Captain Fawley's Innocent Bride

‘I…I hope you will not.’

‘Of course I won’t! What do you take me for?’ She laid one hand upon Deborah’s arm. ‘Goose. I think you must really need to lie down if you are as snappish as this.’

‘Yes,’ Deborah mumbled, hanging her head guiltily. ‘Yes, I think I must.’

Though she felt wrung out after that episode, sleep remained far from her as she lay rigidly on top of the counterpane, her fists clenched at her sides. She did not know what was the matter with her. Why had she got so angry with Susannah? Oh, if only this Season was over, and she could leave London and all its painful associations behind.

As soon as Susannah’s future was settled, she would begin to scour the papers and apply for every post suitable for a lady of gentle birth.

She was never going to get married.

She did not want to get married!

Not if it meant playing the sort of games Susannah was indulging in.

* * *

A week later, as she entered the portals of Challinor House, Deborah was glad she had allowed Susannah to talk her into buying a new gown.

‘Papa will pay for it!’ she had airily promised. ‘And don’t think of it as charity. He has hired your mother to bring me to the notice of the best families, and I am sure he will think the cost of one gown well worth it to have us both looking our best when we walk into the house of a marquis!’

That had been all it had taken to sway Deborah. They both had to look the part, not just Susannah. If Deborah merely refurbished one of the few ballgowns she had, or remade one of Susannah’s cast-offs, as she had first intended, every woman there would know she was purse-pinched. And then they would look at Susannah, decked out in her finery, and see the true state of affairs. A girl who had to hire someone to launch her into society would not be looked upon with the same indulgence as one who was being sponsored, out of friendship, by a family with as good a pedigree as the Gillies.

Still, seeing the diamonds that glittered at the throats and ears of so many of the other guests as they slowly made their way up the stairs, made her feel as though it was she, and not Susannah, who was the impostor here. Though her ballgown was quite the finest thing she had ever owned, a superbly cut satin slip, with an overdress of gauze embroidered with hundreds of the tiniest beads whirling in intricate patterns, little puffed sleeves and a demi-train of spangled lace, her only jewellery was a single strand of pearls that had been her mother’s.

‘I don’t need such gewgaws at my age, dear.’ She had smiled as she clasped it about her daughter’s neck just before they came out. ‘In fact, I prefer to conceal as much of my neck as I can!’ She had recently taken to wearing an assortment of floaty scarves draped about her throat. The one she had on tonight was a delicate wisp of powder blue, which, Deborah had to admit, somehow managed to put the finishing touch to an outfit that was as elegant as anything that the other older ladies were wearing.

At length, they came to the head of the receiving line, and she finally came face to face with her host and hostess. The Marquis of Lensborough bowed his head in greeting to her mother, expressed the appropriate sentiments to her, but then merely looked at Susannah as though…she gasped—as though she had no right to be there. As his features settled into a decided sneer, Deborah took a strong aversion to him. Why on earth did Susannah want to ingratiate herself with people of his class, who would only ever look down their aristocratic noses at her? And his fiancée, a tall, rake-thin redhead, was no better. She had the most haughty, closed expression of any woman Deborah had ever met. It was a relief to get past them and make for the ballroom.

‘Ah, there is Gussy!’ said her mother, spotting the dowager Lady Lensborough holding court from a sofa in an alcove just off the ballroom proper. Deborah felt her lips rise in a wry smile. It had come as a shock when, not two days after Captain Fawley had made his promise to get them an invitation, the dowager Marchioness of Lensborough had swept into their drawing room, and proceeded to treat her mother as though she was a close friend. She soon learned that this was not so very far from the truth. They had known each other as girls, and though their paths in life had taken very different directions, they had kept up a sporadic correspondence.

She had made both girls stand, and turn and walk before her, before she deigned to hand over the coveted invitations.

‘I will not have any chit in my ballroom who will not do it credit,’ she had said outrageously. ‘You are both pretty enough, in your own ways.’ She had raised her lorgnette and frowned at each in turn. ‘It is a great pity that your daughter has not her friend’s looks and fortune, Sally. But then again, she has not the advantage of breeding. But there…’ she sighed ‘…that is always the way of things. And there is no real reason why either of them should not marry well. My own son has gone for character, over beauty, in the choice of his bride, as I am sure you will discover when you meet her.’ She clicked her tongue in exasperation. ‘Men are such odd creatures. No telling what will take their fancy.’

