Deborah Goes to Dover (11 page)

‘Do play us something, Miss Conningham,’ urged Hannah, hoping that the captain would walk to the piano to turn the music. But it was Lord William who stood beside Abigail.

‘Lady Deborah,’ begged Hannah, ‘do go and get that woman away from the captain, please.’

The earl curiously watched all this by-play. He saw Deborah sail up to Mrs Conningham and say
something
and then both she and Mrs Conningham retired
to a corner. Then Hannah went over to the piano and murmured something to William, who looked up with a start, nodded, and walked over to the fireplace.

‘Why, Captain Beltravers,’ said Hannah, ‘I do believe Miss Conningham has been left neglected.’ He gave her a half-bow and went over to the piano to turn the sheets of music.

Hannah next bore down on Mrs Conningham and Deborah, waving a piece of needlework she had extracted from her large reticule and begging Mrs Conningham to examine the laying of the stitches – ‘But the light is poor here. We would be better over by the candelabrum.’

That left Deborah alone. The earl politely joined her, shooting a suspicious glance at Hannah Pym, and wondering if that was what she meant to happen.

‘All sorts of undercurrents, Lady Deborah,’ he said. ‘Am I wrong, or does our indefatigable Miss Pym mean to try to make a match between Miss
Conningham
and the captain?’

‘If she does, I think she will prove to have a lighter hand than poor Miss Conningham’s mama,’ said Deborah.

‘And Miss Conningham is wearing a very modish gown. Five hundred guineas at least, by my
reckoning.
It would not be one of yours, by any chance?’

Deborah bit her lip and then said, ‘And why not? Her own gowns are sadly dashed.’

‘True. But it fascinates me to see you aiding and abetting Miss Pym’s machinations. Iwould have said you had not one streak of femininity in your whole body.’

That hurt. Deborah felt a stabbing pain. Was she not wearing one of her best gowns, one she had never worn before? She forgot that it was her father who had ordered her wardrobe and that she normally
preferred
to wear men’s clothes. All she could think of was that before she came down, her glass had told her she was looking very pretty and that now she felt like a drab.

‘You must not go by outside appearances, my lord,’ she said quietly.

‘I was not going by outside appearances. At this moment, you look one of the most beautiful and delectable ladies I have ever seen,’ said the earl lightly. ‘I was referring to your hoydenish behaviour.’ Deborah really only heard that he had called her beautiful and glowed with an inner light which lent such a radiance to her golden hair and blue eyes that the earl caught his breath.

Over at the piano, the captain had just said he felt tired and thought he would turn in early, and in Abigail’s soul all the lights went out, leaving her sitting on the piano stool, a young lady of no particular charm or looks whatsoever. One curl unwound itself from the perfect arrangement on her head and drooped down to her shoulder, as if her very hair were straightening in sympathy with her mood.

William stood moodily by the fireplace, wondering what to do. The evening had turned curst flat and there was Deb behaving like a flirt. The earl was saying something and Deb had a pink colour on her cheeks and was lowering those long eyelashes of hers
and waving her fan slowly to and fro. Now it was William who felt the end of the closeness he had shared with his sister and resented it. He did not stop to think it odd that he himself had been captured by such feminine behavior from Clarissa. He only knew he wanted to put a stop to it. Ashton was old enough to be Deb’s father, he thought, becoming furious. He went over and stood in front of them.

‘What about taking a rod out tomorrow, Deb?’ he asked, ignoring the earl.

She blinked up at him as if coming back from a long way away.

‘I do not think so, William. Miss Pym and the others will be here tomorrow. It would be pleasant to spend a little time with them.’

‘Pooh, if you want to waste your time with a redcoat who has little to say for himself, and a dowdy matron and her tiresome daughter, you can do it without me.’

‘Don’t be so rude!’ flashed Deborah.

But the earl put a hand on her arm and said quietly, ‘You surprise me, William, as no doubt Miss Clarissa Carruthers will be surprised.’

‘What do you mean, sir?’ asked William.

‘Why, only that I am going to finish writing a letter to Mr Carruthers and his sister on the morrow. I promised to let them know how the coach party got on. Miss Carruthers was much taken with Miss Pym and her stories.’

‘As I am,’ put in William quickly.

