His Forbidden Debutante

by Anabelle Bryant

  Dinah’s glance grew quizzical and she gave her head a shake before the carriage jolted forward and they continued home.

  How curious life had become of late. Penwick stood at the edge of the Serpentine, refusing to allow himself the indulgence of watching Livie return to her carriage. The lady stirred something within him he had no way to explain and yet he hardly knew her. Still, it could not be ignored. Circumstance had placed them in each other’s path three times in three days. The unlikely happenstance made him question the unsettling reality that composed his near future.

  He’d left Clipthorne before sunrise, his early departure explained in a note left for Claire, where he claimed a busy schedule and his sincere apology, more excuse than truth. Yet an uncomfortable underlying feeling persisted. He’d needed to leave, needed to escape.

  He shook his head to rid his brain of the horrid word. Claire couldn’t be lovelier. Her family welcomed him with gracious enthusiasm, and still, something restrained him from opening his heart and sharing his most personal feelings. Claire deserved better. He should carry out his previous consideration and purchase her a gift, although what could one offer to the daughter of a diamond merchant? Surely she possessed the finest jewels available. Her father already planned the wedding gift to be composed of the most superior gemstones.

  Penwick stared across the lake’s surface. He did have a fine dapple grey in his stable and the gesture, extravagant and generous, would certainly express what he couldn’t seem to say with words... a desire for commitment. But why couldn’t he confess his feelings to Claire? He’d never experienced difficulty when revealing sentiments in his letters to Lavinia. A bittersweet smile turned his lips. If only he knew what had happened to the lady. And what to make of this new acquaintance, the immediate attraction curious, likely no more than a case of lust and bachelor reservations, acute and increased as the wedding date neared. Worse, she occupied his mind at the most inopportune times.

  Livie. The nickname must be a shortened form of Olivia. His new acquaintance seemed to be as intrigued by him as he by her. She reminded him in an odd, unexplainable fashion of the conversations detailed in his treasured letters. He scoffed at the preposterous notion. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t a fanciful stripe in his disposition, yet somehow he’d allowed himself to become lost in romanticism whenever he considered Lavinia’s letters. The comparisons needed to cease. He needed to return home and continue to arrange his schedule. The best way to clear one’s mind from confliction was oft found in a healthy dose of hard work.

  Chapter Nine

  As a gentleman with a code of honour, I could never allow your kind deed to go unnoticed. The rebellious letter that wound up in your household contained important information of a timely manner and I appreciate your effort in returning it to me. I confess I find great pleasure in our clever conversation. I’d very much like for us to continue. Until someday… Randolph

  Livie had barely entered the house before being set upon by her sister. She muttered the same oath she’d heard the Earl curse at the edge of the Serpentine and whirled around to answer Wilhelmina’s bidding with a smile pasted in place.

  ‘Hello, Whimsy. Have I missed breakfast? I’m famished. Incredible how a brisk walk in the wee hours of the morning can stir one’s hunger, isn’t it?’ She looped her arm through her sister’s and pulled close as they turned in the hall and aimed towards the breakfast room. ‘I do hope Cook has prepared fresh yeast rolls. How divine they will taste with orange marmalade and a steaming cup of chocolate. Just the thing to rid the morning chill.’ She bit her bottom lip in wait, aware she may have overdone her appetite exuberance.

  ‘You’re that hungry?’ Wilhelmina’s voice sounded thick with suspicion, but she didn’t pursue the question. ‘Then this is the perfect opportunity to finalise the menu for your come-out. I’ve listed every dish you favour and included Dashwood and Cook’s delectable suggestions. If you’d like, while you sip your chocolate and reacclimatise, we can review the courses.’

  ‘Splendid idea.’ Livie wiggled her arm free and stepped aside. ‘If you’ll pardon me for one moment, I need to change my boots.’ And without further explanation she scooted up the backstairs to do just that.

  But as she sought her bedchamber, it wasn’t a menu of appetisers or delicacies that filled her mind. Whenever she dared close her eyes for longer than a blink, she envisioned the Earl’s wickedly handsome smile and the morning sunlight as it glinted off the dark waves in his hair. How his striking profile and muscular physique somehow reminded of the marble statues she’d seen sketched in a dusty volume of Greek art found in the Kirby Park library.

