The Outrageous Debutante

by Anne O'Brien

  She set herself two weeks in which to change the course of her life. And discovered that even within one week her irreverent and cavalier behaviour had achieved a splendid success.

  Astonished at her skill, Thea slipped into the role of outrageous débutante with ease. Flirting irresponsibly with the Earl of Moreton, she repressed the sharp twinge of guilt when that gentleman responded with some surprise, but apparent delight. She made great play with her lashes and her fan, practising a coquettish turn of her shoulder, a particular angle of her head that might encourage intimacy, an unspoken encouragement to the Earl—Frederick—to invite her to dance. She made sure to accept his invitations on sufficient occasions that would rouse comment from those who watched the developing relationship. And a heavy sigh from Lady Drusilla, who knew just what her daughter was about. If her new gown was cut slightly too low across the bosom for modesty, Thea smiled brightly and dared anyone to comment. When Nicholas approached and requested a dance, it was amazing how frequently Thea discovered that her dance card was already full. Even for the country dances. She would have loved to partner him, but … she explained with an arch look. She was never in need of a gentleman to escort her in to supper.

  Well—so much for the evenings!

  With her mother’s wincing and critical collaboration, Thea purchased a satin straw bonnet. It resembled to a remarkable degree a coal scuttle with a large crown and a deep, enclosing and unflattering brim lined with pleated satin. The ribbons and flowers were in varying shades of purple, the daisies sporting large yellow centres.

  ‘I have rarely seen anything quite so ugly—or so common!’ Lady Drusilla frowned at the monstrosity. ‘Are you sure about this, Thea?’

  ‘I know it is—but think of its effect.’ Thea closed her eyes as she did indeed think of it. But she could not retreat now. ‘Think how disagreeable it will be when it comes into lurid proximity with my hair.’

  ‘I am! Indeed, I am thinking about that very thing!’ Thea’s mama shuddered visibly. ‘It is unbelievably dreadful. Never would I have thought a daughter of mine, with a nice degree of taste …’

  Agnes was even more outspoken. ‘Are you trying to set yourself up as a joke, Miss Thea?’

  No! There was nothing amusing at all about this. Thea set her lips in a determined line as she tied the offending ribbons. Nicholas could not possibly admire either her appearance or her taste in fashion when he caught sight of her in this impossible creation!

  So, when she wore it to a shopping outing with Judith and Lady Beatrice, it drew all eyes. And not a few unkind comments with hastily suppressed giggles. Lady Beatrice found a need to use her lorgnette once more and failed to hide her displeasure. And Nicholas, whom they just happened to meet in New Bond Street? Although not so well versed in ladies’ fashions, Thea could not mistake the faint hint of shock in his eyes.

  But two wearings for the detested bonnet were quite enough. She could not bring herself to don it again and, when her mama positively forbade it, consigned it to the rear of her closet.

  So far, so good.

  With what she considered a brilliant ruse, Thea next arranged the loan of a high-perch phaeton from an acquaintance of Sir Hector. A remarkable vehicle with its height and huge wheels, not frequently seen as a vehicle for a lady, in itself it would have drawn all eyes. But Thea chose to drive it in the Park, at the optimum time of day, without either her maid or an attendant groom. And, far worse, insisted on wrapping herself in her desert robes with the scarf around her hair. The strangest sight! With enough comment to satisfy her, some raised brows—even better. Thea set her teeth and bowed to a startled pair of ladies in a passing landau as she applied her long-handled whip with considerable expertise. Definitely fast! She would have worn the boots and breeches if she had the nerve. But even Thea did not dare.

  Now for a more personal encounter with Lord Nicholas. It tore her heart in two!