Susannah and Deborah followed closely in her mother’s wake, like chicks seeking the warmth of a mother hen. The dowager’s evident pleasure in seeing the girls served as a welcome antidote to their frosty reception, and reassured the other guests that these two girls were persons worthy of notice. Soon, Susannah’s hand was being solicited for the dancing that was about to ensue. She very correctly saved the first dance for Captain Fawley, but when he came to claim her hand, Deborah was somewhat startled to find he had brought a tall, fair-haired man with him.

‘Permit me to introduce my half-brother, Miss Gillies,’ he said to her. ‘Lord Charles Algernon Fawley, ninth Earl of Walton.’

He looked nothing like Captain Fawley. Not only was he fair-haired and blue-eyed, but there was nothing about their facial features to suggest they could be related at all.

Deborah curtsied. He bowed, then shocked her by saying, ‘Would you do me the honour of allowing me to partner you for the first dance?’

It was with mixed feelings that she allowed Lord Walton to lead her on to the dance floor. It had been so kind of Captain Fawley to ensure she was not left on the sidelines, while Susannah formed part of the set that opened such a glittering ball. She had never danced with an earl, never mind such a handsome one. She should have been giddy with rapture. But as they trod the measure of the stately quadrille, she could not help being agonisingly aware that, though she formed part of the set that contained Captain Fawley, she was not his partner. Nor could she help but be aware of the satisfaction that gleamed from his eyes every time he linked hands with Susannah.

On the whole, she was glad when the exercise was over, and Lord Walton led her back to the bench where her mother was sitting, chatting happily with a bevy of dowagers.

As Susannah’s next partner came to claim his dance, Captain Fawley bowed stiffly to Deborah. His face looked a little strained as he said, somewhat defensively, ‘I am not going to ask you to dance, Miss Gillies. But may I have the pleasure of your company during the next set, if your card is free?’

In spite of all the stern lectures she had given herself, her heart began to beat a tattoo against her ribs in response to his request. In truth, she would much rather spend time talking to him, than treading prescribed steps in time with the music. Especially since she could tell that performing the quadrille had cost him quite dearly. Lines of tension bracketed his mouth, and his eyes were dulled with pain.

‘Yes, thank you. I should like that.’ She smiled, laying her hand upon his arm as he held it out. ‘In fact,’ she suggested, sensitive to his evident discomfort, ‘I should quite enjoy sitting and watching the dancers.’

He quirked one eye at her. ‘You sound just like Heloise—that is, my sister-in-law, Lady Walton. As an artist, she likes to observe the ton at play. Do you sketch?’

‘Oh, no, not really. No more than any young lady is supposed to.’

He suddenly frowned. ‘Of course, you are not in the best of health, are you? Here, let us sit on this sofa, so that you may rest.’

‘I do not need to rest. Not tonight. I am not generally invalidish,’ she retorted. Then could have kicked herself for being so insensitive. He had probably homed in on her precisely because he thought she was frail, so that he could have the opportunity to sit without making it look as though it was what he needed to do.

He settled her on a cushioned window seat, far enough from the swirling crowds so that they could engage in conversation, yet still within sight of the chaperon’s bench.

‘Are you enjoying your Season?’ he enquired politely, ignoring her last tactless remark.

‘In some ways.’ She sighed. She did not want to waste her few precious moments with him in polite nothings. Yet he did not look as though he was really interested in her answer. ‘I am certainly glad to see my mother enjoying herself so much.’ She looked across the room to where Mrs Gillies was dividing her time between chatting with her acquaintances and watching Susannah’s progress with obvious satisfaction. ‘From the moment we heard that a Season in London was going to be possible after all, it was as though she came back to life.’

‘Your father died not long ago, I seem to recall?’