‘And Miss Abigail Conningham. Miss Carruthers thought her such a sweet girl.’

‘Demme, if I don’t think the same,’ said William, tugging at his shirt collar.

‘But you said …’

‘Talking nonsense. Bit liverish.’

‘And you so young,’ mocked the earl. ‘Shall I give Miss Carruthers your wishes when I write?’

‘Of course, please do.’

‘I am glad she still holds your interest. I was beginning to think you were paying court to Miss Conningham.’

‘Oh, that was Miss Pym’s matchmaking plans,’ said William quickly. ‘Get the captain to show an interest.’

‘How worthy of you.’ The earl turned to Deborah. There was now a warm caressing note in his voice that William did not like. ‘Why trouble to travel back to Downs Abbey tonight? I can send the servants over to collect your night-things. Stay here.’

‘Thank you,’ said Deborah and lowered those ridiculously long eyelashes of hers again. But William felt he could not protest. The earl was writing to Clarissa, and that report must be favourable. But he did not want to lose the boyish Deb, his sister, and see her permanently become this strange new creature who flirted and who moved with a new sinuous grace as if suddenly aware of her own body for the first time.

He moved away and then an idea hit him and he muttered excuses and left the room. He would have been relieved had he stayed to listen to the
conversation
between the earl and his sister. The earl, encouraged by Deborah, had started to talk of all that needed to be done to the house and estate, and as
Deborah took a great interest in the running of her father’s estates, she was able to offer sensible advice. Surprised, and gratified, the earl talked on, and while he talked, Deborah thought rather bleakly that he was talking to her as if she were a man. No more pretty compliments.

When the party broke up and went upstairs, Hannah waited until she was sure Mrs Conningham would have gone to bed and went to Abigail’s room. That young lady was sitting, still dressed, on the end of the bed, staring into space.

‘It is not going to work,’ said Abigail when she saw Hannah.

‘You must not be cast into despair the whole time,’ said Hannah bracingly. ‘You have another day and then the whole rest of the journey to Dover. How would it be if I arranged with the earl that Benjamin take myself and your mother out for a drive tomorrow afternoon? You would be left alone with your captain.’

Hope shone again in Abigail’s eyes. ‘Could you do that?’

‘I think so,’ said Hannah. ‘Only leave it to me.’

In his bedchamber, the earl climbed into bed and stretched out his long legs. Then he leaped up with a cry and jerked back the sheets. Stuffed down at the end of his bed was a gorse bush.

Fuming, he took a pair of tweezers out of his manicure set and removed several gorse prickles from the soles of his feet. He was bitterly disappointed in Deborah. She had seemed such a mature and attract
ive lady when he had been talking to her about his estates and the need for improvement.

In her room, Deborah, in night-dress and lacy wrapper, looked miserably at her short golden curls in the glass. Men like the earl no doubt thought hair a woman’s crowning glory. Not that she was in love with him or anything stupid like that. It was just, oh, it was just mortifying that her kiss had seemed to have so little effect on him. Now if her hair were longer … She shrugged her shoulders and decided to read herself to sleep and forget about the earl. There was a small pile of books considered suitable for a lady on an occasional table. She picked them up.
Five Hundred Embroidery Stitches,
by ‘a Lady’;
The Perils of Lady Marcheson or The Wicked Italian Count
by Mrs Bradford; Mr Porteous’s
Sermons;
The Holy Bible; and
Putnam’s Formulas for Beauty.

She seized on the last and turned the pages eagerly. ‘Hair, hair, hair,’ she mumbled. ‘Ah, here it is. Nothing for lengthening hair. But straightening hair … yes, that might do the trick.’

Like all people with very curly hair, Deborah often longed for straight hair. Hannah Pym might have pointed out to her that any young lady who has not endured the hell of sleeping in curl papers or clay rollers longs for straight hair, something which seems quite mad to most of the rest of her sex. But Deborah became convinced that straight hair would mean longer hair. She eagerly read the recipe. Half a pound of petrolatum, half a pound of rendered mutton suet, three ounces of beeswax, two ounces of castor oil, ten
grains of benzoic acid, one fluid dram of lemon grass and fifteen drops of cassia oil.

