Regency Innocents (43 page)

Could she really marry a man who showed so little regard for her, who was embroiling her in some scheme about which she had the deepest suspicions?

She sank on her bedside chair, her head in her hands.

No, the real question was, could she live with herself if she spurned him? It hardly mattered what had motivated him to ask for her hand, even though she now had some evidence to suggest he was using her as an unwitting accomplice in snatching a legacy from some person. Some person that she refused to assume was Percy Lampton. That would be too dreadful a coincidence.

Oh, how she wished she had not promised to keep the whole matter from her mother! She would have known all about the family connections, and been able to give a name to the poor wretch who was expecting to inherit the property she and Captain Fawley were about to … steal from him. It amounted to that!

Though … the cross-looking lawyer had said that the lady who had died had wanted everything to go to Captain Fawley to begin with. So she was not stealing anything from anybody. She was only helping to fulfil the dying wishes of a poor elderly lady with no children of her own ….

She sat up, pushing a stray wisp of hair from her forehead. She had only a few hours to make her mind up about what she should do. During the carriage ride home, Lady Walton had informed her that the marriage was going to take place that very evening, at six of the clock, in the library of Walton House.

While everyone who aspired to be fashionable was promenading round Hyde Park, she would be sneaking into a private room, to take part in a clandestine marriage, which would rob some other poor fellow of a substantial inheritance.

It was morally repugnant!

She got to her feet and paced to the window.

Yet how could she back out? If she refused to go along with Captain Fawley's plan,
he
would be the poor fellow who had his inheritance snatched from his grasp. She paced back to the chair.

Perhaps the issue was not so bad as she was imagining. Lady Walton had said she should trust Robert.

Robert. Hot jealousy had her pacing back to the window, her fists clenched at her side. Lady Walton called him Robert. She had not even known it was his given name, until she had prattled on about all the confidences he had shared with her! It would serve him right if she did jilt him!

No, no, it wouldn't, she gasped, searing pain almost doubling her over as she thought of the effect such an act would have upon him. Jilting him would wound him irreparably. How hard it had been, Lady Walton had said, for him to beg a woman for a dance, let alone for her hand in marriage! He would not understand why she had refused him. He would think it was because he was too deformed, even for a woman as desperate as her, to marry!

She could not do it to him.

She did not want to hurt anyone.

She paced back to the chair, sat down and wrapped her arms round her waist. Since somebody was clearly going to lose out because of the actions she took today, she would rather it was this faceless, nameless nephew, than Captain Fawley.

And even if the other legatee of the will turned out to be Percy Lampton, as she suspected … well, she had
never liked him. In fact, she wouldn't put it past him to have sought Susannah out on purpose to prevent things from progressing to the point where Captain Fawley might have proposed to her. He had already lived with the unnecessary stigma of illegitimacy all his life because of the Lamptons' lies! And now, they were trying to prevent him from inheriting his own fortune.

She was not going to side with them. She was on Captain Fawley's side, no matter what!

Getting to her feet, she stomped to the wardrobe and yanked open its doors. Now, what kind of dress did she have that would be suitable for taking part in a clandestine wedding?

No sooner had Susannah set out for her ride round Hyde Park in Percy Lampton's high-perch phaeton, than Deborah urged her mother to get her bonnet and pelisse on.

‘The Countess is returning for us both,' she explained. ‘She is going to take us to Walton House ….'

‘And she did not want to include Susannah in the invitation?' Mrs Gillies frowned. ‘Is her husband so high in the instep that he will not admit someone from her background into his home? I do not think I wish to encourage you in this friendship, if that is the case.'

‘No, no, Mother, that is not it at all. Only please hurry to get ready, and I shall explain it all on the way.' She cast a significant look in the direction of the butler who came with the house, and Mrs Gillies subsided at once.