‘Yes, and it hit her very badly. For several months she seemed to lose interest in everything. I had to…’ She paused. She did not want to sound as though she was complaining. ‘Well, we were not left in very comfortable circumstances. But look at her now.’ She smiled fondly at her mother across the room. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. ‘It has done her so much good to launch Susannah. And finding so many of her old friends in London has successfully distracted her from her problems.’

‘But what of you?’ he persisted. ‘I can see your friend is enjoying her triumph. And that your mother is in her element. But how does the delicate Miss Gillies fare in the hurly burly of London society?’

‘I have told you before, I am not in the least delicate! It was only because…’ She tailed off, blushing as she realised she was on the point of divulging just how desperate their straits had been before the Hullworthys had come to their rescue.

The little cottage, which had seemed perfectly charming when they had moved in during the summer, had revealed all its inadequacies during the first autumnal storm. The roof leaked, the windows rattled in their casements, and the chimneys smoked. Her mother had shrunk into herself as though finally realising that she was going to eke out the rest of her days in penury. Feeling as though she had contributed to her mother’s state of mind, by not having managed to find somewhere better, Deborah’s health had broken down.

That, at least, had roused Mrs Gillies from her apathy. Fearing that she might lose her daughter, as well as her husband, within the space of a few months, she had put pride to one side and finally accepted the Hullworthys’ offer of rooms up at the Hall so she could nurse Deborah back to health in warmth and comfort.

Even though it meant they had become charity cases.

Deborah was only having this Season at all because she felt she owed the Hullworthys her very life. She had not wanted to come, especially not at their expense, but Susannah wanted her mother to launch her into society, and Deborah was necessary to make the whole thing look right.

‘If you must know, this whole thing seems…unreal. Wasting entire days shopping so that we may fritter away the evenings dancing, or doing something equally frivolous…it is a bit like living a dream, from which I am waiting to awake, so that I can get back to my real life again.’

‘Do you dislike it so much?’ he frowned.

‘Oh, no. It is quite a pleasant sort of dream…’ she sighed ‘…for the most part.’ She frowned down at the dainty satin slippers that peeped from beneath the hem of her gown, wondering what on earth had possessed her to speak so frankly. Yet having begun, she felt a compelling urge to unburden herself to the one person she thought might understand her sentiments.

‘It is just that I cannot ever permit myself to enter into it all in quite the same way as Miss Hullworthy does. She is here to catch a husband, whereas I…’ Her breath hitched in her throat.

‘You do not wish to marry?’ Captain Fawley looked puzzled.

‘Of course, marriage would be my preferred option. But being of a practical nature, I have to consider what I will do when my time in London is over, should I not have received any offers.’

‘And what decision have you come to?’ he asked, with a smile.

‘That I shall have to find some kind of paid position, of course. Either as a governess, or teacher. I would prefer to secure a post as a housekeeper, for I know that is a job I could do really well. However, I do not think anyone would employ a girl as young as me for such a responsible post.’

‘Would anyone employ a girl of your background for a teaching post, either?’ She shot him a look of chagrin. But there was nothing in his face to suggest he was mocking her. On the contrary, he only looked as though he was curious.

‘I think they might, yes,’ she retorted, lifting her chin. ‘All I shall need to do is teach other young ladies the very same things I have had to learn. I can do household accounts, and bake, and sew. And, what is more, Papa taught me Greek and Latin,’ she finished proudly.

‘Do many schools for little girls have Greek and Latin on the curriculum?’ He laughed.

‘They might have,’ she replied, fixing him with a challenging look. ‘There might be some schools that work on the ethos that girls have a right to learn all the things that boys do, and not restrict them to sewing, and deportment, and drawing.’

‘Are you equipped to teach them to fence and box, by any chance?’

Part of her wanted to take offence at his words, but the smile in his eyes as he teased her was so appealing, she found herself laughing instead.

‘Oh, very well, not perhaps everything, but you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I rather think I do.’ He smiled, getting to his feet. ‘Pray forgive me, Miss Gillies, but I must take my leave of you. Now that I have had my dance with Miss Hullworthy, and spent this delightful interlude with you, it is time I was elsewhere.’

Delightful interlude. He had said this had been a delightful interlude.

