Lord Grenville's Choice (13 page)

“After luncheon,” his father said as they stood in the street awaiting a hackney. “Right now, your Mama and I have some shopping to do.”

“We do?” Felicity asked, surprised.

“Yes. We must go to the costumier and find you attire suited to a Georgian era soprano. We have been invited to a masquerade at Vauxhall tonight.”

Felicity fought with her feelings. She particularly wanted to go to the masquerade, but should she let Alex off so easily?

“But I have always desired to be a harem dancer,” she said sweetly.

“What the deuce? You will
not
show your limbs in public!”

“And I long for you to be a bare-chested pirate with a mustache!”

“Done!” he said, “If you will be my bonny pirate queen. No harem dancer!”

Felicity could not help laughing at his discomfiture and playfully caressed his face. She knew how much he admired her legs. “All right. A bonny pirate queen. I only hope you will not be cold without a shirt.”

He signaled a cab. “Pirates wear capes. Heavy, velvet-lined capes.”

*~*~*

Felicity had not been to Vauxhall Gardens often enough for the novelty to wear off. It was probably the only invitation Alex could have offered her that she would not refuse. And she especially loved a masquerade. From the costumier, she obtained billowing red britches, a white blouse with a gathered yoke, and a black pirate hat with a matching leather waistcoat and belt. Alex bought her a glittering loo mask, and she wore her black half boots to complete her costume.

When Alex was dressed in his fitted black trousers, leather waistcoat, pirate hat, sword, and scabbard, they visited Jack in his nursery. Their son was thrilled to have such dashing parents.

“I want to go with you. I can be the pirate’s child!”

“Not tonight, darling,” said Felicity. “But tomorrow, I will teach you to fight a pirate duel!”

“How do you know?” asked Alex.

“Papa taught me,” she said. “He thought it was something every proper young lady should know.”

They said goodnight to Nanny Owen and Jack and went to join Sir Winton and his cousin, Miss Wilkins, in the downstairs hall.

“What ho!” said Winton. “Aye, Mateys.”

Miss Wilkins tittered. She was dressed as a shepherdess, as befitted a debutante. Winton was costumed as Charles II, wavy black curls and all.

They traveled by carriage and then took a torch-lit party barge featuring a flute player and violinist down the Thames to the Vauxhall Landing. Alex tried to help Felicity disembark, but she scorned his hand and jumped to the pier as befitted the character she was playing.

The torch lit gardens were very merry. Felicity was glad that she had not come in Georgian period dress, as there were dozens of women in tall white wigs. Georgian gentlemen also appeared in great numbers. Of course, there were plenty of pirates, but none as dashing as Alex, though she did not tell him so.

Once they had reached their box, the men ordered the customary ham sandwiches, fruit compote, and two bottles of champagne. The orchestra was playing a reel, and Felicity and Alex joined in the fun at once, leaving Sir Winton with his cousin. However, when the strains of the following set proved it to be a waltz, Felicity declined Alex’s offer to dance.

“You behaved abominably last night. Do not think I have forgotten,” she said and, turning her back, rejoined the other couple in the box. Dinner had been delivered.

Felicity began a discussion about the Stuart kings, asking Sir Winton what he thought would have become of England had Charles II not been beheaded and had the Catholics continued to reign. Miss Wilkins was a quiet little being and added little to the conversation. Alex’s friend had Catholic sympathies, (hence the costume)and Alex himself held very strong opinions on the subject of British sovereignty relying upon their independent religious beliefs. Felicity confessed to a strong wish that she had been alive during Queen Elizabeth’s reign to be courted by Sir Francis Drake.

“He,” she said, “is my idea of a true hero.”

Alex remarked drily, “Oh, that he could see you at present.”

“I would have captivated him with my singing.
He
would have appreciated me rather than some insipid blonde.”

“You have had too much champagne, my dear,” Alex said with a frown.

“Let us take a stroll, my dear man,” said Sir Winton, grabbing the remaining bottle off the table.

“Insufferable creatures!” cried Felicity as they strolled off.

“I think, Lady Grenville, that perhaps Charles is right and you have had a bit too much to drink,” Miss Wilkins said.

