Felicity: An American Girl Romance PT3, CH7: The 'Un'wedding
Late December 1780
Felicity did not see Forsythe again until four days later. Against her better judgement she ate what was given to her for breakfast that morning, and as she suspected, the powders she'd been given began to work half an hour later. But this time she had been given the strongest dosage yet, and rapidly became immensely dizzy, utterly-mind-numbed, so out of it that she did not know if she was awake or asleep. Somehow, Helga and Genevieve got her into a satiny pink gown over satiny white petticoats with an great deal of lacy ruffling at he elbows, a low-cut bodice, and a rather high, pink-tinted wig that Felicity's delirious head want to keep dropping down, which in turn made the wig shift. Her feet were popped into heeled pink shoes that had a big pink rose on each one where a buckle usually went.
"This wig won't stay on her head long," complained Genevieve, who held Felicity upright in a chair seated at he vanity table. She and Helga got her seated just as the powders took effect, and 'twas a good thing, too, for Felicity was not fully conscious. The usually energetic red-head suddenly grinned sloppily and let her red head roll around whichever way the big wig wanted to tilt.
"Vat are you grinning about?" Helga grumbled irritably as she held up one of felicity's limp arms to try to get a white, satiny, elbow-length glove onto it.
"Hee Hee," Felicity slurred drunkenly. "I feel like a ploppy foppet! Er...a floppy poppy! Hee Hee! A floppy poppet!"
" 'E shouldn't have given 'er so much of that medicine!" Genevieve continued to complain as she watched Helga fuss with having Felicity's fingers in the wrong glove finger sockets. "What's 'e tryin' ter do, turn 'er into his mother? All that woman does is sit an' stare, or roam about like one o' th' walkin' dead!"
Helga crinkled her thin lips and wrestled with he glove fingers. "Vell, he has to have a vife in order to get the moneys dat vere put avay for him! His fadder probly thought he vould never marry, Heh heh!"
"But 'e could've chosen better!"
"He is von peculiar cuckoo, dat young man. But as long as I get paid, I vill not go about yelling it."
"But still!" Genevieve persisted.
"Dere!" Helga exclaimed, finally having won the battle of getting the fingers into the right sockets. Hastily she began the struggle with the other hand and arm. "Vy you alvays vant to complain? But...dat vas funny, vat you said..."
Genevieve frowned and looked confused. "What did I say?"
"Oh you know, about Missus Vorsythe, roaming about like ze valking dead!"
"Oh you know the legends of the dead rising from the grave. Corpses, you see," Felicity explained goofily in her state of delirium, "Dead folks. What walks around."
Genevieve rolled her eyes.
After the powdering and primping, all of which was done without Felicity's active participation, she was pulled to her feet and taken downstairs, and did not get her head even the slightest bit cleared until she felt the sudden jolt of a carriage starting out. And even then it did not surprise her to find herself in yet another carriage. She wasn't even sure she was awake! She was sitting beside big Helga and across from them sat Smedley and Reginald Forsythe, who was clad in frillier-than- maroon velvet with lavish gold embroidery on his coat and long ruffled cuffs at his wrists. Felicity managed to glare at Forsythe and mutter, "Where are you taking me this time?"
"Why, Felicity, have you forgotten?" Forsythe oozed with eerie calm delight. "This is our wedding day."
"Oh no..." She groaned drearily. "This has to be a nightmare...this cannot be happening to me..." Her pink-tinted wigged head rolled back as a helpless sound issued from her throat.
But Forsythe was not moved in the slightest. "Perhaps you feel that way now, my angel, given that you are young and have been without the proper tutelage for a lady, but soon you will learn the proper ways of a true gentlewoman and fall into your place as wife and mother."
If her breakfast had not already digested, she would have purposely stuck her finger down her throat and purged all over him and his maroon velvet. She attempted to clutch at her stomach in misery, but she could not even accomplish that. "I hate you," she moaned absently, feeling a new wave of illness crash over her that made her body feel like lead and her senses swim. 'Twas the sensation of being asleep and stunned by reality at the same time. Oh, those powders were really affecting her now! How was it that something could be created to make a person feel so in and out of their own body at the same time? It was pointless to try to focus on something bold and defiant to say when the spinning sensation totally dampened her efforts and repressed her responses.