She stared up at him, her heart sinking as she noted the blankness of his face as he bowed his farewell. It was just the sort of nonsense men spouted all the time. Something to say. He hadn’t really meant it.

‘Goodnight, then, Captain Fawley,’ she managed to say, though she could not muster the smile she should have raised to go with the polite utterance. Nor could she tear her eyes away from him, as he limped away. As he bade farewell to his host, Lord Lensborough’s face darkened. And after he had gone, the Marquis turned and glared at Susannah, as she made her way down the current set, his fists clenching as though he was restraining the urge to seize her and throw her bodily through the nearest window.

At first, his demeanour shocked her. But then she reminded herself that she did not like the way Susannah treated Captain Fawley, either. Lord Lensborough might not be a very pleasant man, but he was clearly capable of loyalty towards those he considered friends.

And it was hard to sit and watch Susannah enjoying herself, when Captain Fawley, who had been responsible for bringing her here, had just slunk out, alone, into the night.

Oh, why could not Susannah appreciate what it was costing Captain Fawley to court her? He found it physically painful to dance, and yet he had persistently begged for the privilege of doing so with her, so ardent was his admiration. He could not even bear to remain in this ballroom, when he knew his own case was hopeless. He had laid himself open to rejection, time and time again, and yet it all meant nothing to her! Why couldn’t she see that the esteem of a man like him was worth far more than landing a title? What did it matter if his body was no longer completely whole? It was the heart of a man that mattered.

And Captain Fawley’s heart was Susannah’s for the taking.

Susannah’s.

She must not forget that. Not for an instant.

Snapping her fan open, Deborah rose to her feet, and made her way rather unsteadily to the bench on which her mother was sitting.

Chapter Three

It was a glorious afternoon. Though there was hardly a cloud in the sky, a deliciously cool breeze skittered playfully through the chestnut trees, making the air beneath their boughs sweet enough to drink. Sadly, Deborah’s pleasure in being out of doors was dimmed somewhat by the company she was in.

Although Susannah no longer viewed Baron Dunning with much enthusiasm, she had not turned down his invitation to promenade through Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. Particularly since he had been thoughtful enough to bring along his friend, Mr Jay, to escort Deborah. The girls had both hoped that having male escorts would make the walk rather more like the brisk outings they were used to taking in Lower Wakering. But the men were no more willing to stride out than the hired London servants were. They strolled along at a snail’s pace, pausing frequently to acknowledge acquaintances or point out persons of interest who were bowling along the carriage drive in smart barouches or landaulets.

Deborah’s heart sank as yet another friend of Mr Jay’s called out a greeting, then, upon catching sight of Susannah, pulled his rather showy chestnut mare alongside them.

‘What brings you to the park at this hour, Lampton?’ Mr Jay asked him as he swung down from the saddle. ‘Wouldn’t have thought it was quite your thing.’

‘Oh, you know,’ Mr Lampton said vaguely, his attention riveted upon Susannah. ‘Won’t you introduce me to your charming companions?’

Deborah’s first impression was that he must be one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. He was tall and well built. A lock of fair hair strayed from under his curly-brimmed beaver hat, but she would have guessed at the colouring anyway, from the fairness of lashes and brows that framed forget-me-not blue eyes.

‘Oh, this is Miss Gillies,’ Mr Jay said briefly. ‘Miss Gillies, the Honourable Percy Lampton.’

‘Charmed to make your acquaintance,’ said Mr Lampton, turning on a smile so patently false, it immediately put Deborah’s back up. Men as handsome as this were not charmed to make her acquaintance. They usually ran their eyes over her swiftly, assessing her scrawny figure, the cheapness of her dress, and then the expression in their eyes became dismissive, or sometimes even downright scornful.

‘Mr Lampton,’ she repeated, making the proper curtsy, though she found it hard to muster up a reciprocal smile.

‘And who, pray, is the dasher upon young Baron Dunning’s arm?’ he enquired, turning to make an exaggerated bow to Susannah.

While the introductions were made, the horse became quite skittish.

‘You were correct about this brute,’ Mr Lampton said to Mr Jay, tugging ineffectually on the horse’s reins while its hindquarters surged across the path. ‘Too high spirited by half.’