  Settling on the edge of her bed, she took a moment to fully absorb the impact of her imaginings and relish the deep, yearning desire that spiralled through her, quick to spark an excellent suggestion that needed to be voiced.

  She would invite the Earl of Penwick to her celebration. Good heavens, why had it taken so long for her to formulate this idea? She’d dance with him again and be held in his arms. A capricious exhilaration snatched her breath away. Anxious now to share this bit of insight with her sister and concoct some relevant reason why the Earl should be added to the guest list, she hastily discarded her wet boots and donned the first pair on the lower shelf of her closet, not stalling in the least to make her selection, a process that usually occupied a solid ten minutes.

  She moved to the wardrobe to run a comb through her unruly hair, only to have her eyes fall on the rosewood box where she concealed Randolph’s letters. Her excitement stuttered to a halt, all elation turned to lead and she released a disappointed sigh, at once deflated by the factuality that this pinnacle moment precipitated her goodbye. No matter she’d never voiced the words. At last, the time had come.

  With tentative fingers she raised the lid and selected the top letter on the pile, one of her favourites, where Randolph described a competitive fencing bout. Pride laced every word as he detailed his victory. She’d read the paragraphs so often she could picture the scene as if she experienced it alongside him; the dashing swordsman winning the exhibit with honour.

  Now resettled on the bed, she laid the letter in her lap, and with her fingertip traced the familiar strokes of his penmanship as if a gentle caress over each powerful slant and bowed curve. ‘I’m so sorry, Randolph.’ The heartfelt words sounded lonely and hollow in her empty bedchamber. ‘I once believed we would be together always. I offered you my heart with the purest intent, but the accident that stole my mobility also changed my life in more ways than I can count. When at last I decided to find you, I discovered myself lacking. I could never have borne your pity if our friendship had continued through guilt and despair. I…’ She waited, afraid to confess the sentiment. ‘I cherished your every word and loved you too much to become a burden, a wife who could not dance and ride, or stand proudly beside you.’ Her eyes watered to accompany the tremble in her voice and she removed her spectacles and dashed the tears away with the back of her hand, not wishing for them to fall to the paper and mar his lovely message. ‘But if anything, dearest, I owe you my fondest gratitude, for it was my deep affection for you that forged my vow to walk again. Every painstaking effort was empowered by the desire to someday run into your embrace. For this you have my eternal gratitude, Randolph Caulfield. I will always, most ardently, remember you in my heart.’

  She couldn’t bear to dwell on it a breath longer and returned the letter to the box before she rushed to the washstand to splash water on her face. Only then, with all emotion resolved and calm demeanour restored, did she return to the breakfast room, determined to take life one step at a time, the first by adding the Earl of Penwick’s name to the guest list.

  She donned a bright smile and slid into her seat, a footman filling her cup with chocolate before she could request the beverage.

  ‘Good morning, Livie,’ Aunt Kate greeted her along with Dash and Whimsy. ‘You look chipper and ready for the day.’

  ‘I rose before the su
n, not wanting to waste a minute.’ Livie reached for the jar of marmalade, her spoon waggling at the ready. ‘And also, I’m anxious to finalise the plans for my debut. It will be the grandest event of the season.’

  ‘With a guest list of near two hundred I can’t imagine a celebration to top it.’ Dashwood peered around the edge of his freshly pressed newspaper, his eyes atwinkle to contradict his feigned beleaguering tone.

  ‘Actually…’ – Livie injected a cheerful laugh – ‘…there’s a name I’d like added if it isn’t too late for the invitation to be sent.’

  ‘There are no time limits on invitations. Tell me the name of the young lady’s family and I’ll see it done.’ He set aside the news and offered his full attention. ‘You haven’t requested a single specific.’

  ‘Actually…’

  ‘Another actually?’ This from her sister who shot her a speaking glance and watched the interplay with interest.

  ‘I’d like to invite the Earl of Penwick… if he isn’t busy… I mean, if he could possibly attend?’ Her sentence faded away on a high note of enquiry as the weight of everyone’s gaze settled upon her.

