She sank to the floor by the washstand, bowing her head in her hands. She had not really comprehended just how awkward things that she took for granted were to him. And with her clumsy insistence on her own rights, she had forced him to speak of the weakness he managed to conceal from the rest of the world with such resounding success.
She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself.
And, worse, experienced a sinking feeling that she had given her rather touchy husband yet another reason to dislike her.
* * *
Captain Fawley lifted his eyes from the balance sheets, to see if Travers was trying to make fun of him.
There was nothing in the factor’s pale eyes to show he was anything but a diligent employee.
‘Are you quite sure?’ he eventually brought himself to ask.
‘Well, of course, the figures are only to the end of last quarter. Bound to be some fluctuations in the overall value since then. But not to any significant extent.’
‘I had no idea.’
Travers smiled for the first time since he had walked into the office, as arranged, to go over the books with the new owner of The Dovecote.
‘Nobody did, save Miss Lampton and myself,’ said Travers, a gleam of enthusiasm lighting his formerly colourless demeanour. ‘A very astute mind, had Miss Lampton. Invested very wisely.’
Captain Fawley suddenly found himself assailed by a wave of curiosity towards his benefactress.
‘Explain,’ he barked, inadvertently reverting to the attitude of commanding officer towards a subordinate up on a charge. Travers automatically sat a little straighter in his chair.
‘Well, Miss Lampton, you see, sir, did have a little money of her own, when she initially came to live here. Her father had banished her from the parental home when she refused to enter the marriage he had arranged for her. But instead of begging his forgiveness, Miss Lampton found that his harshness had stiffened her resolve to become independent of any man. And so, secretly, she began to, umm, speculate in various ventures….’
‘On your advice?’
‘Oh, no, sir. She had her own ideas about how she wanted to invest her money. Very forceful, she was. Would have dealt with the city traders herself, but for the fact such activity is forbidden a lady. Disliked having to use me at all, to tell you the truth, at least at first. After a few years, though…’ he smiled as though indulging in fond memories ‘…well, we got used to each other.’
‘A very successful partnership, in effect.’
‘Yes sir, as you can see.’ Travers indicated the ledgers which lay open on the desk.
Almost every single venture Miss Lampton had decided to dabble in had paid huge dividends. The wealth she had bequeathed to Captain Fawley was stupendous. He could live like a lord for the rest of his days. He frowned. His own modest requirements would scarcely make a dent in such an enormous fortune. He was too disfigured to try to cut a dash in society. At one time, he would have been delighted at the prospect of being able to indulge in his love of horseflesh. Now he could scarcely control the gentle mare Lensborough had trained and sold to him on terms that were akin to giving the creature away.
‘I cannot continue on the path she trod,’ he admitted to his factor, after a moment or two of reflection. ‘I have always been a soldier. I have no head for business.’
‘She foresaw that eventuality,’ Travers said just a shade too quickly. ‘She suggested you might like to simply sell up, invest in the funds and live a life of indolence.’
From the expression on his factor’s face, Captain Fawley judged that Miss Lampton had not held very high expectations of his capabilities. Yet that had not prevented her from leaving everything she owned to him. He ran a rather shaky hand over the stack of ledgers on the desk.
He had a sudden vision of the woman who had lived in this house, scheming and plotting to make a fortune that she would leave to a complete stranger. She had not done it because she had any personal feelings for him. From what he had been able to tell so far, she disliked all males, on principle.
‘Why me?’ he grated. ‘I am no relation to her at all.’
Travers stuck his chin out a little as he said, ‘That was to your advantage, sir. Her family washed their hands of her when she became, as they termed it, difficult. Either of her brothers could have defended her when her father ousted her from the family home. Or even when the old man died. But they did nothing. The only person who tried to intercede on her behalf was your mother. She went to the old man and begged him to let Euphemia choose a husband she could love. It was perhaps inevitable that when Algernon became head of the family, he began to persecute your mother. He blamed her, you see, for encouraging his sister to defy their father. By the time Miss Lampton discovered what was afoot, there was nothing she could do for the unfortunate lady. But she felt she could partially redress the injustice by making you her heir. Shall I proceed with the sale for you, sir?’ asked Travers, when Captain Fawley remained broodingly silent.
‘I suppose that would be for the best,’ he conceded. He could settle up his payment plan with Lensborough. It would be the first thing he would do. ‘See to it, would you?’
Travers smiled as he got to his feet. ‘With pleasure, sir. And may I say how glad I am you have fulfilled the terms necessary to inherit the fortune Miss Lampton worked all her life to bequeath to you. I would have been sorry to see that scapegrace nephew of hers get his hands on it.’ His smile dimmed. ‘Not once did he ever try to so much as visit her, when he thought she was just an eccentric old lady, eking out her existence in rural fastness!’
‘To be fair, nor did I.’
‘Ah, but you never even knew of her existence, did you, sir? It amused her, to think of herself as a sort of fairy godmother, weaving her magic behind the scenes…’ He ground to a halt at the appalled look on Captain Fawley’s features.