They waited for the Countess to arrive in tense silence. When the Walton town coach finally drew up
outside their door, Deborah was surprised by a sharp pain that shot across the back of her hand as she leapt to her feet. Looking down, she saw she had been twisting the strings of her reticule so tightly they were cutting through her gloves into her flesh.

Lady Walton beamed at them as they scrambled into the coach before her footman even had time to climb their front steps and knock on the door.

‘Oh, I am so glad you have decided after all to come! Robert has been in the state most terrible since this morning after that he came home from the lawyers. He said you were so cross, you would not go through with it. But I knew you would come! For you love him enough to forgive him anything, is that not so?'

She turned to Mrs Gillies, who was regarding her with frank amazement.

‘Ah, you have not told your mother yet? But, no, since that silly girl who could not see how wonderful Robert is has only just left the house, I suppose you have not had a chance.'

‘Er … Mother …' Deborah began.

Mrs Gillies made a dismissive sound as she dived into her reticule for a handkerchief. ‘You have decided to marry Captain Fawley, after all. I am happy for you,' she said, blowing her nose, ‘if you are happy?'

‘Thank you, Mother,' Deborah fudged, unwilling to admit that right at that moment, she was not at all sure she was going to be happy marrying a man who had so clearly demonstrated how little he valued anything about her, except as a name on a piece of paper.

‘I take it we are going to meet with the family and
discuss settlements?' Mrs Gillies got out, stuffing her crumpled handkerchief back into her reticule. ‘Though, really, this sort of thing should be done through a man of business. I am sure Mr Hullworthy would be only too happy to act for you, if you applied to him.'

Deborah laid her hand firmly on her mother's sleeve. ‘There will be no need for that. We went to see some lawyers this morning. We are getting married today. Now. In the library at Walton House.'

‘But … without a man of business to see to the settlements? Really, Deborah, dear …'

‘Mother, I have no dowry, so what good would a lawyer do me?'

‘But you cannot have considered what a fragile thing life is. What if he dies and leaves you widowed? He has hardly a penny to his name. Your portion might be so slender that—'

‘Mother, you have no need to worry. I told you that we discussed the financial side of things on Tuesday afternoon, did I not? Once I marry Captain Fawley, he will qualify for a substantial property. We will be able to live very comfortably. Indeed, he has even agreed that, should you wish it, you may come and live with us ….'

‘Oh, the dear boy!' Mrs Gillies cried, digging her handkerchief out of her reticule once again. ‘So long as it is not entailed, this property?' she said sharply, crushing the damp piece of lace between her arthritic fingers.

Deborah saw that she had taken a great deal on trust. Far too much. She had no idea what kind of allowance Captain Fawley was likely to settle on her, nor how she would fare should she indeed be widowed. Not bringing
in some man of business to negotiate all these points had been extremely foolish of her. But she was not about to burden her mother with her doubts.

‘I am sure there is no need to worry about anything, Mother. We can trust Captain Fawley to do the right thing.' She only wished she could have felt the conviction she tried to put into her words. She was almost positive he was not doing the right thing, in marrying her secretly this afternoon.

Lady Walton, who had been watching them both, her beady eyes flicking from one to the other as she followed the conversation, clapped her hands, beaming at Deborah.

‘Of course you may trust Robert! He may not have the polished manners of so many of the men who think themselves so attractive, but he has what they have not. The integrity. Yes, and the courage to fight for what is rightfully his!'

To fight for what was rightfully his. Yes, Deborah mused, settling back into the luxuriously soft leather squabs, that was what he was doing this afternoon. Lady Walton clearly knew all the details in regard to this inheritance, and regarded it as a just fight.

Perhaps it was understandable that he had not taken her fully into his confidence. He did not know her all that well. Besides, what was it Lady Walton had blurted out, earlier, on the way to visit the lawyers? That men sometimes did not explain why they were acting in a way that might be interpreted as a bit questionable, in an attempt to protect their women. She certainly had moral qualms about what she was doing. Had he been
trying to protect her from going into a questionable situation, to spare her conscience?

