1
Felicity
Chesterfield Ball, London, England.
April 1817.
WHEN LADY FELICITY JENNINGS was told as a little girl she would grow up to be a duchess, it had felt like something plucked from a fairy tale. But now, leaning against the wall in a Chesterfield drawing room, watching her betrothed tup yet another woman, it was quite clear marrying the heir to a dukedom was far from a dream.
It had been four years of this. Well, not four years of watching her fiancé swiving other women against escritoires. But it had been four years ofhim beddingother women. And she had wanted to have a discussion with her fiancé about that little pickle. Not be subject to yet another one of his amorous pursuits.
Ironically enough, this was not the first assignation she’d stumbled upon tonight. It wasn’t the second, either. Apparently, the Chesterfield ball was awash with assignations. In seeking out her fiancé, she had stumbled across the Iron Duke with two women on their knees. One of those women happened to be her best friend, Lady Camoys—and while discussing Maribeth’s exploits was one thing, witnessing a man’s appendage down her best friend’s throat was a mite too much for her to handle.
So, she had fled to the next closed door. But still, no betrothed, just the Marquess of Dunmore stark-naked with Lady Torrington. It had been more difficult to pull herself away from that one. There was no naked-best-friend in that room. And…Lord Dunmore had been bound—bound—to the settee while Lady Torrington seemed to be using his body as her own personal pleasure play space.Thathad been enlightening. Felicity had tucked away those enticing observations for future fantasies
Then, finally, she had found her fiancé: Colborn Stuart, Lord Wessex.
Felicity sighed and stretched her stiff neck from side to side, rolling her shoulders. Was it bad that—as titillating as the assignations she had stumbled upon tonight were—she had no desire to attempt any of those activities with her own betrothed? She tilted her head, Colborn’s white arse clenching and unclenching as he thrust into the woman hidden from Felicity’s view. Unfaithfulness did a capital job at dousing sexual desire.
Four years betrothed. Four years of discovering her fiancé with women who were not herself. How many years were too many? Until she couldn’t take it anymore?
Four years seemed an apt number.
Especially considering what had come to light during her conversation with Mama last evening.
Something fell to the floor with a thud, the escritoire rocking wildly beneath the pair’s couplings. Probably Felicity’s hopes and dreams. Dear heavens, this waiting was becoming tiresome. She checked the clock on the mantel. Half-past eleven. She crossed her arms, and her foot picked up an impatient tapping.
Felicity had brought her mounting concerns about her impending marriage to her mother once again. This time, her mother must have finally seen Felicity’s concern for what it truly was—panic. Panic that had been simmering and brewing and intensifying into a monstrous presence over four years. Because of said bare-arsed cad in front of her. It was a pity. He actually had a nice arse. But the whole effect was ruined by the fact that the arse in question was attached to the prick currently inside another woman.
And that was when Felicity’s mother told her the truth. The horrible, heart-breaking truth. Her parents had not been the love match Felicity had always believed they were. It was not the rare, once-in-a-lifetime love hardly ever found amongst marriages in the ton. Not even close. It was a lie. A facade. A chimera.
It was the way of things, Mama had cajoled, and assured Felicity that marriage to Papa had been wonderful. She had loved Felicity’s father, just not in the romantic sense.
Felicity rubbed at the old, familiar ache that came every time she thought of Papa. Six years later, and she still felt his loss as keenly as ever. Perhaps that was part of what made her mother’s confession so hard to absorb.
Her parents had always been what Felicity pictured as the perfect marriage, the perfect example of love. The perfect Papa and Mama. Everything she yearned to have for herself.
But when it came to romance, her parents had both sought it out separately. With other companions. Outside their marriage.
Friendship in a marriage is much more important than love, her mother had said.You and Lord Wessex get along swimmingly. That is a great start for a marriage. You can find love elsewhere, darling.
How bloody lovely.
The woman hidden behind Colborn made an incredibly dramatic string of noises. Which was good, as it drowned out Felicity’s sardonic huff. Felicity was also quite sure the woman’s moans were feigned—either that, or they were cries of despair and not pleasure.
Felicity had not been inspired to make any such noises when Colborn had taken her virginity. Well, not taken… She had willingly given it. She winced at the memory. It had been very unpleasant.
She glanced around the horribly colored drawing room—it looked like someone had tossed up the most unappealing colors of the rainbow all in one room. Now that she thought about it, taking in the phlegm-green wall coverings and regurgitated-salmon pillows, it might have happened in this very drawing room. Ah, yes, there was the putrid mustard-yellow settee he had tupped her on.
Colborn’s grunts grew in volume and frequency. This should be over soon. Thank the bloody gods. She wanted to get this conversation over with already.
She sighed. Giving him her virginity had not had the effect she had hoped—the scene before her proof of that. Felicity had foolishly thought if she slept with Colborn, he would stop sleeping with other women. She hadn’t wanted to anticipate their vows, but if it meant gaining the fidelity of her soon-but-not-soon-to-be husband—because at four years, could one still even say soon-to-be husband?—she would do what needed to be done.
Perhaps that was a bit of a lie. Felicity had been curious about what all the fuss was about. The noises resembling a fatal animal attack filling the chamber she now stood in, being case in point. What could possibly inspire such noises?
Her best friend Maribeth had had a long line of lovers since she had married—Felicity walking in on Mare with the Iron Duke earlier being a prime example. Mareconstantlyraved about relations and what Felicity was missing out on.
And back when Felicity had lost her virginity—goodness, was that three years ago?—she had still been somewhat enamored of Colborn. Thought him quite handsome and dashing. But all of that had been quite literally dashed after their quick joining. Either Felicity was broken, or Colborn was not as talented as his reputation led one to believe.
