Marion Chesney
The Paper Princess
© 1987
For Madeline Trezza,
with love.
Chapter One
“It won't happen to me. Never to me!” said Miss Felicity Channing fiercely.
“Why not?” demanded her governess, Miss Chubb. “It's happened to your three elder sisters. Why not you?”
“I am made of sterner stuff,” said Felicity. Miss Chubb looked at her delicate charge's sensitive face and wide, vulnerable eyes and gave a cynical snort.
Both ladies were seated beside the fire in the nursery at the top of Tregarthan Castle in Cornwall. It had been an exhausting day, a day in which Felicity had watched her sister, Maria, sob her way to the altar to wed a man she barely knew.
Felicity had three elder sisters, and Maria was the last of the three to be forced by the girls’ stepfather, Mr. Palfrey, into an arranged marriage. Not content with being married to one of the richest women in England, Mr. Palfrey was always on the look-out for more money to support his lavish tastes. He had married Lucy Channing, the girls’ mother, when she was a pretty, young widow and the Channing girls were all still in the nursery. Felicity's mother, now Mrs. Palfrey, had been a permanent invalid for some years, allowing her husband full rein.
Mr. Palfrey was a thin exquisite of some forty years with a nasty waspish tongue and a determination to get his own way. His main ambition was to rid Tregarthan Castle of all his stepdaughters and then to modernize the place to suit his luxurious tastes. To that end, he had arranged marriages for each girl as she came of age. Penelope had been the first to go, wed to a baronet in Devon, then Emily to a rich merchant, and now Maria to a wealthy bishop. His aim in marrying the girls to rich men was to provide himself with the reassurance that they would make no claim on their mother's fortune. He had bullied his sick wife into making a will in which she left everything to him, having pointed out that her daughters were in no need of money. There was a “Scotch” clause in the history of the Channings that meant the estates and fortune did not automatically become the property of the husband and could be left to the daughters, if Mrs. Palfrey chose to do so. When Mrs. Palfrey protested weakly that there was still Felicity, Mr. Palfrey replied that Felicity had turned eighteen and would soon “be dealt with” like her sisters before her.
But Penelope, Emily, and Maria had inherited their mother's meek and biddable ways. The late Mr. Channing had been a member of the untitled aristocracy, a brave man, and a good soldier. He had also had a great zest for life, and a strong sense of humor. Out of the four, only Felicity had inherited her father's courageous spirit.
Her elder sisters had their mother's fashionable beauty: small, straight noses; small, rosebud mouths; and dark brown hair. Felicity's dainty, elfin figure; her large greenish-gold eyes in a delicate little face; and masses of dark red hair gave her a rare elusive beauty that was all her own. Looking at her, as she sat on the other side of the nursery fire, Miss Chubb reflected that it was extremely doubtful if Mr. Palfrey knew the strength of character of the last of his stepdaughters. For Felicity was fond of her mother and did everything she diplomatically could to be quiet and biddable and not cause any of the family scenes that made her mother turn paper-white and gasp for breath.
Miss Chubb was worried about her own future. After Felicity was wed, she was expected to find another post. She could not expect a pension from Mr. Palfrey, who was tightfisted about any money that was not to be spent on his own comfort.
She knew she had little hope of finding another position. She was fifty-two, a great age in these times when the mortality rate was high. She was a squat, stocky woman with a heavy face, and large, sad, brown eyes that made her look like some old family dog.
Felicity roused herself from her reverie. “After all, Miss Chubb,” she said, “there is surely no one left of a marriageable age in the vicinity.”
“I have heard talk,” said Miss Chubb, “about Lord St. Dawdy.”
“I know about him. He is in his fifties and has been married twice before. Also, he was not invited to the wedding, which shows a blessed lack of interest in him.”
“He would have been invited had he not been on the Grand Tour.”
“Indeed! I thought only very young men went on the Grand Tour.”
“It is said that the baron has been several times,” said Miss Chubb.
“My stepfather does not know me very well. He will find it difficult to force me into marriage with anyone.”
Miss Chubb forbore from depressing her young friend by pointing out the obvious-that a woman did not have any say in the matter, never had, and never would.
“I would not be too nice in my choice of gentlemen,” mused Felicity, her chin on her hand. “I must admit that neither Penelope nor Emily seems to have any complaints, and Penelope has those darling children. Children must be a great comfort.”
“Do you not have romantic dreams?” asked Miss Chubb, who had a great many herself.
“Oh, no, not I,” said Felicity with a laugh. “I am eminently practical. But I would have freedom of choice, you know, and not be treated like some slave. I mean to have a say; neither of my three sisters ever tried saying, ‘No.'”
“Perhaps they knew it would not have been of much use,” ventured Miss Chubb cautiously.
“Pooh! They are afraid of Mr. Palfrey. But I am not! It is early yet. Has he retired?”
“I do not think so,” said Miss Chubb. “One of the guests at the wedding breakfast spilt wine on the dining room floor, and just before I came up to join you, he was screaming at the housemaids and saying that no one must rest until the floor was restored to its former glory.”
Felicity sighed. Due to Mr. Palfrey's finicky tastes, Tregarthan Castle was like a museum. It was not a medieval castle, but a relatively modern one, a sort of folly built in the middle of the last century by her grandfather, who had had romantic tastes. It even had a moat with a drawbridge, turrets with arrow slits, and great metal cauldrons on the battlements for pouring boiling oil down on the invading troops who had lived only in her grandfather's active imagination.
Inside, everything was polished to a high shine. Precious objects lay embedded in silk in rows of glass cases, for Mr. Palfrey was a great collector of objets d'art. Not a cobweb, not a speck of dust was allowed to sully any surface. The servants were overworked and consequently surly. Only this nursery up under the leads had been spared Mr. Palfrey's collecting and cleaning zeal. It was cluttered with some of the furniture he considered too old- fashioned for the state rooms belowstairs, including two fine Chinese Chippendale chairs and a carved William & Mary chest.
“Let us dress up and go out,” said Felicity suddenly. Miss Chubb looked scared.
Sometimes, she and Felicity would dress up in men's clothes and ride to the nearest tavern. It was a small adventure because they usually went out when Mr. Palfrey was visiting London and there could be no chance of their absence being noticed. The only servant in on the secret was the head groom, John Tremayne, who detested Mr. Palfrey with a passion and who only stayed on out of loyalty to the remaining Channings.
