His Forbidden Debutante (3 page)

‘Livie, are you home?’

‘Yes.’ Livie yanked the coverlet over the boots, box and wrapping, shoved the shoe clips into her skirt pocket and unlocked the door a breath before Wilhelmina breezed into the room.

‘Perfect. We need to decide on decorations for your come-out. Have you chosen any colours in particular? I thought a pale shade of blue would complement nicely, or pink and lavender.’

‘Pink for certain, but we need to elevate the décor. I would hate for anyone to equate my gathering with a young girl’s birthday celebration, jejune and ordinary.’

‘How true.’ Wilhelmina’s expression changed to one of discomfort, her eyes flicking around the bedchamber as if searching for a place to rest. ‘While I have your attention, there’s something else we need to discuss.’

‘Really?’ Livie looked towards the coverlet, relieved no evidence showed.

‘Dash mentioned you’ve overspent your allowance again. The bill from the shoemaker this month exceeded last month’s, and while I truly understand your desire for fancy shoes to accompany your new-found freedom, I had little defence for your behaviour. My husband took me to task and what could I say? You couldn’t possibly need another pair…’ Wilhelmina’s faltering comments trailed off in a whisper.

‘Oh, dear.’ Livie reached for her sister’s hand, pulling her closer in hope of erasing the concerned frown on her face. Wilhelmina worried, Dash grumbled, and here Livie hid yet another pair of shoes, albeit the wrong ones, under the quilt at the foot of the bed. She needed to reorder her priorities and practise a bit more common sense. Hadn’t Esme warned her? ‘I’m sorry. I’ll do much better. I know my debut is a tremendous undertaking and with Kirby Park’s complete renovation and your recent wedding celebration, it’s selfish of me to continually overspend, most especially when additional footwear is unnecessary.’ The contrite apology matched her sincere expression.

‘Oh, Dash wasn’t terribly bothered and all is right, I assure you, but he did bring the matter to my attention.’ Wilhelmina smiled. ‘Aunt Kate and I have worried about you for so long. I suppose much as you rediscover freedom, we must allow you room to manage your independence.’

Wilhelmina led them to the bed where they took a seat and Livie paid particular attention to the hidden box, willing it to stay put despite the movement on the mattress.

‘You’ve been through a horrible ordeal and regaining your ability to walk and move freely is the greatest gift, a true cause for celebration. I understand,’ Wilhelmina continued. ‘Still, you couldn’t possibly wear all the slippers you’ve accumulated. Promise me you’ll focus on your dance lessons and party plans more than the newest designs at Lott’s.’

‘I will.’ Livie squeezed her sister’s hand tightly. ‘I promise not to go near the store and practise more mindful spending. I won’t even window-shop for fear of temptation,’ she added with commitment.

‘Thank you.’ Wilhelmina released Livie’s hand and offered a quick embrace. ‘There are so many exciting moments within reach. We have to choose your gown and decide on flowers, the menu and musicians. Your debut will be the grandest London has ever seen. I do love you so. I know I shall cry as you have your first dance.’

They sat in silence, their thoughts likely equalled in review of their shared history: a carriage accident Wilhelmina believed she’d caused, one that had claimed their parents’ lives and crippled Livie. The accident had resulted in over a year’s worth of therapy and hard work to see Livie’s legs strong and useful again, additional money worries, and then Wilhelmina’s marriage to the Earl of Dashwood and their relocation to Kirby Park, his country estate. The result had been fortuitous, her sister finding the man of her heart, but the path to true love had contained several ruts and detours, bringing them to this moment when Livie would finally celebrate her debut.

‘All this talk of dance reminds me I should get ready for my lesson.’ Livie broke the quiet, anxious to let go of the disconsolate memories and focus on what was to come. ‘I’ll think about this conversation during the entire ride to London.’

‘I’ve no doubt.’ Wilhelmina rose from the bed and headed towards the door. ‘If only your instructor could come to Kirby Park, but when you hire the best, sometimes you have to make a sacrifice. I would assume Monsieur Bournon’s services are in great demand in the city.’

