The Earl’s Intended Wife

by Louise Allen

  Even the most self-obsessed débutante noticed the difference as they were greeted by a cool, calm, slightly distant Hebe in a gown that was all the crack and a set of topazes which made every brunette present quite green with envy.

  As for the gentlemen, they were surprised not to be greeted with Hebe’s usual warm smile and anxious enquiry about whatever problem or affair of the heart that they had confided last time they had met her. She was very pleasant of course, but somehow none of them felt they were the centre of her attention.

  That was an accurate perception, for Hebe hardly saw any of the faces that passed before her, although she said all the right things, bobbed curtsies to the more senior ladies, shook hands and generally acted as the daughter of the house should.

  Then the clock struck nine and Major Beresford appeared in the doorway. Hebe swallowed convulsively, instantly convinced she was making a complete fool of herself and that he had not the slightest interest in her.

  He shook hands with Mrs Carlton and exchanged a few words before giving way to the formidable figures of the Misses Andrews, two spinsters rumoured to be the richest women on Malta.

  Hebe forced herself to look up and hold out her hand to him. He took it and said, ‘Miss Carlton, good evening.’ Then he lifted her hand and for one moment Hebe thought he was about to kiss it, an unconventional thing to be doing in this setting. Instead he turned it in his grasp and touched the inside of her wrist to his cheek. ‘A close enough shave?’ he asked, low-voiced.

  The colour spread up Hebe’s cheeks but she left her hand in his until he lowered it. ‘Ye—yes,’ was all she could find to say, but it was an effort of will to clasp her hands in front of her and not reach out to touch again.

  Mrs Carlton’s acute chaperon’s instinct made her turn, but all she saw was Hebe’s heightened colour and Major Beresford regarding her with a quizzical eye. ‘Major?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Carlton, I am holding up the line. I was merely assuring Miss Carlton that I had taken the advice she gave me the other morning.’ With a slight bow he took himself off into the salon, leaving Hebe breathless and blushing.

  There was a lull in the arrivals, for the rooms were almost full and Mrs Carlton would have the ultimate satisfaction of knowing that her party was a complete squeeze.

  ‘Hebe,’ she hissed, ‘I despair, I really do. Not only do you convince the man you are a bluestocking by discussing classical mythology with him, but now I find you have been giving him advice! It is a wonder if he does not consider you a bookish, managing girl.’ Hebe made no response, so, with a sigh, she turned towards the salon. ‘I think that most of our guests have arrived, let us go in and see how we can undo the damage you have wrought.’

  Hebe took a deep breath and meekly followed her stepmother’s elegantly-gowned back into the reception room, a small, secret smile lighting up her face. Even the sight of Alex Beresford making small talk with a group of very pretty débutantes did not shake her inner confidence.

  Unseen, her right hand crept up to touch her own cheek. The smell of limes and sandalwood reached her nostrils and she realised it was the cologne Alex was wearing. Through the gaps between the buttons of her long gloves his cheek had been so cool, so smooth, yet with the merest frisson from the stubble the razor must have cut through only a while before. Suddenly she shivered with a new, sensual awareness: but for Hebe the evening’s new experiences were only just beginning.

  Chapter Five

  ‘I say, Hebe…I mean, Miss Carlton.’

  Hebe turned to find Jack Forrester at her elbow, two of his friends by his side. Jack was the elder son of the Mrs Forrester to whose ball Mrs Carlton was angling to have Alex Beresford invited. He was a popular young man with both sexes, and although he knew Hebe very well from her friendship with his sisters, he had never sought her out before.

  ‘Good evening, Jack. Hello, Paul, William.’

  Jack Forrester turned a shoulder as if to exclude his two friends. ‘Hebe, you are coming to Mama’s ball, are you not?’

  ‘Why, yes, I am looking forward to it.’ Now, what did Jack want? She scoured her memory, but could not recall that he had seemed very interested in any of her particular friends, so he probably was not hoping for her help to be alone with someone…

  ‘Will you dance a waltz with me?’ He misinterpreted Hebe’s startled expression. ‘Yes, I know. Dashing of Mama, is it not? She said some of the older ladies might not like it, but she was not going to have a dowdy ball for anyone. You do waltz, don’t you, Hebe?’

