March 1818
Weldon Manor
Manningtree, Essex
Felicia hummed as she used her trowel to work up the semi-frigid soil, periodically placing a flower bulb into the ground, mentally visualizing the dahlias in full bloom. She loved the spring, with its promise of life and hope and anticipation of idyllic summer months ahead. The long, barren, winter months were finally over, and the earth was ready to burst with life once again.
This spring was especially joyous to Felicia because she was no longer alone. She smiled as she thought of her beautiful young daughter, restored to her arms after four years of painful separation. Years of hopelessness and loss and seemingly endless disappointments, when she had been tempted to give up and succumb to despair, but ultimately did not because of her conviction that she had a child somewhere who needed her.
The sound of children's laughter came to her and she looked up to see four-year-old Cynthia and Peter, the housekeeper's son, chasing one of the hounds around the grounds behind the house. Peter grabbed the stick from the dog's mouth and threw it as far as his six-year-old arm could throw, and it landed on the shore of the lake, only a few feet from the water.
"Make sure they don't get too close to the lake, Alice!" Felicia called to the nursemaid who accompanied the children. She was still more than a little fearful of the possibility of losing Cynthia again so soon. Children died all the time from accidents or illness and Felicia had fought too long and hard to find her to be able to contemplate the thought of losing her again.
"Yes, ma'am," replied Alice, a young woman in her mid-twenties only a few years older than Felicia. "Come children, let's go walk in the orchard for awhile."
Peter stopped running and beamed with delight. "C'mon, Cynthia, there's an old apple tree that's great for climbing. If girls can climb trees, that is."
Cynthia was indignant. "I can climb it if you can," she insisted.
Felicia wasn't so sure about tree climbing either, but she didn't want to be too over-protective. She had enjoyed climbing trees herself at Cynthia's age, and one couldn't keep an active child penned up inside all day.
"Be careful, poppet."
"I'll watch them," promised Alice. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hammond."
As Felicia returned to her bulbs, she heard the sound of horses' hooves in the driveway. Multiple horses. Presumably a carriage and not a delivery vehicle, since it pulled up to the entrance of the house.
"Drat," she said aloud. "Who could possibly be calling on me now?"
In her dirty smock and old straw hat, she looked more like a servant than the lady of the house. Certainly not fit to receive company.
A maid in a black uniform and a clean white apron ran from the house. "You have visitors, ma'am. It's Mrs. Horace Prendergast and the Misses Prendergast from Litchfield Hall."
These were not Felicia's favorite neighbors, but they were prominent enough in the community that she couldn't afford to offend them. She stood up reluctantly and removed her gardening gloves.
"Well, it appears that I'm not going to finish planting today," she said with a sigh. "Maria, please ask Hodge to put away these things for me, and then advise the Prendergasts that I will be with them shortly."
As she made her way to the back stairs of the stately manor that had been her home for the past eight months, she marveled that her life had taken such a dramatic turn for the better. She felt a fierce pride that she was no longer dependent on the patronage of any man, nor woman either. Nor would she have to ever be again, she reflected, wiping away the sudden tears welling in her eyes as they always did when she thought of the gentle man whose unexpected bequest had made it possible for her to escape the bonds of the demimonde and live in quiet respectability in the beautiful county of Essex. She styled herself the widow of a non-existent Charles Hammond, but it was due to her position as the former mistress of Charles Jamison, the late Lord Kendall, that she had managed to take up a life in the world of respectability.
The purpose of the deception, she told herself, was for the protection of her child, who deserved a wholesome life, free from the scandal of bastardy. But it was also true that Felicia had no wish to live on the fringes of society, receiving the cut direct from the respectable "Christian" ladies while their randy husbands importuned her with their sexual advances at every turn. It mattered not to them that she had not chosen to fall into such a life; the fact that she had done so would have tainted her life and that of Cynthia, forever. In view of that harsh reality, Felicia felt no guilt over her deceit.
Ten minutes later, after a quick wash, her dark blonde hair twisted into a loose chignon, eyes bright from her exertions and freshly dressed in a morning frock of striped apple green and ivory, Felicia made her way to the parlor to greet her guests.
