Regency Innocents (34 page)

‘Yes,' she confirmed, her heart plummeting as the waiter handed her a drink in a tall glass. It would take
for ever to drink it down, and, for some reason, she no longer wanted to spend a moment longer with Captain Fawley than she had to. There was an acid heaviness in her stomach, her throat ached, and, to her annoyance, her eyes had begun to prickle with what she was afraid were burgeoning tears. She did not want him to see her cry. Lord, she did not want anyone to see her cry! What kind of ninny burst into tears at a ball because every man there wanted to dance with her friend and not her!

She took a gulp of the drink, appalled when the glass rattled against her teeth. Her hands were shaking.

‘Are you quite well, Miss Gillies?' Captain Fawley looked concerned.

Her heart performed a peculiar lurch as she thought how like him it was to be so observant. ‘I …' Lying was a sin. She would not do it. And yet, she desperately wanted to escape. If she was to twist the truth, just a little … there could be no harm in that, could there? ‘I think I would like to return to my mother, and sit beside her after all, if you do not mind?'

‘Of course.' Captain Fawley took her glass and placed it on a convenient window ledge. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, pulling her hard against his body so that he could support her wilting form as he ushered her towards the door. She had never been held so close to any man before, except her father. It made her heart race to feel the heat of his body seeping through his uniform jacket. She could feel the flex of his muscled frame with every step he took, and a slight change of pressure every time he breathed in or out. And if she could feel him, then he must be aware she was trembling.
Oh, pray God he would put it down to physical weakness, and would never guess that he had devastated her with his careless remark.

Her mother was sitting on a bench with several other chaperons, ladies whose task it was to ensure their charges maintained that delicate balancing act between doing their utmost to entrap an eligible bachelor into matrimony whilst simultaneously behaving with sufficient decorum to avert scandal.

‘Mrs Gillies,' said Captain Fawley, executing a polite bow, ‘I fear your daughter is feeling unwell.'

‘Oh, dear!' Her mother's eyes shot past her, to where Susannah was twirling merrily around the floor with Baron Dunning. ‘We have only just arrived, and Susannah is having such success … she will not wish to leave. Do you really need to go home?' She shifted to one side, so that Deborah could sit next to her. Taking her hand in hers, she gave it a squeeze. ‘Deborah was so ill over Christmas, I almost decided to put off coming to London at all. But Susannah was so keen …' she explained to Captain Fawley.

‘I shall be fine, Mother. If I may but sit quietly for a while ….'

‘Perhaps a turn about the garden, to get some fresh air?' Lady Honoria Vesey-Fitch, an old friend of her mother's suggested with an arch smile. ‘I am sure the Captain would oblige.'

Oh, no. It was bad enough that he did not wish to dance with her, never mind dragging the poor man round the garden on what would be a fool's errand. For no amount of fresh air was going to make her feel any
better. On the contrary, knowing that Captain Fawley would wish himself anywhere rather than with her would only serve to make her feel ten times worse.

‘Oh, no!' To Deborah's immense relief, her mother instantly vetoed the suggestion. ‘The cold night air would be most injurious to her health, after the heat of this stuffy room. I do not want her to catch a chill on top of everything else!'

Everything else? Had her mother guessed that her only daughter had been smitten by a severe case of hero-worship? Though how could she, when Deborah had only just worked it out for herself? It could be the only reason why her heart twisted at the look in Captain Fawley's eyes every time Susannah turned him down, the little leap it performed when he turned, albeit with resignation, to her.

‘Is there nobody who could escort Miss Gillies home?' Captain Fawley said, then, looking pensive, he ventured, ‘Or perhaps you could take your daughter home, if you would entrust Miss Hullworthy to my care. I assure you, I …'

That did it. He would gladly think of an excuse to shovel her out of the way, so that he could have Susannah all to himself. Pulling herself upright in her chair, she said, ‘There will be no need for anyone to leave, or any alteration made to our arrangements. I will be fine, if I may but sit quietly, for a while.'

‘Oh, but thank you for your concern, Captain,' her mother put in quickly. ‘Please do call on us tomorrow if you are still anxious over my daughter's health.'