She could not wait. Between the kitchen and the still-room, she could put together the ingredients, and the kitchen fire, with luck, might still be alight, as the mixture would need to be heated.

She crept silently downstairs, or as silently as she could, for the wooden treads on the great staircase creaked abominably.

In his bedchamber, the earl, still awake, heard that tell-tale creaking. He was all at once sure it was the twins up to more mischief.

He got out of bed, after lying awake for fifteen minutes and wondering whether he should leave them to their own devices, pulled on a rich
embroidered
dressing-gown, picked up his bed-candle and made his way out. He went down to the hall and raised his candle high and looked around. Then he saw that the green baize door to the kitchens was standing open.

He walked down the stone steps of the back stairs. The servants’ hall was deserted, but there was a light shining under the kitchen door.

He softly opened the kitchen door.

Deborah was standing there, looking down at an assortment of items spread out on the scrubbed deal table. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked sharply.

Deborah jumped guiltily. ‘I was hungry and … and … came down to see if there was anything to eat.’

He walked forward and looked down at the assortment on the table. ‘Beeswax,’ he murmured.
‘Benzoic acid … are you trying to create another terrible practical joke?’

Deborah hung her head.

‘I thought this evening you had finally grown up, Lady Deborah,’ said the earl heavily. ‘That was until I found the gorse bush which you and your brother had placed in my bed.’

‘That was nothing to do with me!’ cried Deborah. ‘Oh, William, I could
kill
you. That must have been why he was out of the drawing-room for so long. I noticed his pumps were muddy when he came back.’

‘Well, well, let us say you are blameless. You had better tell me what you are doing with such an odd assortment.’

Deborah turned fiery red. ‘I was trying to straighten my hair.’ She pushed forward a small book. ‘I found a recipe for a hair straightener in here.’

The earl’s green eyes began to dance. ‘Why destroy your golden curls?’

Deborah ran her fingers through them and sighed. ‘My hair is so very short.’

‘Come, let us put all this stuff away. Your curls will be the envy of all the ladies when you go to London.’

‘Why should I go to London?’

‘For the same reason most young ladies go to London – to make a come-out and find a husband.’

‘I do not need to find a husband,’ said Deborah. ‘Papa has money enough.’

‘What a condemnation of the state of matrimony.’

‘It is
true
. Only look at poor Miss Abigail,
condemned
to marry an old man because of his money, or
rather because of her uncle’s money, for he is to help the family if she does as she is bid.’

‘If Miss Pym has her way, then she will have her captain. Perhaps I should engage the services of Miss Pym to find me a bride,’ said the earl.

‘You?’ Deborah looked shaken. ‘You are a
bachelor.’

‘I could not marry before this. I had nothing to offer a wife. I was in the army.’

‘That did not stop Captain Beltravers having a wife.’

‘Only look what became of the poor woman. My father kept me on short commons, so I doubted very much if I could support a family before this
inheritance.’
The earl eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I should definitely discuss the matter with Miss Pym.’

‘And what do you look for in a bride?’ asked Deborah.

‘Grace and manner and wit and kindness. Looks are not important, nor the length of her hair.’

Deborah began to pick up bottles and jars. ‘Then ask Miss Pym tomorrow,’ she said tartly.

He took some bottles from her and they walked through to the still-room and Deborah began to put everything away, letting out an involuntary shiver, for the room was cold.

‘Come, that’s enough,’ he said. ‘The servants can clear the rest away in the morning. Back to bed with you.’

Deborah was suddenly very conscious of the nearness of him in the small still-room, of the faint
scent of cologne he wore. She said breathlessly, ‘Yes, yes. I am a little tired.’

‘Then come along.’ They walked back up to the hall together.

‘Are you very angry with William?’ asked Deborah.

‘I’ll teach the young fool a lesson before I go to bed. He should have grown out of such tricks. I am glad you had nothing to do with it.’

‘You believe me?’ said Deborah in a small voice.

He ruffled her curls and smiled down at her
indulgently
as they stood together in the hall. ‘Yes,my chuck.’

‘Do not do that!’ said Deborah sharply, backing away. ‘I am a woman, not a child.’

‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Yes, I had noticed. You looked very beautiful this evening – you are very beautiful and will break many hearts.’