start gossip about Elizabeth, but worse. It would throw his own marriage into disarray were the item to come to his wife’s attention. Very glad that Felicity was occupied at her father’s house, rolling bandages and encouraging her papa’s progress, he suddenly desired to pay her and Jack a visit before attending Beaton’s funeral.

When he arrived in the nursery, his son squealed with delight, running to him in his usual fashion. Nanny Owen’s manner fell short of her usual benevolence, however. She did not look at him with her customary beaming smile.

“Is anything amiss with her ladyship’s father?” he inquired, hoisting his son over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I have not been in to see him as yet.”

“His lordship is much the same,” she said.

“Then put on your coat, Jack. It is a bit brisk outside, but I think you will enjoy an outing to the park,” he said, putting him down. Whatever was wrong with Nanny Owen, he thought she probably deserved a break from his rascal. No doubt, Felicity had been unable to pay Jack her normal attentions.

Jack was thrilled with the outing. He kept up a steady stream of conversation.

“Papa look! The trees are not naked anymore. They are getting dressed again. Some of them are pink! That one is white!”

“Papa, look at all the new duckies going about the pond with their mamas!”

“Papa, that boy has a puppy! See? He is cunning, is he not? I would like a puppy. Please?”

Answering this last request, Alex said, “Perhaps when we go to the country in the summer, we shall get you a dog. A nice Labrador like that one. He really does appear to be an excellent dog.”

They stopped by the pond. “Now take the bread scraps Cook gave you and throw them to the ducks. Mind you do not fall in! I will be waiting on this bench.”

As he observed his son, love for the boy rose up in one of those waves that suffused him with joy. He thought about what the future held for him. Thanks to Felicity, he would have a nice fortune. And he would inherit the title. The estate in Lincolnshire was now, again thanks to Felicity, healthy and productive.

One thing was for certain: Alex would not raise him to be army-mad. The wars must come to an end sometime. He had long wanted to visit the Continent, and he would enjoy taking Jack with him for an extended tour. In his grandfather’s generation, fathers and sons had often made the Grand Tour, taking in France, Switzerland, Germany, and, of course, Italy.

He thought how he would enjoy having another son, as well, and knew not why Felicity had not provided him with one. He had certainly given her enough opportunities. His thoughts strayed pleasurably in that direction, and he wondered how long she would find it necessary to stay in her father’s house. Looking at his pocket watch, he realized he needed to hurry Jack along if he hoped to have time to look in on Felicity and her father before the Beaton funeral.

Alex found his wife rolling bandages at a furious pace, describing the blooming dogwood out her father’s window that he could not yet move his head to see.

“Any further changes?” he asked as he strolled up to her.

When she looked up at him, her eyes flashed with something that looked like anger.

“Dr. Caldwell is pleased with his progress,” she said, looking down. “How is Elizabeth?”

Momentarily speechless, he noted the
Morning Post
on the bedside table. Evidently, she had been reading to her father. Striving for a casual tone, he said, “She is not doing well, as a matter of fact.”

“I am sorry to hear it. You are off to the funeral?”

“Yes.”

“I should have these bandages ready to be sent by tomorrow. Nanny Owen is helping, and also one of the housemaids. Did you locate the honey?”

Guilt lanced him. “I will stop by Fortnum & Mason. I should have it by tomorrow. I will also engage a courier to carry everything to Spain. I appreciate what you are doing more than I can say, Felicity.”

She did not reply. At that moment, there came a guttural sound from the bed.

“Papa!” His wife threw down the bandage and grasped her father by the shoulders. Her face lit up as she looked up at Alex. “He’s trying to speak!”

“Excellent,” he said. “More progress. Jolly good, Lord Morecombe!”

Speaking to her father, she said, “You are going to recover! I know you will!”

“I must leave,” Alex said. “But I am truly delighted for both of you.”

She did not look up as he left the room.

I must mend my fences here. Of course, she is right to be angry about that bit in the newspaper. But thank goodness she did not make a scene.

{ 4 }

H
er delight in her father’s progress only melted the very edge of Felicity’s anguish. As she rolled bandages and talked to her father about the Prime Minister’s assassination with part of her mind, her head was pounding. How long could she keep loving someone who loved someone else? It was madness!

She did not want to become a bitter woman. But the fact was she had always loved Alex with her whole heart. Now that Elizabeth was free, Felicity had to face the fact that the chances of him returning her love were less and less.

As her father’s eyelids drooped and he went back to sleep, her mind teased her with memories. The first time she had seen Alex, he had been part of Elizabeth’s court in the Pursley’s ballroom. She was just up from the country for her first Season. The sight of him had etched itself on her mind so thoroughly that she still remembered it.

He had been laughing. His head was thrown back, his face full of good humor. There was a sparkle in the deep blue eyes, and dimples had enlivened his beautifully sculpted face. For just a moment, he had turned toward her, only a few feet away. She had smiled and, in what she imagined to be an excess of good spirits, he had given her a wink.

Though she had had a successful Season in all regards, he had never approached her for an introduction or a dance. The only woman with whom he ever danced was Elizabeth

Eventually, Felicity had marked her infatuation as a Lost Cause and tried to enjoy herself with all the other men who paid her court. She was well dowered and, though not a diamond of the first water like Elizabeth, she was considered pretty. Her form was even the subject of poetry by some besotted lads.

By the end of the Season, she had turned down several hopeful suitors when, to her shock, the
Post
announced Elizabeth’s engagement to Lord Beaton. That was when she had made inquiries of Papa about the Earl of Grenville’s prospects. Finding that he was in need of a wealthy wife, she asked her father to approach him.

They had been formally introduced at a dinner Papa held at their home. Laughter was conspicuously absent. Alex had the look of a stricken man. He was formal and polite. However, when she had taken his arm to be led into dinner, she felt a definite jolt. Not a spark or a zing. A jolt. He looked down at her then, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. She knew then that he had felt it as well. Their physical awareness of one another grew until the tension between them was palpable. His face remained grim and gaunt, but he had agreed to the marriage arrangement.

She had always known that Elizabeth was Alex’s choice. But she had always loved him heart and soul.

Did he kiss Elizabeth yesterday morning? She was a widow and did not require a chaperone. Undoubtedly, they had seen each other alone. Had they been reunited like star-crossed lovers?

Just thinking of it made her ill as her heart pounded with dread. It was a physical pain in her breast. The only way she could see to cope with it was to try to cut her feelings off at the root. She could not live like this. Felicity had always been a woman of action. What should she do now? Continue to watch him pursue Elizabeth and fall into a liaison with her? She knew she could not do it. At least not while they lived together.

An idea began to form in her mind as she finished the last of the bandages. It would be very difficult to be away from Alex and the home they had made together. But her father did need her care.

She would live with Papa and set her husband free. He needed to choose between her and Elizabeth. And it would be too painful to watch him fall more deeply under Elizabeth’s spell from such a close distance. It would be far better to cease their physical closeness, their nightly intimacies. Possibly she could build up a wall around her heart.

Today, she would have Martha, her maid, pack up her clothing, her books, and her music. Nanny Owen could pack up Jack’s things.