“Never mind,” Felicity said, bundling her hair under her pirate’s hat. “Take my arm. I shall pass as a rather short gentleman. We shall stroll ourselves.”

“Will it be safe?” Miss Wilkins asked. “I have heard there are rough characters about in Vauxhall.”

“Perfectly. We shall stay to the lighted paths.”

As they strolled, Felicity asked, “What think you of London, Miss Wilkins?”

“I like it very well. Particularly the balls.”

“And your cousin? Does he take you about?”

“Yes, Charles is very kind to me. He and my brother were close friends at Eton, so he has been coming to our home in the country for donkey’s years.”

Felicity put two and two together. “You expect to marry him?”

“Possibly one day. I know he desires it, but I wish to be courted by other men before I make my decision.”

Felicity had not realized the girl had so much sense. They discussed the advantages of this strategy as they strolled.

“Do you not detest Almack’s?” Felicity asked. “All that stale cake and orangeat . . .”

Before the young lady could give an answer, there was rustling in the shrubbery. Felicity noted belatedly that they were alone on the path and that it was not as brightly lit as it might be. Two men in stocking masks appeared before them. One of them hefted a black stick. Felicity stood in a protective stance before Miss Wilkins, as though she were indeed a man. Her companion began to scream shrilly in Felicity’s ear. She turned her head away, and then all went black.

{ 19 }

I
n the distance, Alex heard screaming.

“That’s Elaine!” her cousin said and began to run.

Felicity!
Alex followed, dodging high hedges and random statuary. The screaming had stopped, but Winton, like a pointer beagle, kept going. After what felt to be ages, they came upon a crowd surrounding something on the ground.

Nudging themselves through the crowd, Alex and Winton found Felicity and Miss Wilkins in two heaps upon the path, their pockets turned out.

Alex emitted a strangled sound as he knelt by his wife. Mimicking what he had seen Dr. Caldwell do, he felt Felicity’s wrist with two fingers. After a few horrible moments, he located a faint pulse.

A night watchman ran forward, blowing his whistle. Alex ran his hands desperately over his wife’s person, seeking a knife. When he found none, he pulled off the hat and examined her head. It was not long before he located a large, damp lump on the front of her scalp. His hand came away sticky with blood.

Heart thudding painfully, he called to the watchman, “My wife is hurt, man. Go for a stretcher. Quickly!” Turning to his friend, he said, “Your cousin?”

“She is coming ‘round. I think she only fainted, thank heavens.”

“We never should have left them,” Alex said.

“Who could know they would go strolling on their own?”

“I could. Felicity has always been . . . difficult.” His voice broke on the word. He put his head in his hands. “Dear God,” he prayed. “Don’t let her die! It is my fault. I was thoughtless. Cruel, even. This is all my fault.”

The stretcher arrived and Winton helped him to settle Felicity onto it.

“She was so brave,” Miss Wilkins said, dazedly. “She stood my protector. Just as though she were indeed a man.”

*~*~*

The carriage ride home had been a nightmare. With every jostle and jolt, Alex had tried to cushion Felicity’s head by holding her close to him. She had not regained consciousness and he feared most desperately for her life. He took her to Grenville House and sent the footman in the carriage for Dr. Caldwell. While carrying her up the stairs to her bedroom, he remembered Martha and sent another footman to Morecombe House for the maid.

Laying his wife on one side of her bed, he folded back the yellow striped bed clothing on the other side and then transferred her tenderly and pulled the clothing tightly around her. It was a brisk night and she had suffered a terrible blow. For a time, he paced the room. He blamed himself. He should never have left her. He had allowed himself to be put off by her reference to Elizabeth.

He dropped to his knees by her bed. Clasping her in his arms, he rested his head on her breast, listening to the faint heartbeat. He must not lose Felicity! She was vital. She was life. She was the one who dwelt next to his soul.

Compared to my wife, Elizabeth has only been a gauzy dream conjured by a man who was scarcely more than a child. Felicity is flesh and blood. It is Felicity I love.