The carriage was entering the city. Sounds of life, of other carriages in motion filled the air. Children shouting, horse-hooves upon cobblestones. Felicity was now just as oblivious to thier surroundings as people outside the carriage were to her. The powders had her looking and acting drunk, stupefied and right out of her pink-wigged head.
She wasn't even aware she was wearing a wig.
What else was there for her to do but give in to the effects of the vile stuff? Attempting to move the slightest bit was so much of a strain, and mentally focusing on something was just as difficult! Yet somehow she maintained a will power where she was bound not to let Forsythe have his way with her, no matter what manner of ceremony was performed. 'Twould be no real marriage. More like an act in a play, with the lead actress so full of potion that she could not recite her lines correctly-which she had been unwilling to do, anyway. Aye, that was what this was, a play. Nothing more. Not in Felicity Merriman's willful mind.
Forsythe however looked as proud as a (maroon) peacock. Lord of his domain. Deep in Felicity's subconscious, where things were felt more than thought, she wondered if she could appeal to this church minister for help. Convey to him the truth of her situation and find some help to get away.
Then it suddenly occurred to her that she had sunk into such a thick haze now that she could not even form a coherent sentence!
The black carriage pulled up to the majestic oaken doors of the beautifully gothic church of St. Mary Redcliffe, but Felicity was in too deep a brain-fog to look at anything. Not that she would not have much of the heart to see the beauty in anything in her situation. For all she was aware of, the carriage had just come to a halt before a big grey barn.
"It is time, my dear." Forsythe stated with firm anticipation.
So she was less-than-half aware that she was being pulled from the carriage by Smedley and Madame Helga without resistance, because her bones felt like heavy jelly and she could not summon strength to make them rigid. She was wearing a long white winter cloak so that she was not affected by the winter chill of late December. A blast of cold air might have helped to rouse her senses, but with Reginald Forsythe leading the way, Smedley and Helga had her ushered into the stately, shadowed church within a few minutes. The weight of the pink-tinted wig kept her head drooping forward and down, keeping her from getting a look at the church's grand nave and the high roof bosses of the impressive interior. 'Twas just as well, for she was loathing anything and everything associated with Forsythe. 'Twould be a shame to despise such a magnificent house of the Lord because of him.
A tall thin man in a neat, short white wig and the long black robes of a church minister appeared from the pews and into the long aisle. He spoke in low, pleasant tones with Forsythe and even smiled. Felicity tried to lift her head, blinked rapidly in a feeble attempt to clear her watery vision, but could only manage a brief semi-clear look at the minister.
Oh my God, he IS a minister...
"Mama could not attend, so we decided to be happy with just a simple ceremony, and have the festive dinner in a few days," Forsythe was saying to the rector, his mood light as if he had just been discussing the weather. "Mama is in too poor a condition to go anywhere, the sad dear. I'm afraid she no longer recognizes people, including me sometimes. 'Tis such an upsetting scene, to see her so blanck-minded..."
Though unable to express it or react to it, a warning bell was clanging in the small fraction of Felicity's mind that tried bitterly to cling to consciousness: Is he trying to put me in the same condition as his mother? 'The walking dead' is how Genevieve described her! I cannot let THAT happen as well! Dear Lord how do I get out of this? I cannot think...falling asleep...falling...
A curled finger slipped gently under her chin and raised it. The minister was looking at her. His eyes were dark blue and seemingly kind in a fatherly way. He had fine lines at the outer corners of his eyes, the paternal expression of a mild-mannered gentleman who could be someone's father. How did a man like this get bribed into performing a one-sided marriage ceremony? Could he not see the dull, unresponsive look in her eyes? Couldn't he see that she was not happy to be there? It was taking two people to hold her up!
"What is your name, my dear?" The minister asked gently.
Name. He wanted her name. She had to think about it...No, wait...thinking took too much strength. Her mouth was dry. Yet ever so groggily she managed to mumble "Fflissie."
" 'Felicity'," repeated the man, seeming to be satisfied with that. "And are you indeed from the American colony of Virginia?"
"Yes," came her delayed but absent, sleepy reply.
"Reginald Forsythe brought you here, is that correct?
"Yes!" she pushed out breathlessly...but the minister seemed to see it as her being roused in eagerness. She desperately wanted to say more, to blurt out that he had forced her to come here, forced her to do this, but she could not form a sentence fast enough, for the minister nodded with satisfaction at that, too, then turned to Forsythe, who was smiling quite smugly.
