The Earl’s Intended Wife

by Louise Allen

  ‘As you may observe, and as Mama frequently laments, I am not a beauty.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed.

  Although she always told herself that she despised empty flattery, Hebe was nettled by this honesty. ‘And not pretty, either,’ she went on, determined to heap up the coals of misery now she had begun.

  ‘Certainly not pretty.’ Alex finally got to his feet to tie up the boat. Through a haze of hurt tears, Hebe could still admire the easy way he moved about the small vessel, the strength with which he pulled on the rope to bring it tight against the harbour side.

  He leaned over to take her hand and help her to her feet and she tried to turn the awkward conversation into a joke. ‘How ungallant of you, Major! You are supposed to protest that I am the epitome of prettiness: neither of us need believe it.’

  ‘Ah, but I would rather say something that is true and which we can both believe.’ He kept her hand trapped in one of his as she came to her feet and she found herself standing very close indeed to him. The little boat, rocking gently at its mooring, suddenly became an enclosed, private world. Somewhere she was aware of the salt smell of the sea mixed with the more pungent odours of the harbour, somewhere sea gulls were calling harshly and further along, under the curtain wall, children were playing, but they all seemed distant, as though on the other side of a window.

  ‘You are not beautiful, Hebe,’ Alex said quietly, ‘but then few people truly are.’

  You are, she thought, looking up at him.

  ‘And you are not pretty, which is very fleeting and usually turns to a sad disappointment in middle age—no, Hebe, you are something far better, and much more dangerous.’

  It was strangely difficult to breathe. ‘What…what am I?’

  Alex released her hand and brought up both his to cup her face. His fingers traced lightly across her cheekbones and she dropped her gaze in confusion, not realising that her lashes brushed his fingertips. ‘You are enchanting.’

  ‘Enchanting?’ Her eyes opened wide and she stared into his face in amazement. ‘Enchanting? Me?’

  He released her and turned to lift her basket on to the quayside. ‘Surely you have been told that before?’

  ‘No, I have not been told that before, but then, I do not flirt, Major.’ Hebe stepped carefully over a tangle of net on the bottom boards, wondering if her shaky legs were going to support her as far as solid land.

  ‘Yes, I remember you saying so. But I am not trying to flirt with you.’ He caught her hand. ‘If you just step here on the side, and then put your other hand on the edge there. Just so…’

  Hebe found herself standing on the harbour wall looking down into the boat and into Alex’s upturned face. ‘Thank you for taking me sailing,’ she managed to say. ‘I hope I have not delayed you too long from your duties.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Not at all, it was a pleasure. Could you just throw down the rope again and I will be off. And I will take your advice.’

  ‘What advice?’ Hebe paused with the loop of coarse rope in her hand. She was very aware of the rough prickle of hemp: she seemed almost painfully aware of everything around her.

  ‘To take my shaving tackle with me when I am away for more than one night. Has anyone ever told you that you are very observant, Hebe?’

  ‘Observant? Oh, yes,’ she said with a sudden, genuine, laugh. ‘They tell me that all the time, only Mama calls it unladylike curiosity. Goodbye, Alex.’

  ‘Goodbye, Circe.’

  She picked up her basket and turned to walk up towards the sally port through the thick walls, her mind a jumble of impressions and sensations. She did not look back until she was into the shadow cast by the arch of the gate, and when she did the boat was already well out into the bay, heading back round the point on its return to the Grand Harbour.

  Her feet found their own way home up the steep street. Apparently she must have crossed lanes safely, avoided the laden donkeys and the porters with vast bundles held by straps around their foreheads, who thrust their way along wide avenue and narrow alley with equal unconcern for everyone else. Hebe arrived on the doorstep, absently acknowledged the greeting of the maid who took the basket from her, and hurried upstairs.

  With her bedroom door safely closed she threw off her straw hat and sat down at the dressing table. The mirror reflected back the same Hebe who had left that morning, the plain mouse with the friendly smile.

  Or did it? She leaned closer. Alex Beresford had seen something else—somebody else. Someone enchanting. Dangerous.