  As it happened Hebe did, and had been carefully instructed in the dashing new dance. But no one had ever asked her to perform it with them. ‘Why, thank you, Jack, of course I will.’

  Mr Forrester’s two companions succeeded in gaining her side. ‘Now let another fellow get a word in, Jack!’ William Smithson demanded. ‘I say, Miss Carlton, you’ll give us a waltz each, won’t you?’

  ‘Well…yes, yes, of course,’ Hebe stammered. She caught a glimpse of herself in the long glass over the mantleshelf: a tall girl in a pretty gown, surrounded by young men. She could not believe it.

  Alex Beresford was across the other side of the room, talking to Mrs Forrester, Sara Carlton at his side. Mama must have lost no time in hinting her friend towards this eligible guest for the ball. Would he accept? Hebe resolved to listen to no more requests from partners until she knew. How awful to give away all the waltzes before he could ask her! Then the improbability of finding that she, nice, ordinary Hebe Carlton, was worrying about keeping her dance card clear, struck her and she almost laughed out loud.

  Mrs Carlton had lifted the lid of the piano and was urging the older Miss Smithson to play. The clear notes of an English country tune rippled through the buzz of conversation and, while several people strolled over to listen more closely, Alex Beresford made his way to Hebe’s side.

  She introduced the young men. The Major exchanged a few words with them perfectly pleasantly, but somehow they appeared to be picking up an unspoken message and within a minute all three made their excuses and melted back into the crowd.

  ‘Nice lads,’ Alex remarked.

  ‘Yes.’ Hebe was glad of a neutral topic of conversation, for now she was by his side she felt flustered. ‘You were talking to Jack Forrester’s mother just now.’ She realised it was the first time she had been with Alex in a crowd of people: it felt as though everyone’s eyes were on them.

  ‘The fashionable matron who invited me to her ball, making quite sure I knew there would be plenty of waltzing?’

  ‘Yes, I believe she is determined it will be very dashing. Will you be attending?’

  ‘Only if you give me the first waltz, Circe.’ He took her arm and steered her gently in the direction of the long table where drinks were being set out. ‘A glass of ratafia?’

  Hebe said demurely, ‘Yes, please.’ She took the glass and watched him over the rim as she took a sip. ‘I have already promised three waltzes. I do not know how many Mrs Forrester will order.’

  ‘Dance the first with me, then your young admirer and his friends will have to ask his mama to add on more if they feel cut out.’ He regarded her with challenging blue eyes. ‘I suppose you will tell me that you will not be allowed to dance more than one waltz with me?’

  ‘Indeed, yes, Mama would not like it. But a country dance would be perfectly eligible.’ Was it her new confidence? Was it simply his presence? Hebe did not know, but suddenly talking to Alex was easy. She smiled up at his suddenly serious face. ‘What is wrong? Are country dances beneath the interest of senior officers?’

  ‘Not at all, and if that is all you will permit me, I must accept it and be grateful. But do not blame me for being disappointed with only one waltz.’

  ‘Oh, now you are flattering me, to pretend to be cast down!’ She gestured round the room. ‘Look, there are half a dozen young ladies here who will all be at the ball, and every one, I warrant, will be happy to dance with you.’

  ‘Circe…’


  ‘And that is another thing,’ she continued, letting him guide her back towards the centre of the room. ‘I am not at all sure I am flattered to be compared to someone who turns men into swine. Mama, when she found me looking Circe up in a book of mythology, said I should not be reading such things, for everyone in the Greek myths led sadly irregular lives.’

  Alex gave a choke of laughter. ‘What can she mean?’

  ‘Well, she would say that Circe was the product of a most unfortunate liaison, Zeus’s…er…friendships with young women she would not mention at all, and can you just imagine her, lecturing the Minotaur on his bad habit of eating people?’

  Alex was having trouble controlling his expression. He swallowed hard and suggested, ‘Perhaps a Society for the Suppression of Vice in Mythology? There seems to be a society for the suppression of just about everything else.’