An arrested expression came over his face. ‘I shall certainly do so,' he said, a gleam coming to his eye.

Deborah glared down at her hands as she clasped them in her lap. He did not care a fig for her health! He had just worked out that, if he called, he would be able to ascertain which social events Susannah might be attending the next evening. For all his manly attributes, he was clearly inexperienced at wooing society women. He often arrived at a ball quite late, looking flustered, as though he had searched several venues before hitting upon the right one. But now he had cottoned on to the mysterious means by which his rivals had stolen a march over him. They called during the day, and by means of cajolery, flattery or downright bribery, wrought promises from their darling before even setting foot in the ballroom.

Tomorrow, he would join the ranks of admirers who called to deliver posies and drink tea whilst vying for Susannah's favours.

She rather thought she might have a relapse tomorrow. She did not think she wished to witness his humiliation.

There was a smattering of applause as the music ended, and the dancers began to leave the floor. Baron Dunning returned Susannah, very correctly, to Mrs Gillies. Flicking her fan open, she waved it briskly before her face, pointedly ignoring Captain Fawley.

‘It is so hot in here,' she complained.

‘Indeed,' he put in, in an effort, Deborah was sure, to draw her sparkling gaze in his direction. ‘Miss Gillies has been quite overcome with the heat.'

‘Really?' Instantly Susannah dropped what Deborah thought of as her ballroom manner, and looked at her
with concern. ‘Oh, don't say you are going to be ill again, Debs.'

‘I am not going to be ill,' she grated, flustered at becoming the centre of attention. ‘I will be fine, if everyone was to just leave me alone.' To her mortification, the tears that had long been threatening welled up; despite blinking furiously, one spilled down her cheek. Hastily, she wiped it away with her gloved hand.

‘Oh, Debs,' said Susannah, her own eyes welling in sympathy. ‘You really are unwell. We must go home at once.'

‘No, no, I do not want to spoil your evening.'

‘And you have so many distinguished names on your dance card,' put in Mrs Gillies. ‘You don't want to disappoint so many eligible gentlemen ….'

‘Oh, pooh to that!' said Susannah, bending forward and taking Deborah's hand. ‘I can dance with them all tomorrow. Or the next night. But I would never forgive myself if Deborah sacrificed her health for my pleasure.'

Deborah was swamped by a wave of guilt. No wonder the men all preferred Susannah to her. Not only was she far prettier, but she was a much nicer person too.

Captain Fawley certainly thought so. His eyes were glowing with admiration as he organised a footman to bring their carriage round. He was falling deeper and deeper under Susannah's spell with every encounter. Just as she, Deborah realised, stifling a sob, was growing more hopelessly infatuated with him. She had experienced an almost overwhelming urge to
cling
to him when he finally handed her over to her mother. To fling her arms around him and beg him to forget Susannah. In a ballroom!

She allowed Susannah and her mother to hustle her to the ladies' retiring room while
they
waited for their carriage and
she
grappled with the revelation that she had carelessly lost her heart to a man who scarcely noticed she existed.

‘I am so sorry,' she said when they got into the carriage. ‘I have ruined your evening, Suzy, and it is not as though I feel that unwell.'

Susannah grasped her hand. ‘I shall not mind having an early night myself, truly, I promise you. Just lately, things seem to have become a bit of a whirl. It was easier, in some ways, when we first came to London, and hardly knew anybody.'

That was before Susannah had become such a hit. Her success had astounded Mrs Gillies, who had warned her not to expect too much from society. For though Susannah was so pretty, and so charming, and had so much wealth, that wealth came from trade.

‘I can introduce you to a certain level of society,' she had explained. It was the reason that Deborah's mother was acting as chaperon, after all. Her own lineage was impeccable. Her only problem was lack of money. Since Susannah's family had plenty, they had come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. Mrs Gillies would introduce Susannah alongside her own daughter, and Susannah's parents would foot the bill for both girls. ‘But there is no guarantee you will be accepted.'

Indeed, for the first few weeks of the Season, they had stayed in more often than they had gone out. Now, they had so many invitations, they had either to reject some, or attend several functions each evening.