  ‘Penwick.’ Dash exhaled a long breath and laced his fingers. ‘If I recall correctly, the Earl is associated with my brother, Jasper, and a sensible man. But of more interest, what has caused this request?’ He voiced the question with a good amount of brotherly teasing, although no one could miss the insistent note of expectation there, too.

  Three heads swivelled in her direction and Livie stifled her first reaction to Aunt Kate’s wide-eyed concentration, though she’d probably only heard half the conversation due to her hearing loss.

  ‘As you mentioned, he’s a charming gentleman.’ Livie’s face heated and she passed a hand over her cheek as if to erase her embarrassment. Next, she busied herself by cleaning her spectacles with the damask napkin rather than face their inquisition with clear focus.

  The table remained silent for a solid three beats of her heart.

  ‘He’s devilishly handsome, then?’ Aunt Kate near yelled the question.

  ‘Oh, I never said that.’ Certainly her neck coloured as crimson as her face. Everyone, including the footman who stood across the room, would see her flaming face and know she told untruths.

  ‘I only thought to steal a dance.’ Aunt Kate took a sip of her tea and smiled as if she hadn’t instigated the most awkward breakfast conversation ever.

  ‘He’s a wondrous dancer.’ Had she said that aloud? Apparently. Wilhelmina’s eyes flared and Dash’s brows attempted to push his hairline back an inch.

  For a good long minute all one could hear was the clink of Aunt Kate’s fork against the china as she chased a slice of strawberry around the perimeter.

  Dashwood cleared his throat, though all eyes remained riveted to Livie, and inclined to offer some type of explanation, she defaulted to vague assumption. ‘I assume practised dance is standard aristocratic business.’

  Dash steeped his knife against the rim of his plate. ‘Indeed.’ He turned and winked at Wilhelmina. ‘It’s how I spend most all my spare time.’

  Another pause held them captive until, at last, Whimsy rescued the situation. ‘I think inviting the Earl is a wonderful idea. How poorly done in our oversight of omitting his attendance when we’ve nigh invited everyone in London. Darling,’ – she gave her smile to Dash – ‘do you know of his direction?’

  ‘The information can be obtained easily enough, but you need not bother yourself. I will issue the invitation.’ He turned towards Livie with a glint of acute curiosity in his eye. ‘The question remains as to why you’d like to include the Earl in your debut celebration.’

  Livie swallowed thoughtfully and took her time chewing the minuscule bit of yeast roll left on her tongue. Then, in a brilliant and quite miraculous recovery, she slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and displayed the charm bracelet retrieved from the bird’s nest earlier this morning. ‘You’d never guess what I found while out walking, Whimsy. It’s mother’s bracelet and truly a remarkable discovery. Dash, isn’t that your father’s charm still intact on the left side of the chain?’ She extended her open palm towards the head of the table.

  An immediate rush of astonished surprise encompassed the breakfast room to be replaced a breath after with a flurry of questions and activity. No one could believe the extraordinary good fortune that their treasured charm bracelet be found after its unfortunate drop into the Thames. Who knew where it may have journeyed between then and now? But Livie hardly cared, pleased with her clever yet delicate diversion from the subject and the breath-stealing handsomeness possessed by the Earl of Penwick.

  Penwick stared out the window of his study, his eyes fixed on the slim elm that reached as high as the roof truss. Accustomed to the view, he was reminded of the paperbark maple which had grown outside his bedchamber window as a youth, a cluster of honeysuckle bushes as its base. He often confided in that tree over the early years of his boyhood. He never actually spoke aloud to the maple, but somehow staring at the strong trunk and outreaching branches helped him solve problems and reduce troubles.

  Now, a far cry from his childhood home, the elm served as a poor substitute, but would have to suffice. Life had become decidedly more difficult these last few days. Was it caused by the approaching exchange of marriage vows or had something else insinuated the malaise? Some unnamed instigation prompted the answer of the letters he’d kept under lock and key for longer than he cared to acknowledge. What defect did he possess which held him hostage to a bundle of words and sentiments sent over a year prior and ending in silent abandonment? Hadn’t that one fact revealed the importance he’d assigned the letters wasn’t shared by Lavinia? Life continued and he could spare no time to get lost in circumstances. He exhaled fully, as if by doing so he could release the pent-up anger and shed unresolved emotion.