"Does she know where she is, my Lord Forsythe?" inquirted the minister pleasantly.
"A...ah..." She simply could not think! Church, church, church, I am in a church! She released a small whimper helplessly. You are a man of God! Why can't you see what is happening here? Without realizing it, a word tumbled from her lips that sounded very much like "Lurch."
Smedley sighed impatiently. The minister turned back around to her and said with a broad smile, "Ah, so you are aware that you have come to church to be married! Very good."
"And you know that this man wishes the very best for you, so that within the sacred bonds of matrimony you will begin the process of healing from your traumatic experiences in the colonies?"
Felicity's head swam. Words were not making clear sense to her! "I do, but he,,," And just like that, her knees went limp and she started to go down, but Smedley and Helga grabbed her up fast. She jerked, fluttered her eyelids sleepily. She had gone right to sleep whilst speaking!
Madame Helga made an interrupting coughing sound and said "'Tis her medicine, reverend. She alvays vants to nap ven she takes der medicine!"
Forsythe breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, good rector, she requires a medicine to soothe her nerves, as prescribed by my family's personal physician. Without it she would be back in a world of traumatic delusions. She is prescribed the same medicine as my mother."
"Vithout zem, his mudder vould be a sobbing, vetched mess," agreed Helga supportively, in a matronly fashion. She patted Felicity's shoulder so hard that the girl would have dropped to the floor for certain if Smedley had not tightened his hold on his side. He glared at Helga irritably.
"Indeed," further agreed Forsythe readily. "You are quite familiar with Mama-you know she is much worse off than my beautiful bride here. Under my loving care and supervision Felicity will recover and become the Lady of Forsythe Manor, where she will find her new life rewarding. So...may we now continue with the proceedings?"
"Oh! Oh yes, of course, let us begin," said the reverend with a happy smile. "I see that your butler and maid servant constitute as your witnesses, which is all very well-"
"Reverend," Forsythe interrupted with forced gentle hastiness, "need I remind you that all of the legal acquirements have already been taken care of with the help of my family's barrister? Seeing how my and my fiance's situation is termed 'exceptional' and further supported by my physician, there is no need to further delve into details. All has been arranged. Do proceed."
The reverend looked athe odd young lord quizzically for a moment, then turned to collect his Book of Common Prayer from where it was laying on the pew to his left. He cleared his throat in preparation for orating. "Let us proceed to the altar." According to the church's superiors, everything had been taken care of where the legal requirements were concerned, but the reverend still could not help but feel like this union was being rushed. And he had witnessed plenty of rushed marriages before, having been present at several Fleet Street marriages in London, but the Marriage Act had been passed in 1753; a couple could no longer have a clandestine union declared.
And young Lord Forsythe had done everything legally, albeit quickly. The young man's title and wealth most likely played a major part in getting this little ceremony arranged. But what complaint could the reverend make when his superiors had already approved the union? The bride did not seem to be...fully conscious. Aye, they had of medicines for nerves, all right, but in the reverend's opinion, she seemed to be a little too medicated.
Felicity was once again in movement, being taken down the aisle to the ornate, medieval-looking altar to stand before the reverend, who already had his prayer book open to the well-worn page of matrimonial vows, but it just didn't seem to be real to her. In her heart she knew what was happening, but her senses were useless in sinking it in. An act in a play, she thought dizzily. Nothing more. 'Tis not happening for real.
Wonder what my wedding to Ben would have been like...
And the reverend began the ceremony with verses from Genesis 1: 26-28. It barely registered in her mind that she had heard those verses before. Forsythe had taken Smedley's place at her side, holding her up with his chin raised and a smug, victorious smile on his white face. He had won this battle, and he was most likely believing he had won the war as well.
No! Felicity decided, struggling to stay awake. I WILL win the war! I cannot continue on like this, half-awake, half-asleep. I will become just like his poor shell-of-a-mother if i allow this to continue! From now on, I must stay a step ahead of him...And it seems that he prefers to give me those powders in larger quantity when he is expecting to carry out one of his big plans, like getting me on the ship. Getting me here...Oh no, falling asleep again...Yet another wave of intense sleepiness was crashing over her where her eyelashes fluttered and she nearly sank to floor unconscious.
Forsythe's hold on her tightened.
Oh how I hate him! He will NOT have his way with me! I will NOT do as women are told to and submit! I am STILL Felicity MERRIMAN! I am independant and owned by NO ONE!