  ‘Enchanting.’ She said it out loud. Was he teasing her? Flirting with her? But he said he was not, and she was inclined to trust him. What had he seen then? Boring brown hair bundled into a net, revealing none of its exuberance. Grey eyes with long lashes. Hebe frowned, not seeing the sparkle that others saw when she laughed. Cheekbones rather too wide. The memory of Alex’s fingers tracing along them made her shiver. Nose: Hebe wrinkled it at her reflection. Nose, very ordinary, with freckles, despite Mama’s best efforts with lemon juice. Mouth: too wide, although her teeth were even and white, which was a good point.

  No, nothing there to justify enchanting. Perhaps he meant that she had a nice personality. That was what everyone said who wanted to be nice to girls who were plump, or too tall or just plain like her. What a lovely personality dear Hebe has… And what a pity she is so ordinary.

  Hebe in the mirror frowned back at the real Hebe. But still, he had called her…

  ‘Mama.’ Hebe ran out onto the landing. ‘Are you still in your chamber, Mama? Who was Circe?’

  Chapter Four

  ‘Circe?’ Mrs Carlton regarded her stepdaughter with mild astonishment as she burst through the door of her chamber. ‘Do not rush about so dear, it is most unladylike. Now, did you say Circe? A nymph, was she not, or was she that girl who was turned into a bulrush? Goodness, I do not know.’ She put down the hairbrush with which she was attempting, with Maria’s aid, to copy the intricate coiffure on a model in the fashion journal propped up against the mirror.

  ‘There was a book of Greek myths somewhere in your papa’s study, dear, but I have not seen it for months. But why do you want to know?’ she called as Hebe whisked out of the door again. ‘Oh, I do hope you are not becoming bookish, my dear.’ But her stepdaughter had vanished.

  After a dusty rummage through the books piled on the study shelf, Hebe found the volume at last and began to skim through it, for once not sidetracked by Minotaurs, men trying to fly or Zeus’s amorous endeavours.

  Eventually she found her quarry in the chapters devoted to Odysseus and his wanderings. ‘Circe,’ she read out loud, perched on the edge of the desk. ‘Daughter of Helios, the sun god, and Perse, a sea nymph… An enchantress, mistress of the island of Aeaea, who had the power to turn men into wolves, lions or swine.’ She broke off, frowning at the book. That did not sound a very desirable comparison: Circe appeared to be more of a witch than anything else. ‘She turned all of Odysseus’s crew into swine, but he forced her to turn them back and he stayed on her island with her for one year before continuing his voyage.’

  So, Alex compared her to an enchantress and one who had had such power over the great hero that he had remained on her island for an entire year. Was the Major saying that she was enchanting him into staying on her island of Malta?

  But that was ridiculous, for he was not his own master in this, but must go where the army commanded. She was still musing on the conundrum when Sara Carlton appeared in the door, having apparently given up the struggle with the new hair style, for her blonde curls were simply knotted on top of her head. ‘Did you find what you were looking for, Hebe? Oh, mind that dusty book on your skirts; why, you are the most harum-scarum girl sometimes!’

  ‘Sorry, Mama. Yes, Circe was an enchantress.’ Hebe put down the book of myths and hopped off the desk. ‘I found some excellent fish for dinner,’ she added, following Sara into the passage.

  ‘Well done, dear, Sir Richard will appreciate that. But why d
id you want to know about this Circe? I am not sure you should be reading these Greek myths in any case, everyone in them appears to have led the most irregular lives.’

  Hebe sighed inwardly. She had very much hoped she was not going to be asked that question, for, try as she might, she could think of no convincing evasion. ‘Major Beresford mentioned her,’ she admitted baldly.

  ‘Major Beresford? You have seen him this morning?’

  ‘Yes, I met him near the fish market.’

  ‘Provoking man!’ Sara swept into the sitting room and sat down in a swirl of periwinkle-blue skirts. ‘He comes nowhere near this house for three days and then has to meet you in the fish market with you looking like a local maid out marketing.’

  ‘He has been out of Valetta, Mama,’ Hebe said in an attempt to placate her wrath.

  ‘Oh? Well, in that case I forgive him. But there is no time to lose, we must send out the cards for our soirée on Tuesday. I had done nothing about it because I was so cast down by his failure to call.’