Eleanor Prendergast was a short, stout woman in her forties with faded blonde hair that was fast turning white. She wore a frock of bright yellow that seemed to draw all of the color out of her face. Her youngest daughter Cecilia was a pretty china doll, slim, blonde and blue-eyed—perhaps a younger version of her mother. Henrietta, the older girl, had chestnut brown hair, brown eyes, and towered over the other women. She must favor her father, thought Felicia. Both girls wore bright pink dresses with far too many flounces and furbelows to be tasteful.
"Mrs. Prendergrast, Miss Prendergrast, Miss Cecilia, what a pleasure it is to see you again," she said as she entered the room. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. Is it not a lovely day?" She rang the bell for the maid. "Maria, please have some tea brought up for our visitors right away, if you please."
"Mrs. Hammond, Mrs. Hammond," the youngest girl, Cecilia burst out. "Lady Eden's Aunt Temple has come to take her to London for the Season and she has brought all sorts of fashion plates and bolts of fabric and she is to have everything new as befits a young lady making her bow to the queen!"
"Cecilia, remember your manners!" chided her mother. "Mrs. Hammond cannot possibly be interested in such matters, not living in such quiet domesticity as she does here at Weldon Park."
"Dear Mama," the older girl, Henrietta, said condescendingly, "There is nothing at all of interest here in Manningtree. I'm sure Mrs. Hammond would much rather be in London with all the balls and parties and handsome young men, wouldn't you, Mrs. Hammond?"
"Well," began Felicia, "I suppose London can be very exciting for a young girl, but there is truly nothing like the beauty of Essex in the spring, with the blooming of the crocuses and daffodils and the return of the robins."
Cecilia laughed in disbelief. "You cannot mean it, Mrs. Hammond. What are a few flowers and birds compared to the hustle and bustle of London parties? Why, Lady Eden will be invited to all manner of ridottos and Venetian breakfasts and her Aunt Temple promises that she will get her an invitation to Almack's as well, and there she will meet all sorts of eligible young men and perhaps receive offers from dukes and marquesses!"
"When you put it that way, I suppose Manningtree does seem a bit dull," assented Felicia, as she poured the tea for her guests and offered them lemon tarts.
"Yes, you really are far too young to live so secluded, Mrs. Hammond," insisted Mrs. Prendergrast. "Do say you will come to our assembly next week. It would be completely unexceptionable now that you are out of mourning."
"I would give anything to have a Season in London," interrupted Henrietta, reaching for another lemon tart.
"Now Henrietta, you know your father won't hear of it until you are eighteen," said her complaisant mother, "although I do say you are much more prettily-behaved than Lady Eden, even though brunettes are the fashion these days."
"Well, if I were you, Mrs. Hammond," chimed in Cecilia, "I wouldn't stay in Manningtree a single day longer. I'd be off to London in no time at all and never come back here until I'm old and gray and have no handsome gentlemen to dance attendance upon me."
"But by then, my love, you will have your own daughters to present and find husbands for," prophecied Mrs. Prendergrast, sighing. "It is not an easy task to find the right sort of husband for a girl these days. So many fortune hunters and rakes about. One must be very careful with one's precious girls."
"So true," agreed Felicia, unable to consider allowing any gentleman to take away her own sweet daughter and feeling grateful indeed not to have to do so for a long time to come.
"But then, Mr. Hammond was a much older gentleman, wasn't he?" broke in Cecilia. "My husband is going to be young and very dashing and rich and titled. Isn't he, Mama?"
"I'm sure he will be, darling. Your papa wouldn't let you go to just anyone, you know," her mother agreed, with an indulgent smile at her younger daughter.
"Well, Lady Eden is setting her cap at the new Lord Kendall, Mama," chimed in Henrietta. "He is exceedingly handsome and such a Corinthian, too. She says that Lord Kendall has been making the rounds of all the fashionable parties and routs and is looking for a wife in earnest."
A startled Felicia choked back some of the tea she was swallowing, and Mrs. Prendergast eyed her thoughtfully.
"I don't believe he will look twice at Lady Eden," insisted Cecilia. "Not after all the high flyers he's had under his protection." Seemingly deaf to her mother's sharply drawn breath of distress, she continued, "Well, Mama, of course he won't marry one of those women, but I've heard that Lady Fleming, his current flirt, is hinting for a betrothal ring."