  On the day of the Sefton ball, Thea accepted the delivery of a tasteful posy of flowers in a filigree holder. It was delightfully delicate, white and cream blooms bound with silver ribbons. From Nicholas. She had not yet managed to drive him away and the little confection would be perfect with her dress. Regretfully, she stroked the dewy petals, then laid them aside. She must not carry them. It might proclaim the message of her heart, but she must be prepared to take a stronger stand. She had never been closer to weakening as at that moment, but no. She sent Agnes to purchase a less-than-tasteful cluster of yellow roses, far too large for a lady to carry to a ball. She positively flinched when she saw them with her glowing, delphinium blue gown, but carry them she would. And it would not be difficult to hint that they had been given to her by another admirer. Which should effectively destroy any desire on Nicholas’s part to single her out!

  And as Nicholas, on seeing the golden bouquet, bowed and withdrew to lead a sprightly dark-haired damsel into a waltz, his face coldly stern, Thea knew the glorious heights of success. And the abyss of black despair.

  Thea’s talent for deception continued to grow. Taking Agnes into her confidence, she arranged a cruel little scene, knowing that Nicholas would be present to witness it, and would not enjoy the experience of seeing the superior Miss Theodora Wooton-Devereux at her most callous. Emerging from Gunter’s with Judith and Nicholas, it had begun to rain. Thea immediately dispatched Agnes to find a cab to take them home in some degree of comfort. When Nicholas would have objected and stepped out himself, Thea demurred.

  ‘But it is now raining heavily.’ She could not ignore the sharp criticism in his tone or the hardness in his gaze. ‘Mistress Drew will be wet. That should not be.’

  Thea shrugged, a nasty, selfish little gesture that she had practised before her mirror. ‘But she is my maid. She will find a cab. It would not do for you to get wet, my lord.’ She tried not to be wounded by the narrowed glances of both Judith and Nicholas.

  The outcome was painful but satisfactory. Nicholas, with a firm gesture of his hand to Agnes to remain where she was, stepped out into the rain to summon a cab. Then handed Thea and Agnes up into the vehicle—but both he and Judith, somewhat stiffly, declined an invitation to accompany the ladies. So they did not see Thea enfold Agnes into a quick hug with a kiss for her cheek. Or the tears that she was forced to brush away from her lashes with an impatient hand when her nurse, who had always been there to comfort her since she was a child, returned the kiss.

  ‘I trust that you are satisfied, Miss Theodora.’ Agnes looked skeptical, but patted her charge’s hand.

  ‘I must be, dear Agnes. I think he now has a disgust of me, do you not?’

  ‘I would certainly expect so!’

  Perhaps just one more little event was needed to hammer the final nail into the coffin of their relationship. Ordering Agnes to remain at home, Thea donned an eye-catching gown of rich rose pink, tilted her silk and lace parasol at an elegant angle and proceeded to walk—to saunter, in effect—down St James’s Street. She could feel the eyes of the dandy crowd from the Bow Window set at White’s follow her every movement. They raised quizzing-glasses. Leers and smirks. The only blessing was that she was unable to hear any of the comments the gentlemen might make. But with a smile pinned to her lovely face, she completed her promenade—and prayed that she would never have to accomplish anything quite so obnoxious again. But, as she had intended, the gossips would undoubtedly tattle.

  ‘What are you about, Thea?’ Judith accosted her at a little soirée that they both attended that night. Her expression, for Judith, was austere, and there was a noticeable reserve in her demeanour. ‘Are you deliberately wishing to make yourself the talk of the town? You are certainly succeeding. Why would you do something so particular? I must say, I had not thought it of you. If you do not take care, people will not wish to acknowledge you. And then where will you be?’

  From which troubled comment, Thea presumed that her plan had achieved its ends.

  She knew for sure when approached by Nicholas at Almack’s on the following eve
ning.

  With a formal bow, Lord Nicholas Faringdon requested the honour of a dance.

  With a bright smile, Miss Theodora Wooton-Devereux made her excuses.

  ‘You appear to have developed a sudden aversion to my company, madam.’

  ‘An aversion?’ She laughed with a distinct toss of her head. She found that she could not read his thoughts behind the cool demeanour. ‘Nothing so melodramatic, my lord.’

  ‘I had hoped that we had an understanding.’ Again that dangerous calm.

  ‘An understanding? I am not sure of your meaning.’ Oh, Nicholas, forgive me! ‘We have certainly flirted. And most successfully. But an understanding? Why, no, my lord!’