‘I don’t mind travelling to Monarch Hall. Dinah is delightful company and I’m learning the most wonderful techniques. It requires a great amount of practice to appear light on one’s feet.’ She tapped her toe forward as if to begin a dance.

Wilhelmina answered that comment with a little laugh. ‘I agree. I’m anxious to hear all about your progress at dinner this evening.’

With her sister gone, Livie scrambled to reassemble the box and boots, cramming the package under the chair near the washstand and arranging a quilt in unceremonious fashion across the top until she could hurry back to Lott’s and return the mistaken purchase. She never should have made the secret jaunt to the shoemaker’s in the first place and now she’d have to do the same to return the unwanted pair, despite having promised Wilhelmina the opposite. The store was situated in Paddington, on the outskirts of the city, and having travelled there this morning, it seemed foolish to ride past the same area without taking the shoes with her. But she’d never have time to accomplish her waltzing instruction, carry the package to the south side of London and return home before dinner. The errand was best left for another day.

Until then she’d need to make ready for her lesson. Monsieur did not appreciate it when she arrived late and no excuse seemed satisfactory in the dance master’s opinion.

Penwick advanced upon his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Jonathan Allington, and let loose a hearty chuckle as the assault was countered with razor-sharp accuracy, the clipped slice of his foil echoing in the empty hall, no point earned. They’d already been at it too long, tired and sweated through, but neither man would relinquish the challenge despite practising their fencing to hone skill, not resolve differences.

‘You should admit defeat and bow out gracefully. I won’t tell a soul your advanced age of thirty-two years has brought on an inconvenient fatigue, impairing your ability.’ Penwick flashed a devious smile, pleased by the proposition of sharing the jest.

‘You should mind your own business.’ Allington passed forward, his blade fast to counter the parry, the tip of his sword just missing the side of Penwick’s shoulder. ‘And you should invest in my father’s mines or, at the least, admit the opportunity intrigues you. Diamonds are lucrative, valuable and a gentleman’s wisest investment, especially in consideration of your new status.’ Again he lunged. ‘I will continue my attack on both fronts. Bear in mind it presents as an ideal way to join our two families.’

‘I assumed my marriage to your sister symbolised the perfect union.’ Penwick widened his eyes at Allington’s callous remark and lunged forward with a bold advance. ‘And I have few relations of whom to speak.’

‘Touché.’

The conversation continued in silence, the back-and-forth phrasing of their blades the only communication for several minutes.

‘You do love her, I assume.’ Allington whipped to the left, his offhand comment more a feint than his sudden manoeuvre.

‘And who is this unexpected responsible older brother? I’ve not made your acquaintance these past months.’ Penwick continued his riposte, a drop of perspiration trickling into his right brow with the swift movement. Still, the wood-panelled walls grew closer with each of his strikes. Another moment and Allington would have no retreat, his back to the wall, the match won.

‘I assure you I have many sides, as faceted as the gemstones my father offers to the wealthiest clientele throughout England and beyond. Do not play the fool and neglect opportunity. An earldom is an expensive undertaking.’

Allington sounded winded. Too much talk and not enough skill. Penwick’s stamina remained banked.

‘I appreciate your concern, though I’ve taken every precaution to secure my future with wise investment. I stand to lose more than profit, were I to accept the offer. Your sister would believe I courted her to gain favour with your father or, worse, possessed an ulterior interest in the family mines, valuing the property’s worth more than her beauty and poise.’

‘Beauty and poise age and fade away, unlike money, which grows more valuable and attractive the longer one keeps it. You did not answer my question.’

Allington’s boot heel hit the floor moulding. His brows narrowed, aware there was no retreat, and he assumed a combative stance, at once attempting an envelopment to seize Penwick’s blade and rotate their position, but his lack of control versus Penwick’s superior strength guaranteed failure.

‘Which question would that be?’ With an accelerating lunge, Penwick knocked the sword from his opponent’s grasp.

Allington leaned against the panelling, catching a breath before he slid down to sit hastily on the floorboards. ‘Hell, your skill is unmatched. I would do well not to cross you.’ He glanced upward, an expression on his face that reflected a mixture of acknowledgement and defeat. ‘At least not with a sword.’