  ‘But, Mama, that is only two days away. Will people not think it odd that we should give such short notice of a party?’

  ‘I shall not regard that,’ Mrs Carlton said with the airy confidence of a successful hostess. ‘I shall say it is just an informal little gathering because I had a sudden whim.’

  ‘Should we not wait until you discover from Sir Richard this evening whether the Major is married?’ Hebe asked. ‘It will be a dreadful waste of gilt-edged cards if he is.’

  Her stepmother did not appear to notice her satirical tone and replied seriously, ‘If he is married, then how much more we will need a party to cheer us up! But we must not despair. Now come along, let us draw up a list.’

  Hebe spent the rest of the day writing cards of invitation, composing a long shopping list and daydreaming about Alex Beresford. Was he married? He should not be telling young ladies they were enchanting if he was, but then, men were inclined to flirt, she had observed, and none more than the scarlet-coated army officers.

  It would be best, she decided, realising that she had spent the half-hour after luncheon gazing into space and nibbling the end of her quill, if Sir Richard told them that evening that the Major had a wife and large family. Then she could forget all about him, which would be much more comfortable. But she found she did not want that sort of comfort. It was disturbing, but also rather pleasant, to feel the butterflies in her stomach and to have a vague feeling of expectation and excitement.

  The sensation was new, but she had no trouble attributing a cause to it. Was this why débutantes enjoyed flirting so much? No one ever tried to flirt with Hebe, for they were usually much too busy telling her about their problems. Or they were cheerfully taking her for granted as one of the people invited along to lend countenance to the prettier young ladies on any expedition.

  Hebe dipped her pen in the standish and addressed an envelope, then another, but her mind kept wandering. Was whatever this strange relationship that seemed to be developing with Alex Beresford a flirtation? Perhaps he simply liked her and found her amusing, if unconventional, company. And, in any case, what did she want to happen? At this point Hebe’s imagination refused to help her. All she was sure of was that whatever Alex had in mind, it was certainly not making a proposal of marriage to a plain, very ordinary young lady on Malta, whatever her mama might think!

  By the time the Commodore had arrived for dinner and had settled comfortably at the dinner table on Mrs Carlton’s right hand, Hebe was in a fair way to being in a dither of nerves.

  His fiancée was far too skilful to pounce on Sir Richard with demands for information before he had drunk his first glass of claret and had sampled the excellent baked fish, removed with a timbale of rice and sweetbreads and a savoury omelette. She waited until he had put down his knife and fork and announced, ‘A most excellent dinner, Mrs Carlton,’ before responding demurely,

  ‘I am so glad it meets with your approval, Sir Richard,’ then added, as if it was a sudden recollection, ‘By the by, I have decided to hold a small soirée next Tuesday. I do hope you will be able to attend.’

  The Commodore expressed himself both free, and delighted, to attend. ‘A sudden whim, my dear?’ he asked, a decided twinkle in his eye. Sara Carlton was firmly convinced that she managed Sir Richard without his having the slightest notion of it. Hebe was of the opinion that he saw through her wiles with perfect clarity, but rather enjoyed the experience of being wound around a pretty woman’s finger. He was more than capable of putting his foot down when he wanted to.

  ‘Exactly that,’ Mrs Carlton agreed. ‘A whim. Just an informal gathering of our particular friends. Tell me,’ she added, casually, ‘do you think Major Beresford would care to attend?’

  The twinkle intensified as Sir Richard caught Hebe’s eye. She blushed and his eyelid drooped into the hint of a wink. ‘I cannot speak for his engagements that evening, of course, but I am sure he would be most pleased to attend if he is free.’

  ‘It must be so difficult for him—indeed, for so many officers—to be so far from their wives and families,’ Sara Carlton said, in a voice of soft sympathy that failed to deceive either of her companions.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ the Commodore agreed. ‘Hebe, my dear, would you be so good as to pass me the parsley sauce? Thank you.’

  Normally Hebe would have enjoyed the sight of Sir Richard gently teasing her stepmother. He knew exactly why Mrs Carlton was fishing and would soon put her out of her misery with an answer. Tonight Hebe was every bit as anxious for his reply as Sara was. She fixed her eyes on her plate and waited.