"...marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly," read the reverend, "but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God..."
Felicity did not know that an ocean-world away in the colonies, Benjamin Davidson was in New York, scouring the harbors for people who had information on a 'Lord Forsyythe' who wwas trying to return to Bristol, England with a beautiful red-headed girl of sixteen, who would be very unhappy and unwilling to go. She did not know that Ben had with him Caleb Haverty and Walter Wheaton to help in his search for her.
Felicity did not think that Ben Davidson was looking for her at all.
"Into this holy union Lord Reginald Maxim Forsythe and Miss Felicity Merriman now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now, or else for ever hold your peace..."
She did not know Ben was self-tortured over the way he had reacted that fateful morning, how he could not sleep at night or hardly eat. How scared he was that she was suffering at Forsythe's hands. Literally. She did not know that he was sick with worry and fear and self-loathing. That his nightmares continued on during the day, and would continue to do so until she was back in his arms forever, which was his only goal in life now.
"Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"
She was not paying attention, of course. The temptation to lapse into sleep again was terribly irresistable; her eyes were not closed for long, however. Helga elbowed her in the side so hard that she simultaneously gasped, jerked and snapped her eyes open. She only had a moment to glare at the big woman and exclaim irately, "What!"
"Ze minister ist speaking to you!" Helga scolded out a corner of her mouth. "Answer heem!"
Forsythe knew she distracted and heavily medicated, so he asked sly, mindfully, "Felicity?"
"Yes?" mumbled Felicity, already back under the effects of the powders, her eyelids drooping.
"Excellent," smiled the reverend, now turning to Forsythe, who could not have looked smugger if he tried. "Now do you, Lord Reginald maxim Forsythe, take Miss Felicity Merriman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to..."
She didn't know how much longer she stood there while the reverend droned on, but once or twice she thought she saw a pig flying through the church's apses, and turned her head to 'watch' it, giggling mischeviously so that the rector had to stop reciting in mid-verse to blink at her and inquire as to what the matter was. but she could not stop snickering for several minutes.
"Stop zat!" Helga snapped under her breath, nudging the giggly girl some more. "Stop zat laughing zis instant!"
Forsythe sighed uncomfortably and Smedley rolled his tired eyes yet again. The reverend smiled sympathetically and said, " 'Twould appear your young bride is quite giddy!"
" 'Tis the medicine," replied Forsythe and Helga at the same time.
The reverend's smile thinned.
So in the course of the ceremony, whenever Felicity was required to give a response she was elbowed by Helga, which in turn spurred her to react verbally in a way that the reverend found to be a satisfying-enough affirmation. Of course Reginald Forsythe was quick in responding to his part, and because it was understood and accepted that his bride was 'under the supervision of a physician,' Felicity was not required to recite her part of the matrimonial oath. In her mind, she was an ocean-world away, exchanging vows with the only boy and man she had ever loved.
"I present to you now Lord and Lady Forsythe," completed the reverend authoritively, closing his prayer book. Forsythe immediately turned to Felicity, eager for a kiss with his thin lips puckered, but 'twas a blessing that at that very moment her head rolled back as she dropped into full sleep, complete with instantaneous snoring. Her pink slippered feet slipped out from under her but she was caught under the armpits by a gasping Madame Helga. The pink-tinted wig that had been dangerously close to sliding off of her head finally did, dropping to the floor with a thick plop.
The reverend nearly laughed out loud. He laid an encouraging hand upon Forsythe's shoulder and said, "Perhaps you should take your pride home now, Reginald. 'Twould seem she is...rather exhauisted."
"Indeed," muttered Forsythe in irate disappointment. He beckoned to Smedley, who had been very close to nodding off himself without the help of medicinal powders, and grumbled, "Collect her, will you? And do stop that obsessive sighing, old man! You are not quite that old, you know!"
Felicity was being held off the ground by big Helga, who gladly allowed Smedley to pick the girl up and carry her out to the carriage, snoring all the way. Helga collected the idiotic wig while Forsythe paid his stiff gratitude to the reverend. The uncertain rector watched them leave, unable to help but feel something was terribly amiss. Even if the union was approved and the circumstances explainable to the church elders' satisfactions, the befuddled reverend was becoming more and more uncomfortable with it. Yet what was done could not be undone.
Could it?