‘You presented an excellent defence.’ Penwick extended his hand and hoisted his friend upward. ‘I’ve had more practice, ‘tis all.’

‘Perhaps.’

They walked to the side of the room where two glasses of water waited beside fresh towels.

‘I’m serious in regard to your investing in Father’s diamond mines. For clearer understanding, I’m not suggesting you travel beyond England. The mines are located in some godawful region of the world where even I wouldn’t venture a visit. There the stones are unearthed, cleaned and prepared before they ever reach our soil. Once in England, Father chooses the best gems, commissions the cut and sells them or designs the best into unique pieces. It’s all done quite easily. Money in, money out, except we’re profiting at such high margin, it would be against all honour not to urge you to partake of a share, most especially now that you’re betrothed to Claire. What profits you will provide for her lifestyle.’

‘Concerned I can’t support my wife?’ Penwick attempted to ease the mood with jocularity, though his mind spun with questions. Why did Allington press the subject? It never failed; whether drinking at the club or fencing in the ballroom, the subject of his investing in the Allington jewellery business always surfaced. ‘All jests aside, I’ll consider the notion.’ A change of subject was in order. ‘How is the mare you purchased from my stable faring? You haven’t mentioned her since the transaction.’ Horseflesh – a common enough topic for any gentleman and another on which he was considered an expert.

‘The animal needs a firm hand. I despair if all your livestock is as unmanageable.’ Allington followed the cut with a gruff chuckle and replaced his glass on the table.

‘The white Abaco Barb? It’s one of the calmest breeds imported to England and this mare in particular is my finest. I almost couldn’t sell her to you, wanting to keep the prize. She’s obedient, reliable and perceptive of her rider,’ Penwick responded with an austere shake of the head. No one could accuse the horse of unruly defiance. He’d named the mare Decorum because she combined dignity and regal presence whenever they rode.

‘Aha, now I have identified the truer problem, one bigger than the horse of which I complain. As a breeder you regard the horses as equals, when any fool is aware to command an animal’s respect one must prove to be the master.’ Allington clasped his hands together to punctuate his assertion.

The critical remark was stated with outright arrogance and an uncomfortable silence smothered their otherwise brotherly palaver. There wasn’t more to say after that and, once Allington took his leave, Penwick bathed and changed his clothes. His schedule presented a busy day ahead and he hadn’t slept well the night before. Some unresolved sentiment lurked below his consciousness to cause him unrest.

At least his appointments would end on a high note with his dance lesson at four o’clock. He’d already decided he would not choose Claire’s ring today. The subject of diamonds seemed overstated of late. He could always stop at the club on the way home, though. Two fingers of expensive brandy might be the exact prescription to assure a night of fitful rest.

Chapter Three

Isn’t it peculiar how our letters cross in the post only for us to discover, when they arrive, we’ve asked each other the same questions? Perhaps it indicates we are of like mind. In answer to your queries, I enjoy reading, although my sister’s love of poetry surpasses my interest in novels. I’d much rather attend a gathering than spend time within the pages of a book. I have a passion for flowers, yellow roses in particular, and favour candied orange peel above all sweets. The most embarrassing situation I’ve ever experienced occurred during my best friend Esme’s birthday celebration. We were chattering away until I developed a ridiculous case of the hiccups. Esme suggested I inhale ground pepper to restore my breathing pattern but the result produced a sneeze so large my spectacles landed in the ratafia bowl. To this day, whenever we recall the incident, we laugh until our sides ache. Thank heavens no one else noticed. I’ve never told another soul.

Penwick folded the letter with care and replaced it within his breast pocket. How foolish to continue to live in the past and yearn for a woman who had disappeared without a trace or reason. Didn’t she owe an explanation to their friendship?

Friendship.

What a farce. Over time, he’d developed feelings, a deep emotional connection that, were he to allow it into the light of day, would consume his soul. The emotion hadn’t mellowed as time passed, but fermented in potency and grown in strength so that it barely fitted within the portion of him where he crowded his most precious memories.

Preparing for his dance lesson had proven a weakness he now regretted. Filing through Lavinia’s letters to find this one, a favourite, where her voice spoke directly to his heart, and then, subsequently, choosing to carry it with him, had proved pure idiocy.