The knowledge stunned him, as though clouds had parted in his mind. He came to his feet and began to pace once more across the pumpkin-colored rug, reordering his head and heart as the meaning of this realization came clear. Felicity was the most generous person he had ever known. Alex had no doubt that she loved their child with her whole heart. But was there any chance that she felt the same about him?

He remembered when he had first come to dinner in her home, thinking he was brokenhearted over Elizabeth’s engagement. She had been dressed in a silver and gold gown that had framed her form as though she were a painting. It had possessed a Van Dyke collar in gold Lamé which had framed her face—a face full of color and character. Then, there had been that shock between them when Felicity took his arm. Both their eyes had gone wide as he recalled. He knew then that he was wildly attracted to her—her smooth, warm skin, her rich golden hair and honey-colored eyes. But like a ghost, Elizabeth’s shade had lingered somewhere nearby, expecting him not to think of the joys of the flesh but only those of the mind.

When they had first married, a mistaken loyalty to Elizabeth had kept him from his wife’s bed, but she was on his mind constantly. He had worked out ways to be near her, to catch a whiff of her vanilla scent. He never missed a chance to seat her when they dined alone. He was often about when she stood arranging flowers in the stillroom. It was easy to recall how desperately he had wanted to see her hair all down about her silky shoulders. Alex had sat for hours sulking at his club to keep himself away from her.

One night, it had become too much. He left Brooks’ early and came home to find her reading by candlelight in her bedroom. By the subtle illumination, she looked more desirable than ever in her high-necked lace gown. He had walked to her and without a word unbraided her lustrous hair. As he ran his fingers through the smooth, wavy locks, he asked in a hoarse, uncertain voice if she would please join him in his bedroom. Her golden eyes had flared with desire as she looked up at him. When they finally made love, he lost himself in her, forgetting everyone and everything as they became one.

He loved his wife! He had been running from the fact for years because it countered his phantom boyhood infatuation, which somehow he had come to believe was higher and purer. It had taken this injury, which might very well take her from him, for him to realize what he should have known and expressed years ago. Minds could not in fact become one. But bodies could.

Could she ever forgive him? He had cheated her out of years of devotion. Years when they could possibly have been happy together. Would his wife have been difficult if she had been secure in his love? He ran both hands through his hair and hung his head.

Just recently, she had apparently had enough of their marriage. Felicity seemed certain that now that Elizabeth was free, he would go to her, make her his mistress. His wife had no intention of remaining with him if he made such a decision. Had not the move to her father’s house had been an attempt to remove herself from him before he could remove himself from her? She had done all in her power to wake him up and force him to make a choice.

God forgive me! I have not treated Felicity as she deserved. I have no right to ask for my own sake, but for hers, please let her live! I will cherish her. I will show her in every way how much I love her—taking part in her interests, going about society with her, taking pride in her. No man shall be a more devoted husband!

Finally, he heard the physician’s tread on the stairs. Dr. Caldwell entered the room, his hair on end, his countenance radiating alarm. “What has happened?”

“My wife was struck with some kind of weapon at Vauxhall tonight. There is a great lump on her head and she has remained unconscious.”

Going to her side, the physician examined her head and measured her heartbeat.

At last he looked up, his face drawn. “I’ll not wrap this up in clean linen, my lord. This is very serious. Your wife has most probably suffered a severe concussion. There is most certainly swelling on her brain. I do not know if she will regain consciousness.”

Alex sank into a chair and put his head in his hands.

Felicity! Come back to me. Your feelings for me may be exhausted, but I cannot bear for you to leave me.

“Is there anything to be done?” he asked at length.

“I am afraid not. In cases such as these, we can but wait.” Dr. Caldwell loosened Felicity’s hair in a singularly intimate gesture. “Our bodies are controlled by the brain. We must pray that there is not too much damage.”

Alex thought of all the tender care Felicity had lavished on her father. “Is it similar to Lord Morecombe’s condition?”

“In some ways. But if we do not lose her to this concussion, I think she will make a full recovery.”

He seemed to become aware of Alex’s costume for the first time. “You were masquerading as pirates?”

“Yes. She wore a hat. I think it may have cushioned the blow somewhat.”