Page 22 of A Landscape of Love

“I wouldn’t do that,” Fidelia said, stung by the accusation.

“No,” Alex admitted, relenting. “You’ve never put on airs like some women do, playing with a chap’s feelings.”

“Good heavens, Alex!” Fidelia exclaimed, flustered now. “Whatever are you saying? Mr De Beauvoir has no feelings for me, and what on earth would you know about such things?”

It was Alex’s turn to blush, for he was only fifteen and his sister knew very well he had no experience of such teasing, womanly wiles, or the kind of females who employed them.

“I read,” he said darkly, and stalked out of the room.

Fidelia let out a breath. Drat it. Now Alex would sulk, and she was already apprehensive enough about tonight’s dinner without dealing with that. She had the strong suspicion that Mr De Beauvoir was dreading tonight and only wished to get it over and done with. After the event, she had realised they had manoeuvred him into a position where he could not refuse their invitation without seeming churlish. Whilst her father would insist the man was no gentleman, Mr De Beauvoir was far too kind and his manners too good to do such a thing. The poor man was probably preparing to grit his teeth and endure their company. It was a lowering thought.

In the end, Fidelia had to accept that Alex had been correct. She did take an age to get ready. Only it was such a difficult thing to decide what to wear. Though she did not wish to make Mr De Beauvoir uncomfortable by wearing her loveliest gowns, nor to look as if she were trying too hard, she was aware of a desire to appear at her best for him. So, it took an interminable amount of time to choose. Her maid, Sally, had only been with her for the past year and was a sweet, patient girl who had been kind to Fidelia despite her lack of interest in clothes or the outside world, but even she was showing signs of exasperation when Fidelia changed her mind for the fifth time.

“No, I shall wear the lilac after all,” she said, having decided it trod the line between her most extravagant and flattering gowns, and looking as though she had not bothered.

“Very good, my lady,” Sally said through her teeth.

“I beg your pardon, I’ve tried your patience tonight, haven’t I?” Fidelia said to her with a smile.

Sally shook her head as she carried the lilac gown over to her and helped Fidelia step into it.

“Oh, no, my lady. Indeed, it is good to see you in such spirits. I had begun to despair of you, if you want the truth, only—”

Sally clamped her mouth shut and ducked her head, concentrating on tying the skirts into place.

“Only?” Fidelia pressed.

“Nothing, my lady. ’Tis not my place to say so.”

Fidelia’s heart sank. Were the servants gossiping already? “Go on, Sally. You may speak freely. I shall not scold you for it.”

Sally returned a speculative look before she spoke again. “Well, it’s just that his grace don’t care much for Mr De Beauvoir, going on what’s been said downstairs. You understand? And… And won’t he be dreadfully cross with you for inviting him for dinner? He don’t like guests at the best of times, so I’m told, but you doing it behind his back, when he’s not even here, seems a dangerous thing to do. It’s just it’s so lovely to see you happy, my lady, and I’m afraid if he were to come back and lose his temper—”

“You think I might sink back into melancholy?” Fidelia guessed, touched by the young woman’s concern, and equally relieved she had not suggested there were other reasons for worrying.

Sally nodded and, impulsively, Fidelia reached out and hugged her. “You are the kindest creature alive, Sally dear. I’m so happy you came to me, for you have borne with my melancholia with far more kindness than I deserved.”

“Oh! No, my lady,” Sally protested, colouring deeply but looking pleased too.

“Yes,” Fidelia insisted. “But I shall not allow my spirits to sink so again, I promise you. Not even if the duke is crosser than he has ever been before.” And that would be quite something to see, Fidelia thought with a wry smile, remembering the day he’d discovered her pregnancy. Her smile faltered as she realised she would lose Sally too when she reclaimed her baby, but she would simply have to endure that. If she could not bear to part with her maid, she had no business looking for her son, for there would be far greater challenges to face than that.

“I’m glad,” Sally said, bringing Fidelia’s attention back to the conversation, and looking as though she meant it. “And I must be honest and admit it’s so lovely to see you making use of your lovely gowns at last. Though it’s a shame to waste them on Mr De Beauvoir when you ought to be in town, dancing with the other lords and ladies, and you really ought to be ordering more for the spring, you know. You’ll look sadly out of date if you don’t do so.”

Fidelia smiled, amused by the light of anticipation in the woman’s eyes, though the idea she was wasting her time in pleasing Mr De Beauvoir made a surge of irritation flare in her chest. “Very well, Sally. You have my permission to take all my magazines and select anything you think would suit me. Then we shall see.”

“Thank you, my lady!” Sally grinned.

“Lia!” Alex’s impatient voice followed a knock on the door. “Lia, tell me you’re ready, for heaven’s sake. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Yes, yes, nearly,” Fidelia replied, pulling a face at Sally. “Lud, help me,” she whispered frantically, hurrying to the dressing table to put the final touches to her toilette.

With such haste that Sally exclaimed and scolded her, Fidelia rushed to put on her earbobs while Sally fastened the matching amethyst necklace. The muted sound of male voices reached her, together with the soft thud of the front door closing, and Fidelia cursed herself. She was late after all. Rushing to the door with Sally’s protests ringing in her ears, Fidelia prayed that Mr De Beauvoir would not think she had delayed in order to make some grand entrance. The idea of pausing on the stairs while he gazed up at her and fell helplessly in love with her was a tempting one, but likely best confined to her romance novels. So instead, Fidelia belted for the staircase and hurried down, exclaiming as she went.

“Oh, do forgive me, Mr De Beauvoir. I’m afraid the day got away from me, I’m not usually so tardy and—”

And she missed the last step.

Hart looked up in alarm as a flurry of lilac silk appeared at the top of the stairs. His nerves were all on end as it was. He’d spent the entire day alternately cursing himself for accepting the blasted invitation and dreading the prospect of spending the best part of three hours in Fidelia’s company, while desperately anticipating seeing her again. Seeing her almost run down the stairs, heedless of the huge skirts that must impede her progress, not to mention her vision, Hart’s breath caught.