‘Well, I don’t deny she was a little eccentric,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘Just one more question,’ said Captain Fawley. The factor schooled his face into that of bland servitor, awaiting his pleasure. ‘If she disliked her brother, and her brother’s son, so much, how did Percy Lampton manage to get himself a mention in her will at all?’
‘A bad business, that.’ Travers’ face darkened. ‘In her latter years, when she became less mobile, Algernon took to visiting her occasionally. He would stride about the place, assessing its value, assuming she must bequeath it to another member of the family. He wanted his younger son, Percy, to inherit it, since the major part of his own estate went to his own heir. When he discovered that not only had she already made a will, but that it was in your favour, he became…well, I think vicious is the only word to describe it. He bullied and hounded her until she made that codicil, for writing you out altogether, he could not make her do!’ Pulling himself together, he finished, ‘Will that be all?’
Captain Fawley felt faint stirrings of a strange sense of kinship with the woman he had never personally known. She seemed to have disliked her brother almost as much as he did. She must have done, to have taken such pains to make sure that the boy he had set out to oppress became wealthy.
When the factor had left, Captain Fawley remained seated at the desk, marvelling at the extent of his good fortune. A feeling of exaltation rose within his chest and burst from his lips in the form of laughter. He had hoped he would never have to worry about a bill again. Buy a fresh set of linen whenever he felt like it. Play a hand of cards without having to consider how much change he had in his pocket first. Not this!
He had to find Deborah and tell her. Striding to the chimneybreast, he rang for the housekeeper.
‘Tell my wife I want a few words with her,’ he barked.
Mrs Farrell raised her brows in an expression of disapproval, but said nothing as she turned to obey his command. It was only when, some minutes later, a very timid knock on the door presaged his wife’s arrival that it occurred to him it might have seemed a little autocratic to send for her as though she was one of his subor
dinates.
The look of trepidation on her face as she approached the desk behind which he sat only confirmed his sense of having treated her with less than the respect due to a wife. He recalled the way she had fled from his fit of temper that morning. He had not seen her since. She looked as though she wished she was not seeing him now.
‘I only asked you in here to share the news that the factor has just given me,’ he said. ‘Do sit down! You look like a nervous subaltern up on a charge!’ he snapped, his conscience provoking him to lash out, quite unfairly, in completely the wrong direction. It was with himself he was annoyed. He felt even more angry with himself when she sank into the seat, her head down, hands clasped in her lap as though expecting a scold.
Rapidly reviewing the few words they had exchanged since making their vows, he could hardly blame her. With a heavy sigh, he said, ‘It cannot have been easy for you, the last few days. I apologise.’
‘You apologise?’ She looked up at him with swift enquiry. Then shook her head. ‘It has occurred to me, during this morning, that I have some things to apologise for too.’
‘You do?’ he sat bolt upright, completely astonished. ‘Why, what have you done?’
‘Well, I have been angry with you on more than one occasion…’
‘Which I thoroughly deserved, I dare say. Look,’ he said, when she opened her mouth as if she would have protested, ‘it is clearly not such a simple task to merge two lives together as I had thought it would be. We will have to come to some accommodation regarding Linney’s presence in our room. I cannot do without his aid, you know, but—’
‘If you would just tell me before you sent for him, so that I could cover myself up. Or leave altogether if your need for help is of a delicate nature.’
Her cheeks went bright red. It reminded him how delightfully tousled she had looked that morning, after having spent some minutes hiding under the blankets. He made an effort to soften his voice as he said, ‘I should not have used such coarse language this morning, Deborah. It was inexcusable.’
She smiled shyly up at him. ‘As you say, we both have adjustments to make, being married. I dare say it will take us some time to get used to each other’s ways.’
What a generous nature she had! And how reasonably she was dealing with their earlier quarrel. He recalled some of the scenes that had gone on in Walton House when his half-brother had first brought home his French wife. Doors slamming, crockery being thrown, sulks and tantrums. Heloise had gone about town, acting as outrageously as she dared, to try to punish her husband for his cold and autocratic treatment of her. They had settled down eventually, but for a while, they had made each other miserable.
Of course, he had known from the outset Deborah would never treat him to such tantrums. He had never seen her make a fuss about the difficulties life threw in her way. She just got on with whatever she had to do, with good grace.
‘We have a lifetime.’ He smiled, congratulating himself on choosing such a levelheaded girl to wife. ‘And if we can both be as reasonable as you are being this morning, then it will be a pleasure to get used to your ways.’
‘Oh,’ she said, her smile growing broader. What a lovely thing it had been to say. Especially since she knew he meant it. Had he not promised never to offer her Spanish coin? She ducked her head, fidgeting with a stray thread that was working its way from her cuff.
Watching her nervous gesture, he suddenly knew what he wanted to spend his money on. It was not just that she had not brought many clothes with her. She had never had many clothes. She had worn the same ball gown, with different trimmings, for the entire Season, until the night of Lensborough’s ball. She had only three or four bonnets, to his knowledge, and she had always worn her gloves until the seams started to split.
‘When we go back to London, I want you to buy an entirely new wardrobe,’ he said decisively.
She looked up at him in alarm. ‘You do not like my clothes?’