  ‘Not that Major Beresford is married,’ Sir Richard said as he replaced the spoon in the sauce dish. ‘Now, is he engaged? There was something I heard…no, I must have the wrong man, for now I think of it, our conversation only the other day showed him to be quite unattached. What were we talking of? Oh, yes, we were discussing the lot in life of younger sons and he remarked that his father was anxious that his elder brother marry, and that as it was, neither son was showing any signs of matrimony, which caused his lordship some disquiet.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Sara Carlton softly.

  Hebe started breathing again. Which was better? To have been disappointed here and now, or to continue with the flirtation—or whatever it was she was having with Alex—and have the inevitable pain of seeing him pass on eventually to a prettier girl when the novelty wore off?

  She looked up and caught Sir Richard’s kindly gaze on her and suddenly something inside her revolted. Why should she give up like this? Why shouldn’t Hebe Carlton attract young men as much as any débutante? Experience, an inner voice jibed at her. Even Mama, who has every reason to wish you well, despairs of your looks and your behaviour. Everyone likes you, nobody desires you…

  Hebe’s chin came up and a decidedly martial light entered her eyes. Well, Alex Beresford apparently felt something more than liking. But he was not going to continue to feel like that if she was such a mouse. Sometimes she had wondered that this or that débutante had such a reputation for beauty and charm when she appeared quite ordinary to Hebe’s friendly, but critical, gaze. Yet such young women either believed in their own charms, or pretended they did, and somehow that put an aura around them. It was worth trying.

  I am enchanting, she told herself firmly. I remind men of the daughter of a Greek nymph… She felt better already, then was jerked out of her reverie by Mrs Carlton saying sharply,

  ‘Hebe, dear! Your plate.’ The footman was trying to clear and replace the dishes with the next course. A family dinner was obviously not the place to practise enchantment. Hebe’s sense of the ridiculous got the better of her and she concentrated instead on the tale the Commodore was telling of a mishap with the flagship’s cook, a crate of chickens and the Rear Admiral’s wife.

  The invitations for the party were duly sent out, and the Carlton ladies received back a gratifying number of acceptances, including a polite note from Major Beresford who expressed himself
delighted to attend. Sara bewailed the fact that she had invited quite half a dozen rival débutantes, but she knew perfectly well that if she appeared to snub them their mamas would cut Hebe off their invitation lists and that would be fatal.

  But everything else about the party gave her total satisfaction, even, to her amazement, the conformable behaviour of her stepdaughter. Hebe accepted without demur her new gown for the evening, even taking an interest in such trifles as which gloves to wear and whether she should dress her hair with flowers, twisted ribbons or gauze net. Her only act of rebellion was her stubborn refusal to cut her hair, but even that was forgiven when she meekly submitted to a dusting of rice powder over her freckles and the merest touch of rouge on her lips.

  Mrs Carlton found herself in such charity with her that she let her wear her own topaz set, which was a far prettier match for Hebe’s new gown of deep cream silk with a trim of deep amber ribbons at the hem, puff sleeves and neckline, than Hebe’s own modest pearls.

  Hebe spent the day of the party in a flurry of activity, helping clear the long salon that would act as the main reception room, set out small tables in the breakfast room for those who would wish to play cards and dress the dining table just so with sun-bleached linen and fresh flowers for the buffet.

  As she worked she had continued repeating her silent charm, I am enchanting, I am an enchantress, Alex Beresford likes me, Alex Beresford will think I look lovely tonight…

  When she finally stood up and regarded her reflection in the mirror it suddenly seemed that perhaps she was not utterly deceiving herself, for the young lady who stared back appeared tall, elegant and, if not exactly pretty, well…

  ‘Very nice,’ said Sara Carlton, unwittingly plunging Hebe into gloom. But she soon recovered her confidence as the first guests began to arrive. She was so focused on the words she was repeating silently, and so alert for the first sign of the Major’s arrival, that she seemed a very different girl from the eager, friendly, uncontrived Hebe everyone was used to and took for granted.