‘Yes. I say, don’t you think you ought to…?’ Looking somewhat alarmed, Mr Jay let go of Deborah’s arm and darted under the horse’s tossing head. Shooting a look over his shoulder, he said to Baron Dunning, ‘Perhaps you should move the ladies a little further away.’

While he set about calming the horse, with a competence Deborah had to admire, Baron Dunning linked arms with her and moved her out of range of those potentially dangerous hooves.

And somehow, once the incident was over, Mr Jay had the horse, Baron Dunning had Deborah on his arm, leaving Mr Lampton in sole possession of Susannah.

That was how it remained, all the way home. And Baron Dunning, far from exerting himself to be pleasant to Deborah, could not disguise his annoyance at being so neatly cut out by the newcomer. Deborah felt amused, rather than offended, only wondering how on earth Susannah would decide between all her suitors in the end. Although, if she could not make up her mind, there was nothing to stop her from returning to London again the next year. She was wealthy enough to be choosy. Her parents would not mind in the least if she went home without a husband in tow. So long as she enjoyed herself, and did not throw herself away on a nobody.

She sighed, remembering their conversation the morning after the Marquis of Lensborough’s ball.

‘I am not to throw myself away on a nobody,’ she had said defiantly, when Deborah had challenged her for asking her mother to make further enquiries about Captain Fawley. ‘Even if he is not what I thought him at first, I must not encourage him if he does not have any prospects.’

Sadly for Captain Fawley, it had not taken her mother long to discover that his prospects were non-existent.

‘The eighth Earl of Walton married twice,’ she had explained. ‘The first marriage was arranged by his family, while he was scarce out of his teens, to ensure the succession, for he was the only son. They matched him with one of the Lampton girls, who, eventually, presented him with a healthy boy. He chose his own wife the second time he married, for reasons of sentiment, rather than duty. There was some sort of scandal about the time he died, which I have not been able to get to the bottom of, but the upshot was that the boys were parted and reared separately. The current Earl,’ she said, leaning forward in her chair to dispense her nugget of gossip in a thrilled tone, ‘scoured the battlefields of Spain to find Captain Fawley when he got news of how severely injured he was. He brought him home, and spent a fortune having him nursed back to health, thus effecting their reconciliation.’

‘So,’ said Susannah, getting to the nub of the matter, ‘does that mean he is eligible, or not? If he is truly the younger son of an Earl, he must have a title, as well as his rank of captain from the army, must he not? And…’ She bit at her lower lip as she hesitated over broaching the indelicate topic of money.

But Mrs Gillies knew what interested her charge, without having to have it spelt out for her.

‘No, he was never officially recognised as the eighth Earl’s son. Nor did the old man leave him anything in his will. It all went to the current Earl. All Captain Fawley has is his army pension.’

‘That’s shocking!’ cried Deborah, her fists clenching in indignation. ‘Why was he cut out of the inheritance? It is not as if the present Earl cannot afford to spare a little. He must be one of the wealthiest men in England!’

Susannah laughed. ‘Don’t be such a goose, Debs. Isn’t it obvious? Haven’t you wondered why the two so-called brothers bear not the slightest resemblance to one another? No wonder the Lamptons threw the second wife out.’ Picking up her cup of tea, and taking a dainty sip, she added, ‘Well, that rules him out, for certain. Papa would never countenance me marrying a man who was born on the wrong side of the blanket.’

‘Now, Susannah, dear, I hope you won’t go around suggesting that I even hinted that Captain Fawley might not be legitimate. The Earl of Walton gets most upset with anyone who repeats that old scandal. He guards his brother’s reputation zealously. And if you offend a man of his standing…’

Susannah had shrugged, calmly putting Captain Fawley out of her mind now that she had no further use for him.

It was a relief to get home from their walk in Hyde Park and slough off the disappointed suitors who would, if etiquette had not forbidden such tactics, have cheerfully shoved Mr Lampton off the pavement in order to pry Susannah from his side. Deborah was not surprised when, upon entering her mother’s room, her friend’s first words were of her latest conquest.