‘That is immaterial. You need new ones. I want you looking extremely fashionable.’ He wanted to see her enjoying herself. Women enjoyed shopping for clothes. And then showing them off.
‘We will have to get a barouche, so you can drive round Hyde Park in it.’ He frowned. ‘And a house, a fine house, in the very best address.’
Deborah’s heart sank. She was not the kind of woman he should have married at all. While her head had been full of dreams of a house in the country, filled with children, it seemed that, all along, he had wanted to live in town and cut a fashionable figure. With a pang, she realised that they had never discussed what they wanted out of marriage. Robert had mentioned children, and security, but not any details of where or how he anticipated they might live out their lives.
She pasted a brave smile on her lips as she forced herself to say, ‘That sounds lovely.’
He frowned. ‘It cannot be done all at once. It may take Travers some time to raise the capital.’ He indicated the pile of ledgers on the desk that separated them.
‘Oh, I shan’t mind staying here for a while,’ she put in quickly. If he intended to return to London, she had best make the most of what little time she had here. From the window seat of an empty upstairs bedroom, where she had taken refuge that morning, she had noticed, not an oak tree, but a massive yew in the centre of a velvety smooth lawn. Beyond that was a walled garden, over which peeped the boughs of what looked like a productive orchard. The housewife in her wanted to explore the orchard, the vegetable gardens and the stillroom. The mother in her wanted to see if it would ever be possible to build a tree house in that yew. Or, if not, at least hang a swing from its lower branches. From her recollection of the journey, the house itself stood not far from the village. She wanted to walk to it, and explore it and find out if there were other walks in the area. She wanted to attend the church with its squat, Norman tower, and make friends with the local ladies. In short, she wanted to make The Dovecote her home.
She would not care all that much if she never set foot in London again. Life there had seemed shallow, and brittle and not the least bit comfortable.
‘I am sorry I did not give you the chance to bring a change of clothing with you,’ he broke into her reverie. ‘But you won’t be needing much anyway, for the next few days.’
No, he would not wish to entertain, she thought, entirely missing the wicked grin that lit his face.
‘No, I suppose not,’ she said, trying to be as amenable to his wishes as she could. He could barely tolerate having his own wife in the room while he was eating, let alone strangers. She could make this one gown do until her trunks arrived, since she would only be pottering about the gardens and house. She would put off visiting the neighbours until the next time they came down here. Whenever that might be.
‘Then you agree?’ he said, getting to his feet and coming round the desk.
‘Agree?’ She was not aware he had asked her a question. With a puzzled frown, she swiftly reviewed their conversation.
‘That we should spend these next few days getting to know each other better,’ he said, coming to stand over her. She looked up at him in bewilderment. He reached down and ran one finger along the curve of her cheekbone.
‘I want to take you back to bed, Deborah. Now. In broad daylight. Does that shock you?’ His face took on a shuttered expression. ‘Disgust you?’
Her heart leapt at the look of longing she had read before the shutters came down. She had thought he could barely tolerate having her in bed, because she was not the woman he wanted. Now she saw that part of his insistence on complete darkness stemmed from his fear she would find him repulsive. She wanted to cry. How could he think she might feel disgust, just because he had a few scars?
Slowly, she got to her feet. Then reached out her own hand, mirroring the way he had just caressed her face. Deliberately, she ran one finger down the unblemished side of his face. Then she reached up on tiptoe, to kiss the cheek that was puckered, and reddened, before saying, ‘Not disgusted. But perhaps more than
a little shocked. Oh, not at your suggestion, but at my reaction to it. I find that when you speak of wanting to return to our bed, my heart has started to beat faster. I believe it is quite improper, and yet…’
He caught her hand to his cheek, on a ragged gasp, his eyes darkening. ‘You want me,’ he growled, before sliding his hand round to the nape of her neck, and kissing her soundly.
‘Yes.’ She sighed, when he finally broke the kiss. ‘I should not, but—’
‘Why not? We are married. There is no sin in this, Deborah.’ Grabbing her hand, he made for the door.
Now her heart was really beating fast. The thought of retreating to the seclusion of their room, in broad daylight, was incredibly exciting.
‘Damn it,’ he cursed, coming to an abrupt halt. ‘I am going to have to get Linney to get me out of this leg first.’
She made a little mew of disappointment as she pictured the scene. He would ring for his serving man, and go through all the rigmarole of getting ready for bed, having first ensured her absence from whatever ritual he was so unwilling for her to witness. Then he would send for her. And then, when he had finished with her, send her away so that Linney could help him wash and restore him to an appearance of wholeness. The whole procedure would be cumbersome, and awkward, and embarrassing for all concerned.
‘It will not be very romantic,’ she acknowledged ruefully.
‘We agreed, when I proposed to you, we would not try to cozen each other with romantic nonsense,’ he spat at her irritably.
‘Romantic nonsense…’ She sighed, recalling she had gone along with everything he had demanded, so thrilled had she been he was proposing at all. ‘No, we would not want that.’ She looked at her husband, tense, frustrated and growing angrier by the second, and wondered what she could do to help him.
Captain Fawley's Innocent Bride Page 14
