Regency Innocents (36 page)

Susannah gasped, her grip on Deborah's hand growing uncomfortably tight.

‘L … Lensborough? The Marquis of Lensborough?'

For a moment, Deborah thought she saw a flicker of amusement in Captain Fawley's eyes. Did he know that an invitation to such an event was the one sure way to capture Susannah's interest? She looked at him keenly. Perhaps it was not only débutantes who cast out lures to catch their prey. He had certainly baited his hook with the one worm that could make Susannah bite. She was almost obsessed with gaining an entrée to the
haut ton
.

‘The same,' he said, his fleeting trace of amusement replaced with an air of gravity.

‘Oh, well, that would be wonderful!' Susannah sighed rapturously. ‘If you can indeed promise me an invitation, you may be sure I shall save at least one dance for you!'

‘That was just what I thought you would say,' he replied, bowing over the hand she had extended, for the first time to Deborah's knowledge, willingly.

‘Now I will take my leave,' he said, nodding curtly to Deborah. ‘I am glad to hear you are recovering from your indisposition. And I hope you will accept the small token of my good wishes in the spirit in which it was given.'

‘Token?' Deborah felt totally mystified.

‘Oh, Captain Fawley brought you a posy. It is over there.' Deborah looked where Susannah had pointed, to see the usual mound of floral tributes piled upon the little table by the door. Her heart leaped to think that, at long last, one of them was for her!

‘Miss Hullworthy informed me that you would not be able to accept it from me personally, so I left it with the other tributes to the beauties of Half Moon Street,' he said drily.

‘Which one is it?' she asked, her pulse fluttering wildly.

‘The orangey-coloured one,' he replied vaguely. ‘I know not the names of the flowers. I just thought they were something like the colour of the ribbons you were wearing in your hair last night.'

All the breath left her lungs in a great whoosh. He had brought her a posy. And he had noticed what colour ribbons she had been wearing in her hair! She wanted to rush across the room, gather the flowers to her bosom and breathe in their fragrance. How silly of her. He had not brought it because he harboured any tender feelings for her. It had been expedient to arm himself with it, that was all, and feign concern over her health to gain entry to the home of the woman who really interested him. Rather stiffly, she said, ‘I am sure Susannah would have brought it up to me, had I not got out of bed today.'

‘Yes, of course I would!'

‘Of course you would,' he agreed wryly. ‘But now there is no need. Miss Gillies is much recovered, and I am sure in a day or so, will be well able to withstand the rigours of the ballroom at Challinor House.'

‘Where is Challinor House?' Susannah asked, the minute he had left. And what has it to do with an invitation to Lord Lensborough's engagement? And what is his connection with the family?'

‘Hush, Suzy,' Deborah murmured. ‘Wait till your callers have gone. Then we may ask my mama.'

* * *

Her mother was very well informed about the noble families of England. It never ceased to amaze her how a woman who had spent the majority of her life in a rural backwater had managed to keep her finger on the pulse of London gossip.

‘Challinor is the family name, dear,' Mrs Gillies explained, when Susannah eventually got the opportunity to question her about the Marquis of Lensborough. ‘And you say Captain Fawley is to use his influence with the dowager Lady Lensborough to get you an invitation to her son's ball? Hmm …' She sank on to her favourite chair, her finger tapping her chin as a frown came to her brow. ‘Of course!' Her face lit up. ‘Her younger son served in the same regiment as Captain Fawley. Dead now, of course, like so many of them after that dreadful affair of Waterloo …' She sighed, shaking her head. ‘But I believe shared grief has created something of a bond between your Captain Fawley and the Marquis. I know for a fact that he trained a horse especially to cope with his … umm … disadvantages. He is bound to be on the guest list already ….'

‘But I heard that the engagement ball is one of the most exclusive events of the Season so far!' Susannah protested. ‘Why should they include a penniless nobody like Captain Fawley?'

‘Now, Susannah, my dear, I have told you before about judging a man too hastily. There is nothing wrong with his background. He is half-brother to the Earl of Walton, after all.'

Deborah's heart sank as Susannah's eyes lit up. She suddenly felt incredibly weary.

‘If you do not mind,' she said, ‘I would like to go and lie down again before dinner.'

‘Of course, my dear,' said her mother. ‘And do not be thinking you will be left alone this evening. If you do not feel up to coming down and keeping company with us, one of us will come and read to you. Won't we, Susannah?'

To her credit, Susannah betrayed not the slightest sign of petulance, though Deborah knew she had been looking forward to the theatre trip planned for that evening. Instead, she leapt to her feet, saying brightly, ‘Shall I come up with you now? We could have a good gossip while you have a lie down. For you surely don't need to sleep any more today, do you?'

Deborah mentally braced herself. She knew that the gossip would consist of hearing Susannah dissect every single one of her suitors—their dress, their manners, their connections and fortune—and she was not sure she was sufficiently in control of the frayed edges of her temper to hold it together.

‘Fancy Captain Fawley being the brother of an earl!' Susannah sighed the moment they had shut the chamber door behind them.

‘Yes, only fancy,' Deborah muttered glumly, sitting on a low stool to ease off her pumps.

‘Why did you not tell me?'

‘Would you mind helping me with the hooks?' Deborah prevaricated, turning her back to her friend. While Susannah was thrilled to find one of her suitors
so well connected, so far as Deborah was concerned, it only seemed to put him further from her reach than ever.

While Susannah dealt with the fastenings of her dress, she confessed, ‘I had no idea his father was an earl.'

‘Which changes everything, of course. Do you think he is a viscount, as well as being a captain?'

‘Don't you dare toy with him, Susannah!' Deborah whirled round, her eyes blazing with fury. ‘He has suffered enough!'

‘I wouldn't …' Susannah gasped.

‘You may not mean to hurt him, but I have seen the way his eyes follow you round the dance floor, while you are making up to your latest conquest!'

‘Well, I …'

‘Oh, you do not need to tell me—you cannot bear to look at him!'

‘With that face?' Susannah shuddered. ‘Can you blame me?'

Deborah struggled to control her temper. ‘I admit he has been knocked about a bit. But only consider how he received his wounds. Fighting for his country. He is worth ten of that fribble Baron Dunning, whom you hang upon because he has a title. He worked his way up through the ranks, earning promotion through merit ….'

Drawing herself up to her full height, Susannah said quietly, ‘Your mother has already made me revise my opinion of Baron Dunning. I see what this is, Deborah—you have designs upon Captain Fawley yourself.'

Deborah's mouth opened, then closed, as she sought to refute Susannah's argument, but realised she could not in all conscience do so.

‘I do not have designs upon him,' she eventually
managed to say. ‘But that does not mean I am prepared to stand by and watch you break his heart. I think you are a better person than that, Suzy.'

Susannah's eyes narrowed.
‘If
you do not have your sights set on him, and
if
you are only thinking of what is best for him, then I would have thought you would be glad that I have finally relented towards him. He is intelligent enough to know what my ambitions are. He knows I intend to make a brilliant match. Agreeing to go to one ball as his guest, letting him have one dance with me, is all he aspires to, I assure you. I won't encourage him to dangle after me.'

‘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.'