"Cecilia!" cried her mother. "Never say you have heard this improper gossip from Lady Eden! I daresay her mother would be beside herself if she heard her daughter speak so!"
"But Mama, everyone knows," replied the young girl. "Lord Kendall may be a rake, but they say reformed rakes make the best husbands. I'm sure I would prefer a rake for a husband," she confided.
At that point, Mrs. Prendergrast had had enough. Tight-lipped, she thanked Felicia for the tea, bid her good day, and herded the young ladies out the door. Felicia overheard the words "Hannah More" and "Strictures on Female Education," and guessed that the artless young misses would be spending a great deal of time at home in future reading improving books and learning how to go on in society.
As the maid took away the tea things, Felicia walked to the window and smiled as she watched Peter and Cynthia racing around as Alice looked on with a watchful eye. Her thoughts centered on the rumors that Anthony was seeking a wife. Why that had come as a surprise was a mystery to her. He was well-established as an earl now, having taken his seat in the House of Lords. He was of an age to marry and set up his nursery, and no doubt this Lady Fleming would make him an admirable wife. Would it be a ton marriage, made for the sake of wealth and connections, or was there some affection there, as had been implied by the young and impressionable Prendergrast chits? Would Anthony remain faithful to his new wife or would he eventually set up a mistress, as so many aristocratic gentlemen did?
Well it would NOT be her, Felicia determined. She had certainly made that clear to him very emphatically on more than one occasion. She wanted no more men in her life now that she had Cynthia to raise and a comfortable home and no financial worries. She would lavish her affection on her young daughter, and she would always honor the memory of Charles, the previous Lord Kendall, who had made it possible for her to do so.
But, she recalled reluctantly, it was Anthony who had restored her daughter to her. It was Anthony who had been responsible for finding Weldon Park and seeing to the details of the purchase and hiring the servants. While it was true that his Uncle Charles had appointed him trustee over Felicia's inheritance, Anthony had proven himself much more than a trustee.
A friend, thought Felicia. They had parted as friends. She felt a pang in the direction of her heart as she considered that friendship was all they could ever have, as she could never be either his wife or his mistress. It was enough, she told herself, to have such a man as a good friend. Hadn't she learned long ago not to waste time wishing the past had been different?
Her reverie was interrupted by the entrance of her abigail.
"A letter come in the mail, Mrs. Hammond. All the way from Lunnon!"
Maris was a sturdy woman, thirtyish but looked older, with grey-streaked brown hair covered with a mob cap. Although technically she was Felicia's abigail, the truth was that she was Felicia's loyal friend and confidant. Her only friend, really, other than Anthony.
"Thank you, Maris." She looked at the envelope and saw that it had been franked by the Earl of Kendall. "It's from Lord Kendall."
Maris's face became animated. "I told ye he was that gone on ye, miss. There's that look in 'is eye when he looks at ye. Why, ye could hook the man in a jiffy iffen ye tried."
"Things are not so simple as that, Maris. You know that," she scolded. Opening the letter, she scanned it quickly. "Anthony's solicitor is finalizing the sale of the house on Brook Street and he needs me to sign some documents related to the sale. He will be sending a carriage for us on Tuesday next." She gasped at reading the last few lines. "He's also sending an armed footman and insists that the man accompany us everywhere we wish to go while in Town. What nerve the man has, issuing such commands!"
"It's protectin' ye he has in 'is mind, ma'am. The earl knows there are those who would harm the both of us iffen they could, and I fer one am that glad fer the armed bloke," protested her loyal maid.
Felicia sighed. "I suppose you're right." She folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket. "It will be the last time to stay at Brook Street." Another sigh. "I hate to sell it because there are so many happy memories there of my life with Charles. But I have Cynthia now, and I don't intend to live there with her, even if we were to live in London. Which we won't," she asserted. "Weldon Park is our home now."
She'd be best pleased if she never had to go to the capital again. And once the house on Brook Street was sold, presumably she wouldn't have to. She and Anthony would have no reason to see each other again. Eventually, she would be able to think of him fondly and not with the painful ache in her heart.
Wouldn't she?