Refining Felicity by M. C. Beaton

Author:M. C. Beaton [Beaton, M. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7953-1510-7
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 2011-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

There is a tide in the affairs of women,

Which, taken at the flood, leads—God knows where

Lord Byron, Don Juan

DESCENDING THE STAIRS THE following morning, the Marquess of Ravenswood paused. Felicity was leaving to go to the review in Hyde Park with Lord Bremmer. Amy and Effy were seeing them off. Felicity, the marquess noticed, was clutching a huge parcel.

“What on earth is in that parcel?” he called.

The little group turned to face him. Amy and Effy were smiling, Lord Bremmer scowling, and Felicity looking defiant.

“Lady Felicity is going to drop off a parcel of her old clothes at St. George’s,” said Effy.

“And you on your way to see the review!” said the marquess, descending the stairs. “I shall be passing St. George’s myself this morning. Allow me to deliver the parcel for you.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Felicity. Lord Bremmer had turned a muddy colour. “Let us go,” added Felicity impatiently. The marquess watched them with narrowed eyes as they collided in the doorway in their haste to escape.

“Why do you look so angry?” asked Amy. “Bremmer is all that is suitable, although I confess I would have thought a man slightly older than Felicity would be more the thing.”

“I think she’s up to mischief,” said the marquess. He turned to the hovering butler. “Fetch that female here—the French dressmaker.”

“What do you want to see Yvette for?” asked Amy. “Does Miss Andrews wish her services? For she can’t have ‘em, you know. Yvette is my find. And she’s busy now, making clothes for me and Effy.”

“You’ll see” was all the marquess would say.

Yvette appeared behind the butler. She was a young Frenchwoman in her twenties, with black eyes, a sallow skin, neatly dressed brown hair, and a trim figure.

“Follow me, Yvette,” said the marquess.

“Shall we go and see what he is up to?” asked Effy as the marquess strode up the stairs, with the dressmaker scurrying after him.

“No,” said Amy. “You never can tell with gentlemen. Their moods are most odd. He is probably going to get her to make Miss Andrews’ wedding gown or something like that and does not want to offend us.”

The marquess led the way into Felicity’s bedchamber. It looked as if a bomb had hit it. Yvette clucked in dismay. Clothes were lying everywhere, where they had been dragged from drawers and closets.

“Now, Yvette,” said the marquess. “You should know the contents of Lady Felicity’s wardrobe by now. Tell me which clothes are missing.”

The maid quickly began to search the room. “That new gold silk pelisse with the swansdown trimming is missing,” she said half to herself, as she looked, “and the pink muslin with the five flounces, and the green carriage dress with the frogs, and—”

“Enough! I gather these were not old.”

“Oh no, my lord. They were my best creations and Lady Felicity seemed to like them.”

“That will be all,” said the marquess.

He hurried down to the drawing-room and confronted the sisters. “It is my considered opinion,” he said, “that Lady Felicity has eloped with Bremmer.

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