  The elm, like the paperbark maple, listened in silence, its branches stark, the last clinging vestiges of foliage clinging in broken surrender. Here lay a sign. He needed to examine his beliefs, peel away whatever prohibited him from carrying out his well-laid plan to marry Claire. She possessed a fine disposition, kindness of heart and amenable character. She would make a lovely wife. Their days would proceed seamlessly. Endlessly. Somehow the word conjured images of tedium and shallow conversation. He jerked his view from the window and stalked to the liquor decanter on the sideboard, but he didn’t pour a drink. The brandy, rich and golden, full of promise and heated pleasure, sparked an image of Livie’s flowing tresses. A familiar pain creased his chest.

  She’d appeared absolutely fetching this morning, wrapped in a woollen blanket, all pink-cheeked disarray, hair mussed as if she’d rolled over in bed and become tangled in the covers. Her face was coloured with a faint blush that heated him more than it likely affected her.

  As a man of exacting disposition, he would go mad from this contrary state of mind. Perhaps all he needed to rid this foolish obsession was to confront the misleading proposition. Scratch the itch, so to speak. But he abandoned the thought as quickly as it formed. He would not be a man who kept a mistress while his wife sat at home, and pursuing an unexpected, reckless temptation only ten days from the wedding altar shamed him.

  He needed a night of male camaraderie to reinforce his decisions of late. Jasper St David couldn’t be happier with his recent marriage to Emily, and Benedict, Viscount Kellaway and his wife, Angelica, had just celebrated the birth of their son. That was the future he strove to capture; marital bliss and a family to carry his name and title. Continuation of the line was the impetus of the effort to reorder his life.

  True, he’d all but abandoned his friends since honing his focus to establish a highly respected stable while adopting the responsibilities of the earldom. He’d lent any spare time to courting Claire. Guilt, as heavy as the morning fog, pressed down on him, but he shook it off, unwilling to accept he’d not offered Claire the attention she deserved.

  The realignment of his intentions improv
ed his mood and he stepped towards the door much relieved. He needed to arrange the wedding trip and complete any remaining purchases. Things would proceed as planned. With his reaffirmed purpose and a backward glance to the elm, he made way for the door.

  Chapter Ten

  Hawkins shifted his position and took a step nearer the wall. Meeting behind a flash-house on the outskirts of London was risky, the ale draper likely to see them if they weren’t careful, but tracking the lost diamonds had become a race across the countryside, and without the goods in hand, he’d be lucky to earn a tenth of the chink promised, failure not an option. He had gambling debts to settle and more than one nobbler reminding him of his vowels. He issued Booth a firm rap on the shoulder to guarantee his attention and simultaneously vent frustration.

  ‘Two uppity chits were in Lott’s when the footman nabbed the bloomin’ boxes. A visit to the shop is long overdue. Time to make the shopkeeper sing like the footman, then we nab the two fancies because if one of ‘em ‘as the gallies, it’ll be candy from a baby to recover the goods.’

  ‘‘Ow we supposed to do that? It’s not like we’ll be invited to supper.’

  Hawkins cursed a foul oath in reaction to Booth’s shortsightedness and dim wit. ‘We watch the chits and ask a few questions. All information ‘as a price and if that ain’t the bit, the old man’s register should tell us what we need to know.’

  Kings Theatre bustled with frenetic anticipation. The performance had garnered dozens of rave reviews and as Dashwood and Wilhelmina took their seats in the box, Livie edged closer to the railing, excited to soak in every nuance of the experience. She’d never attended an opera before and, as a prelude of celebration to her upcoming debut, Dash had reserved a private box for the three of them. Her eyes scanned the interior, taking in the florid detail of the velvet drape as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Low-burning sconces lent intimate lighting above four plush chairs of welcoming comfort. Aunt Kate had begged off and Livie approved as the opera ran well into the wee hours and only the indefatigable survived. She planned to be one of them. It didn’t matter she did not speak Italian and cared little for the composer’s story of a complicated love triangle, the hero betrothed to one and in love with another. Still, Aunt Kate would have admired the lush design of the box, much as she did.