  ‘No. Forgive me for imposing on your time. I was clearly mistaken. I will relieve you of my presence.’

  ‘If you wish it, of course.’ And again that brittle little laugh.

  For a long moment he looked at her, from her golden hair to the toes of her satin dancing slippers. ‘I believe that I do, madam. I fear that I misread you in many ways. But you will not be without a host of suitors to your hand.’

  ‘Why, no.’ Thea was forced to take a breath against the lance of pain that struck at her heart, but her words were flippantly light-hearted. ‘As you know, I am very rich. Of course I am most sought after. I would expect it. All I need is a title. My mama is very keen to see me settled and I agree with her.’

  ‘I wish you well in your search.’

  He bowed with glacial elegance and economy of movement and turned on his heel. He did not look again in her direction for the whole of the evening.

  In their carriage on Thea’s return to Upper Brook Street after one of the most miserable evenings of her life, tears fell. She could not stop them. Her mother put her arms around her in the darkness, struggling against the wave of guilt that swept through her at her daughter’s distress. If she had not divulged her fears, the secrets of the past, this would never have happened. But what use now with regrets?

  ‘It is very hard.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It is for the best, Thea. You will meet someone whom you can love. Where there is no past to stand barrier. You will be happy again and your heart will mend.’

  ‘If you say so, Mama. I cannot see it.’ Theodora tried for a smile when she saw her mother’s worried expression as they passed a lighted flambeau on Park Lane. ‘At least if he has taken me in dislike, he will go home to Burford Hall and I can stop being quite so outrageous. It is far too exhausting.’

  She rested her head against her mother’s shoulder and prayed that he would go, whilst Lady Drusilla’s heart was sore indeed that her advice had caused her daughter so much pain. She prayed that her daughter’s strength of will would prevail, but how her heart went out to her child in her sufferings as her tears fell undetected on to Theodora’s bright hair.

  ‘I thought you liked Nicholas.’

  ‘Nicholas?’

  ‘Yes. My cousin.’ With a sharpness quite alien to Judith, she pinned her companion with an accusing stare. ‘With whom you have danced and dined and walked and driven …’

  ‘I do not dislike him.’

  ‘You know what I mean. He no longer seeks you out. You turn away from him. You refuse to dance. Have you quarrelled?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And all that strange behaviour. I thought I would die when I saw you in that purple-flowered monstrosity! And as for St James’s Street! Don’t tell me there is nothing wrong!’ Which was very percipient, Thea decided, for Judith. And also too close to the truth for comfort.

  ‘I cannot say. Forgive me, Judith. I cannot say. I only hope that I have not hurt him.’

  ‘I expect you have—although you would not know it. Nicholas always was good at hiding his feelings. But it seemed to me that you deliberately set out to do so.’

  Thea found that she could not look at her friend. ‘I … I hope that it will not matter to him—that he will soon forget …’

  ‘I would never have believed that you could be so cruel and hard, Thea.’

  ‘Forgive me.’ Thea fled from the room.

  She wept bitter tears.

  Not only had she destroyed the promise of any love between herself and Nicholas, she had also damaged her friendship with Judith.

  Was it worth it? Would it not have been better to let events take their course? How many times had she asked herself that question?

  Judith had the right of it. She had indeed been cruel and hard. But into her mind crept another image. Of her standing before Nicholas. And in his eyes a fervent hatred that she was the sister of Edward Baxendale, the man who had deliberately set out to destroy the integrity of the Faringdon family for his own ends.

  Oh, yes. It was worth it. She could not bear that. Nor could she bring such lasting pain to Nicholas. A little present discomfort, even heartache, would soon fade and would be forgotten as his life continued without her.

  But her tears, privately shed, were bitter indeed.

  And Lord Nicholas?

