‘I am sorry to upset you, but I would try to make you understand why I must refuse Stanton.’
Lady Katherine straightened in the bed, sparks shooting from her blue eyes. ‘I do believe you are serious, you ungrateful chit. You always were stubborn, and unbecomingly forward with your opinions. Well, we shall see what Farlowe has to say about this.’
‘My stepfather can have no opinion on my betrothal,’ Felicity retorted. If only you had never married him, I wouldn’t be obliged to marry anyone. ‘The decision is mine. You cannot force me to accept Stanton.’
‘But why, Felicity, darling?’ Her mother changed tack, wheedling. ‘I don’t understand. Most girls would swoon at the thought of catching such a man.’
‘The problem is that he is too good a catch, Mama.’
‘Too good? How can a man be too good a catch?’
Felicity struggled to find the words. How could she possibly explain without insulting her mother and dragging Emma’s name into the argument? Her mother would—and not for the first time—accuse her of jealousy.
‘I wish for a quiet, retiring gentleman, Mama. Lord Stanton is popular. He is always the centre of attention. Please try to understand.’
I am afraid I will fall in love with him.
The words she could not say near choked her. A man like Stanton, in an arranged marriage, would develop the same carelessness her father had demonstrated towards her mother; the same indifference Farlowe was now beginning to demonstrate, a mere six months into their marriage. Such indifference in a marriage of convenience would be tolerable. But that same indifference, if she were to fall in love with her husband... A handsome face with warm brown eyes materialized in her mind’s eye and her lips tingled in memory of his kiss. She could never resist him. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.
Stanton was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen, with his dark brown, wavy hair, his deep, soulful eyes, and his fine figure. Since their encounter last year, she had added those strong, muscular arms and the glimpse of dark chest hair to the tally of his attractions. And now she had experienced his kiss—how could she ever withstand such an onslaught? She might be inexperienced, but she suspected that kiss had triggered only the merest hint of the passion buried deep within her. No, she dare not expose her heart to such a man. That way, for sure, would result in heartbreak and despair.
‘Well, I do not understand, you provoking girl. Oh, where is Farlowe when I need him? I need his support. No one understands my trials.’
‘Please, Mama, may we speak again in the morning, before the betrothal is announced?’
‘The duke and Lord Stanton have agreed to announce the betrothal after dinner, tomorrow evening. But do not think the delay will favour your case, my girl, for my mind is quite made up. Just think, I shall be the envy of all, when our news becomes known.’
‘Mama, I cannot marry a man merely in order that you can boast to your acquaintances.’
‘Oh! You would make me sound the most uncaring parent in the world, Felicity. Have I not always put your welfare and happiness at the very top of my priorities?’ Lady Katherine sank back against the pillows and waved her salts beneath her nose again, her eyes closed. Then they snapped open and she sat up, nailing Felicity with a triumphant stare. ‘The duke has approved the match. He believes you and Stanton will suit very well. Do you dare to question his authority?’
If her mother was to start invoking the duke’s authority, Felicity knew she must concede her argument for now and try again tomorrow.
‘Goodnight, Mama. I hope you sleep well. I shall come to see you in the morning. Please try to understand—I want to be content in my marriage but I cannot believe Stanton will prove a comfortable husband.’
She bent and kissed her mother.
‘Do not think I shall yield on this, Felicity. There are times when you must realize that your elders have more worldly experience than you and know what is best.’
A bright morning saw Felicity up and about early, her determination not to wed Lord Stanton stronger than ever. He had prowled through her restless dreams, stirring strange and unwelcome yearnings deep within her. She had woken from those dreams, her heart racing, her skin hot and damp. And that was merely the result of a single kiss.
As she made her way downstairs it was apparent there was no one else up, other than servants, but that suited Felicity: the only person she wished to speak to was her mother, unlikely to be awake at this hour. Felicity crossed the library and let herself out on to the terrace, where she had strolled with Lord Stanton the previous evening.
She paused at the spot where they had kissed. Her pulse quickened at the memory even as the ever-present fear wormed through her belly. Unrequited love. She could not, would not risk it. It was unrequited love that had so wrecked Emma’s life that she had climbed to the roof of Baverstock Court and...
Felicity turned abruptly from the spot and headed for the flight of stone steps that led down into the garden, laid out in a formal style dissected by stone-flagged paths. There were gardeners already at work, weeding and collecting leaves, so she did not linger but followed the central pathway to an arched gap cut into a tall beech hedge. Through the gap was another pathway, and she turned left, knowing the stables were to the right. They, like the garden, would be a beehive of activity at this time of the morning.
A short distance along the path she reached the small rustic gate she remembered from her childhood. It led to a grass path that wound through a copse of ornamental trees before opening on to a vista of Cousin Leo’s lake. Water always soothed her. When she eventually wed she would have, if not a lake, then at the very least a pond, preferably near to the house, so she could see it every day; a large pond, with water lilies, and fish, and a bench to sit on. Daydreaming pleasantly, Felicity continued towards the lake.
‘Good morning, Felicity Joy.’ The deep voice startled her from her reverie.
‘Oh!’ Her heart leapt into her throat as she looked around.
Lounging at one side of the path, broad shoulders propped against the trunk of a copper beech, was Lord Stanton.
Felicity felt her face heat. Why must I blush now? She could never blush prettily, like her mother or Emma. Then she gritted her teeth. Why should she care how she blushed? She could never impress Stanton with her appearance, and she was not about to try. Besides, had she not already decided he was not for her?
‘Good morning, my lord. You are up early. I had not expected to see anyone out and about quite yet.’
‘I am sorry if I startled you. I had a restless night. It is not every day a man meets his future wife for the first time.’
Felicity eyed him with suspicion. Was he poking fun at her? ‘It is not too late to change your mind.’
His dark brows snapped together. ‘And what, precisely, do you mean by that, Felicity Joy?’
He pushed away from the tree and prowled towards Felicity, his attention never leaving her face. She resisted the urge to retreat.
‘You sound as though you might welcome a change of heart.’
‘Why were you leaning against that tree?’ Felicity asked. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’
‘You.’ Stanton was close now, gazing down at her.
She held his gaze, her heart pumping a little too fast to be explained away by her walk. He was so handsome. Too handsome.
‘What do you mean?’ Her voice sounded breathless. It reminded her of her mother, which fuelled her irritation. She had no wish to flutter every time a man paid her