  ‘Oh, no, if you eliminate all the irregular behaviour, there would be no stories left!’ Hebe was trying so hard to control her giggles that they almost bumped into Miss Dyson, who regarded her with surprised eyes that held more than a hint of irritation.

  Charlotte Dyson was the acknowledged beauty of Malta society that year and was used to attracting the undivided attention of all the most eligible and attractive men at any function. Her father was an Admiral, her portion was known to be large, and her blonde hair, large blue eyes and willowy figure were much admired. She affected a style of calm elegance, and was never seen expressing any violent emotion. This cool front drove most of the men who came into contact with her wild with the desire to be the one to disturb her perfect composure.

  Her cool blue gaze surveyed Hebe’s animated face and sparkling eyes and noted the fact that her hand was resting on the arm of this most attractive officer. Miss Dyson was not used to handsome men failing to hover around her, waiting to be introduced. She was equally unused to seeing plain Miss Carlton with any of the beaux she had come to regard as hers by right.

  ‘Miss Carlton, a charming party.’

  ‘I am so glad you are enjoying it, Charlotte. May I present Major the Honourable Alex Beresford? Major Beresford, Miss Dyson.’

  Miss Dyson inclined her head with the studied grace that allowed the elegant curve of her throat to be seen to its best advantage. ‘Are you newly arrived on Malta, Major?’ Now he would fall in by her side and follow her as she drifted gracefully across the room.

  ‘I have been here a few days only, Miss Dyson. A most pleasant island. Excuse me, but I believe that gentleman with the red hair is attempting to attract your attention.’ He bowed and strolled off, Hebe still on his arm, leaving a fulminating Miss Dyson face to face with Horace Philpott, a gauche young gentleman of small fortune who adored her with a hopeless passion.

  ‘That was wicked,’ Hebe hissed, trying not to feel triumphant, and failing utterly. She had suffered too many patronising remarks from Charlotte in the past: this tiny vengeance was sweet.

  ‘I am sorry.’ Alex sounded not the slightest bit repentant. ‘Is she a particular friend of yours? Have I dragged you away?’

  ‘No, she is not,’ Hebe said with some force. ‘But she expected you to stay with her.’

  ‘And leave you. Yes, I noticed. Just because she is pretty…’

  ‘Pretty? Why, Charlotte is the acknowledged beauty this season.’

  Alex looked down at her, a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes. ‘I will give you a hint. Next time you are asked to admire a beautiful woman, ask yourself what she is going to look like when she is forty—better still, look at her mother—and think again.’ He glanced around. ‘Now I think I had better circulate or I will be in trouble with my hostess for being a bad guest. May I take you into supper later?’

  Hebe, who knew that Sara Carlton must be watching them with unalloyed delight, blushed and nodded. ‘Yes, please. Now, to whom shall I introduce you?’

  Hebe left Alex with a boisterous circle of naval officers, who soon absorbed him into a discussion of the best way to handicap a race between a goat and a sheep that someone had proposed, and began to circulate amongst the guests.

  Normally Hebe enjoyed parties, even ones like this one where she had to worry about whether there were accidents in the kitchen, the wine had run out or an ancient dowager was neglected and in need of someone to talk to. There were always people to watch, stories and problems would be confided to her and she might even indulge in a little quiet matchmaking.

  Now she found herself an object of interest. She was aware people were watching her and suspected that they were talking also. Were her friends jealous because of the attention Alex Beresford had paid her? Were they laughing to see Miss Carlton all dressed up with powder on her face? It did not occur to her that while the young ladies were indeed jealous, and curious, the older matrons—unless they had daughters of their own to puff off—were pleased to see how dear Hebe had emerged from her shell. And the young gentlemen were startled to see good old Hebe not as a sympathetic honorary older sister, but an uncommonly taking young lady.

  But the object of their attention realised none of this until she heard Lady Ordleigh remark to Mrs Winston, ‘Whatever has happened to little Hebe? Why, the child has suddenly blossomed.’

  Hebe, unseen behind them, held her breath. ‘Indeed she has. I would never have thought to describe her as pretty, but she is tonight: look at the young men watching her. Now, what has caused this, I wonder?’