  Nicholas found himself in an unusual and unpalatable state of mental upheaval. How could he have been so mistaken in his reading of the character of the lady? In the past week, such a short time, he had discovered her to be any number of things that he actively disliked. It was, he decided, like a nightmare from which he could not wake. He had seen her to be thoughtlessly unkind, lacking in all aspects of both good manners and breeding, and with a wilful rejection of acceptable standards of behaviour and taste. She was both spoiled and selfish. And an accomplished and heartless flirt. Surely he could not have read her so wrongly? A lovely face, he realised, had little to recommend it when overshadowed by the faults of character that he had the misfortune to encounter in the past seven days.

  And he had come perilously close to allowing his heart to slip from his control and into those undoubtedly pretty but careless hands.

  The thought angered him as he leafed through the pile of invitations that had arrived at Faringdon House, leaving him with a ridiculous sense of betrayal. He cast the gilt edged cards on to a side-table and shrugged. Better to discover now before he was entirely caught up in her sticky spinnings. It was not a web to his liking. He simply had to accept that she was nothing but a rather common flirt who had been allowed far too lax an education and now had her sights set on as elevated a title and as well-lined a pocket as she should achieve. He would have no further part in the scheming of this particular spider. He would not be made a fool of by a delicious smile or a pair of entrancingly blue eyes.

  As for her attention-seeking perambulation around the Park in unacceptably exotic costume, and her scandalous flouting of convention by daring to walk down St James’s Street, leaving herself open to being ogled by any man on the strut—she must have known that such behaviour would ruin her reputation. No. He wanted no more breath of scandal in his life. She was welcome to the Earl of Moreton, if that was what she wanted. And the Earl was welcome to her!

  It struck him as he descended the stairs on his way to Brooks’s that he had had quite enough of London. There was nothing to keep him here but pride—which would ensure that he remain for a little longer. He would not be seen to run from a connection that he had deliberately sought. But pride and self-control would keep him well out of Miss Theodora Wooton-Devereux’s manipulative orbit. There was no need for him to consider her ever again.

  So Nicholas stayed on for a few days. Keeping his mind closed to his motives, he made sure that he was seen squiring other eligible débutantes in his curricle in Hyde Park, at private parties and at Almack’s. He even went so far as to organise another small party for an evening among the pleasures at Vauxhall Gardens, but deliberately did not invite Miss Theodora Wooton-Devereux, who would find out about it eventually from Judith, of course. And be hurt.

  He found no interest in kissing anyone in the shadowed groves of Druids Walk!

  After which superb show of indifference, Nicholas would go home to Aymestry Manor, and Burford Hall. But all he
could see was a tall, slender, fair-haired lady who had enticed and then rejected him, leaving an ache in the region of his heart. Love? Of course not. Simply a mild interest, which would pass and the ache with it!

  It had before.

  It would again.

  Theodora saw the results of her campaigning all too clearly. Nicholas was rigidly, freezingly polite when they met. He bowed in stern acknowledgement, but took care not to touch her. Not even her hand. He certainly did not seek her out. In fact, he remained as little time in her company as was politely possible. He did not smile at her or allow his eyes to meet with hers. They might have been mere distant acquaintances who did not like each other overmuch. Occasionally she surprised a quizzical look on his face as if he could not quite understand her. And he never flirted with her!

  So why was she so unhappy? She had achieved exactly what she had set out to achieve. And in so short a time as to be almost miraculous. Perhaps she had missed her calling and should go on the stage!

  At night she turned her face into her pillow, as if to block out the image of his face that haunted her waking and sleeping hours, and longed to feel the strength of his arms around her again.

  ‘You are sadly out of countenance, my love.’ Lady Drusilla eyed her daughter over the breakfast table and decided that the time had come not to mince words.

  ‘It was late when I arrived home last night,’ Thea explained in a somewhat colourless manner. ‘The musical evening at the Southcotts’, if you recall. I think you made an excellent choice not to attend, Mama. I have rarely spent a more tedious evening.’

  ‘It is not lack of sleep that makes you so pale. I have known you to dance until dawn without ill effects. So, listening to music …’ She paused. ‘He has gone, Theodora. It is over. You know it was the best decision to make and you must accept it.’ Her tone was bracing, but not without compassion.