A warm glow began to melt the knot of ice that her insides had become over the past few days. His woman. She was Captain Fawley's woman. Of course he was attempting to shield her from anxiety. Of course he would provide generously for her. For today, by marrying him, she was going to stand shoulder to shoulder with him in his fight, though he had deliberately kept her ignorant of the details.

By the time they reached Walton House, Deborah was glowing with the kind of happiness any bride might display on her wedding day. Her mother was still dabbing at her eyes as they mounted the front steps, just as the mother of a bride should do. When they went into the hall, one footman produced a fresh handkerchief for her mother, while a second presented her with a posy of roses and honeysuckle. Her heart almost stopped. They had been sitting in an arbour perfumed with roses and honeysuckle when he had proposed to her. He had remembered! Just as he had remembered the colour of the ribbons in her hair the other time he had bought her flowers.

This time, she did bury her face in the blooms, inhaling their scent with a mounting sense of elation. She drifted through the magnificent hallway in a haze of romantic hopes. It seemed like an omen that the bonnet and gloves she had picked out were the exact shade of pink as the centre of the honeysuckle blooms. How could she fail to love Captain Fawley? Even
though he did not return her regard, he was perceptive and considerate. She was sure he would do his utmost to be a good husband to her.

Two massive double doors swung open, and she wafted into a library. But she scarcely registered anything about the room, save for the fact that it housed a lot of books. For Captain Fawley was standing in one of the window embrasures, watching her approaching him, and all she wanted to do was fill her eyes with the sight of him, as she had filled her lungs with the fragrance of her wedding bouquet.

He looked drained. But some of the tension that rode his shoulders slackened when he saw her enter the library. With a pang, she realised the way she had flounced out of the lawyers' offices must have contributed to his worries. Hadn't Lady Walton told her he had not been at all sure she would turn up today?

For a second or two they just stood there, looking at each other. Deborah felt so guilty for thinking only of herself, and adding to the lines of care upon his face that only days before she had dreamed of erasing. She could not interpret the expression on his face as he examined her in his turn. If she did not know better, she would think that the initial relief that her arrival had prompted was turning into a look so cynical it was almost akin to disappointment.

The Earl of Walton cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence that had bound them immobile.

The ceremony got under way.

Deborah marvelled that the words in the prayer book described so aptly, yet so poetically, exactly what
marriage meant to her. She already loved Captain Fawley, and from that emotion sprang the will to honour and obey him. And, oh, how she longed to offer him comfort and become a companion in whom he would confide. They had already spoken of their plans to raise children. He had vowed she could have an input into their education beyond what most husbands would allow. She knew he did not love her yet. But she would be such a good wife to him—he was bound to grow fond of her eventually, wasn't he?

Though as he began to make his vows, she found herself clutching at the posy increasingly tightly. Captain Fawley sounded so angry, so bitter.

Her foolish romantic dreams evaporated like the morning dew in the first blast of the sun's rays. How could she have forgotten that he was in love with another woman? If it had been Susannah standing here, he would have gazed into her eyes with adoration as he spoke of worshipping her with his body. Instead, he shoved the ring on to Deborah's finger, his jaw working as he paused before declaring he endowed her with all his worldly goods, emphasising to her, at least, that this was all that could have induced him to marry such a poor specimen of womanhood as he considered her to be.

And suddenly she wanted to weep.

They were man and wife. But when Captain Fawley was given the opportunity to kiss the bride, there was an awkward little pause.

Then Lady Walton rushed up to her, gave her an impulsive hug, and said, ‘Now you are like a sister to me!
Of all the women Robert could have brought into the family, I am so glad it was you!'

‘Yes, welcome to the family, Mrs Fawley,' said the Earl, shaking her solemnly by the hand.

Her mother, just as Deborah had predicted, flung her arms about her new son-in-law's neck, almost overbalancing him in her enthusiasm, crying ‘Oh, you dear boy! You dear, dear boy!'