  The object of their speculation crept away in amazement. She found a small group who were chatting together and with an effort joined in the conversation. Without Alex to talk to she was feeling strangely flustered, almost panicky. Any moment now someone would see she was an impostor and say…

  ‘Would you like to have supper now, Hebe?’ She gave a little start, turning from the small knot of people with whom she had been talking. It was Alex Beresford, smiling at her. He was half a head taller than any of the other men in the group, his scarlet coat a startling contrast to the blue uniform of the naval officers, his saturnine dark looks almost sinister against their weatherbeaten, cheerful faces.

  ‘Oh! Major…yes, please. Will you excuse me?’ She smiled at the others. ‘I had best eat now in case Mama needs any help.’ She took Alex’s arm, but as soon as they reached the hall he steered her, not into the dining room which was already resounding with the sound of clinking cutlery and animated talk, but out into the garden.

  Hebe protested faintly, but was inexorably borne into the depths of the shrubbery until they were quite out of sight.

  ‘What is the matter, Circe?’ Alex turned her so he could see her face in the light of the lanterns which lit the winding paths. ‘You are as white as a sheet and I do believe there are tears in your eyes. Has one of those little cats been spiteful?’

  ‘No, everyone has been very kind. It is just that I am not used…’ Her voice failed her. It was ridiculous, she was going to cry.

  ‘Not used to parties? Surely not? You are such a good hostess.’ His hands were resting lightly on her shoulders and his touch felt warm and reassuring.

  ‘Not used to being…pretty. People are looking at me.’ She dropped her gaze. Now she had said it she felt ridiculous. Now he would laugh at her.

  But Major Beresford shook his head reprovingly. ‘You were not attending to me the other day, Hebe. Not pretty—enchanting. You have always been enchanting, it is just that you have never cared to exercise the enchantment. No wonder you feel so shaky, releasing all that power.’

  Now he was laughing at her, but Hebe did not mind. She smiled at him, blinking back the tears. ‘Is that what it is? No, you are teasing me.’

  ‘Only a little bit. Now, what would make you feel better?’

  ‘A glass of wine?’ Hebe suggested. She rarely drank any, but it felt like a good idea now.

  Alex’s blue eyes remained thoughtfully on her. ‘Perhaps, in a moment, but first, I think…’ And he gathered her to him and kissed her.

  Hebe had never been kissed before. She had never
met anyone she wanted to kiss, for it always looked an embarrassing and rather uncomfortable process.

  Now she felt neither embarrassed nor the slightest bit uncomfortable. But it was all very strange. Alex’s mouth was gentle on hers, both firm and warm. It seemed to be asking her questions in a silent language she did not understand, but which she very much wanted to speak too. His hands held her securely to him and she could feel the heat of him against her skin, the beat of his heart where her hand rested against his chest. He smelled wonderful: citrus and sandalwood and an indefinably male scent all of his own.

  Her body was reacting in entirely new ways, giving her incomprehensible messages, telling her to move against him. She felt too shy to obey the urge, but if he kept on kissing her she surely would…

  Alex raised his head and looked down at her closed eyes. ‘Hebe?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Open your eyes.’ She did so, blinking, and looked directly into his blue gaze, which held an expression that was quite unfamiliar but which made her mouth go dry. ‘Now, will you forget about being pretty?’

  ‘And concentrate on being Circe?’ She smiled at him trustingly, wondering if her heart was going to stop thudding.

  ‘I do not know what you have turned me into,’ Alex said ruefully, turning her within the circle of his arms until she was held lightly against his side. She could not see his face.

  ‘Not a swine,’ Hebe assured him, wishing he had not stopped kissing her.

  ‘Probably a wolf,’ Alex retorted. ‘That is what your mama would say if she could see us now. Come along, back inside and tempt me with lobster patties.’

  ‘How do you know there are any?’ Hebe challenged him as they stepped back through the door and he dropped his arm from her shoulders.

  ‘I took the precaution of looking at the buffet earlier. Always scout ahead is a good military maxim.’ They reached the door of the dining room and as they passed through a young woman with rich chestnut hair caught up on top of her head passed the far end of the table, her back to them. Alex stopped dead as though he had hit a barrier.