And naturally, since Susannah's parents were meeting their costs, Mrs Gillies felt obligated to ensure that she had the opportunity to mingle with the sort of men she considered marriage-worthy.

They were not at all what Deborah wanted. She had hoped that she might meet a young man who did not mind that she was not very wealthy. He would be looking for a helpmeet. A girl who would not demand he keep her in splendid indolence, but be prepared to run his household on a tight budget, and raise his children with a cheerful demeanour. There must be many younger sons of good families who wanted a dependable, resourceful wife. When they had first come to London, she had held out hopes of meeting such a man. But not now they were beginning to mingle in somewhat higher social circles, to satisfy Susannah's ambitions.

Deborah sighed heavily more than once as the carriage took them the few streets to their rented house. In the small market town where she had grown up, she would have scorned to ride such a short distance, when she was perfectly capable of walking. But in London, she was subject to all manner of ridiculous restrictions. A footman grasped her arm as she stumbled in the act of clambering out of the coach. Hired for the Season, naturally, just like the town house they had rented in Half Moon Street. She missed being able to hold a conversation without wondering if the servants, who were strangers she could not trust, were listening. She missed being able to go for a walk without one of them trailing behind, for the sake of propriety. And really, how silly was it to stipulate that a footman was necessary to knock
on the door of whatever house they were paying a call at? As though a young lady's knuckles were far too delicate for the task?

She barely restrained herself from shaking him off, but when, upon climbing the steps to their front door, she experienced a moment of dizziness, she was glad she had not. A little later, she blinked, to find herself sitting in the armchair in her pretty bedroom, a maid kneeling at her feet removing her slippers, and Susannah hovering over her, fanning her face. Her mother was behind her chair, hastily loosening her stays.

‘Did I faint?' she asked, feeling thoroughly confused.

‘Not quite,' her mother replied, ‘but your face was as white as paper. You must get straight into bed. Jones,' she addressed the maid, ‘go to the kitchens and fetch Deborah a drink.' When the woman looked a little put out, she continued ruthlessly, ‘Miss Hullworthy and I are quite capable of getting my daughter undressed and into bed. What she needs from you is a drink of hot chocolate, and some bread and butter. You have lost weight this last couple of weeks,' she said, clucking her tongue at the sight of Deborah's bony shoulder blades as she removed the stays and gown. ‘You have been racketing about, growing more and more tired, and only picking at your food ….'

‘I am so sorry,' Susannah put in at this point. ‘I should have noticed. Please say you forgive me for being so selfish. I have been so full of myself. My success has quite gone to my head ….'

‘I think,' said Mrs Gillies, raising her daughter to her feet, and supporting her towards the bed, ‘that it will do
both you girls good to spend a few days at home quietly. We may put it about that it is on account of Deborah's indisposition, but really, Susannah, I have been growing quite concerned about you too.'

‘Me?' Susannah plumped down on to a bedside chair as Mrs Gillies rolled up Deborah's nightdress and pushed it over her head, just as she had done when Deborah had been a little girl, back home in the vicarage. It was almost worth being a little unwell, Deborah decided, to be rid of that maid, and have her mother and Susannah to put her to bed as though she was herself, and not this prim débutante she had to pretend to be in order to trick some poor man into matrimony.

‘Yes, you. You know, Susannah, that I would never countenance any of those fellows making up to my Deborah.'

At this statement, both girls blinked at Mrs Gillies in surprise.

‘You may think you are doing well to attract the attention of several men with titles, but I have made it my business to find out about them, and the sad truth is that they are fortune hunters.'

‘Well …' Susannah pouted ‘… I have a fortune. And I want to marry someone with a title.'

‘Yes, but I think you could show a little more discernment. Over the next day or so, I think it would be wise to consider the gentlemen who have been paying you attention, very carefully. Baron Dunning, for example, is only obeying his mama in paying you court. She wants him to marry, so that she will not have to make the drastic economies that his late father's reckless
gambling have necessitated. He will not be any kind of a husband to you once he has got you to the altar. Why, he is hardly more than a schoolboy!'