The day dragged interminably on, the one maid who had been granted the task of caring for her tiptoeing around her, wide-eyed, as though she was some sort of bomb that might explode upon the least provocation.
And Robert did not come to see how she was.
* * *
She ate, and slept another night, in her own nightgown this time. One that she’d brought up to London with her, which had remained among her things during the moves from The Dovecote to Robert’s rooms. It had worn almost transparent from washing, and had a patch near the hem where she’d put her foot through.
As she lay in the solitary comfort of the Countess of Walton’s bed, it seemed symbolic of her state. Once, she had slept naked in her husband’s arms. Now, she slept alone, in the nightgown she had worn as a single woman.
Single.
Alone.
She found it harder to rouse herself from bed the next morning. She had tossed and turned all night, replaying every single minute of her relationship with Robert, trying to see if there was anything she could have done differently, any way she could have made him love her, just a little.
And the harder she thought about it, the more she began to see that she had made excuses for him every time he had been rude or unkind. She had built him up in her imagination into something he was not, then clung to this image of him, when all the evidence was to the contrary.
The imaginary Captain Fawley, the hero of the Peninsula War with whom she had fallen in love, would have come to her, sat with her holding her hand lest she have nightmares, kissed her bruises and told her she was beautiful in his eyes, not flinched from her appearance as though it turned his stomach.
The real Captain Fawley was a hypocrite. He knew what it felt like to have people turn their eyes from his injuries, and yet he had done just that, to her!
He had only married her to spite Percy Lampton. He had wanted to hurt the other man, and did not care whom he used to achieve his aims. He had urges, and had used her to satisfy them. And because she had been a romantic fool, and had responded with love, he had called her a slut. And had then carried on pursuing Susannah.
She had been such a fool! She had fallen headlong in love with a schoolgirl’s vision of a wounded hero, not the real man at all.
* * *
By the time he did come up to the Countess’s sitting room, after dinner on the second day, she was having trouble remembering what she had ever seen in him. And it was all she could do to keep her resentment reined back when he walked in. How could he have done this to her? Made her love him, then made her fall out of love just as fast?
She could feel the ice round her heart melting under a scorching blast of anger. Which was swiftly followed by the most agonising pain. Oh, how she wished she were still frozen in shock. Falling out of love hurt far, far worse than falling into it. For when she had fallen, she had at least had hope. Now there was none.
‘What do you want?’ she shot at him, as he hesitated upon the threshold.
‘I have only come to inform you that arrangements have been made for you to accompany Lord and Lady Walton to Wycke, when they remove there at the end of the week. I will not be going with you. I thought it would be for the best.’
Yes, he would want to stay in London with Susannah while the Season lasted. Sending her to the family estate, to be a companion to the Countess during her lying-in, would cause no undue comment in society at all. He would be rid of her, well rid of her.
And she of him!
Lifting her chin a notch, she said, ‘I could not agree more. Is that all?’
‘No. I thought you would wish to know there will not be a trial, as a result of your…ordeal. Nobody need know if you do not tell them.’
So, he did not think it worth prosecuting the men who had dragged her off the street, beaten and starved her and held her captive? What further proof did she need of his total lack of compassion? He just wanted the whole incident swept under the carpet.
Just as he wanted her to disappear from his life.
She was only surprised he had bothered to come and rescue her at all. If he had left her, he would probably be without a wife at all now. The will only said he had to marry, after all, not that he had to stay married for any specific length of time. As a widower, he would have been free….
No, she could not pursue that line of thought. It was one thing to accept his nature for what it was, quite another to think he would connive at her death. Shakily she raised one hand to her brow, waving the other towards him in a dismissive gesture. She was not thinking clearly. She was still overwrought, that was what her mother would say.
When she raised her head, to give him some kind of reply, she found she was alone in the room once more.
Well, what had she expected?
He had come to tell her what his plans were for her future. He had no reason to stay once he had delivered that message.
No reason at all.
Quite suddenly, it felt as though a black pit had opened up before her. She was falling, falling into it, and there was nobody to help her, nothing to cling to. She reached out and grabbed at the arms of the chair, reminding herself that she was in a pretty sitting room, on a comfortably upholstered chair, and soon she would be travelling into the country to stay at what was, by all accounts, a magnificent estate.
Her world was not really coming to an end.
So why did she start to weep? Why did the sobs rack her body, driving her to her knees on that soft, blue carpet? Why did she curl up into a tight ball, her fists clenched?
She did not know.
She did not love Robert any more, so it was foolish to cry because they were going their separate ways.
She thanked God she had fallen out of love with him, she really did.
Or being sent away from him would have broken her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
They were going to travel to Wycke on Friday. She would be glad to go. She was beginning to feel as much a prisoner in this pretty suite of rooms in Walton House as she had been in that filthy cell. After the first couple of days, when she had felt too weak and battered to do more than eat and sleep by turns, she spent longer and longer pacing up and down like a caged tiger she had once seen in the Tower menagerie.
At least at Wycke, she could take long walks in the grounds and burn off some of her anger in the exercise. Or ride. The Earl had come in, and spoken to her quite kindly one evening, telling her he would make sure there would be a suitable horse for her use in his stables.
But Robert had not come with him.
She’d had enough! Turning on her heel, she marched to the fireplace, and tugged on the bell pull.
When Sukey came in answer to her summons, she said, ‘Can you please send one of the footmen to summon a cab for me?’ She wished she had taken that precaution the last time she had decided to go out. Those men, she had realised, a shiver sliding down her spine, must have been watching her movements for some time, looking for an opportunity to take her. She had frequently hailed cabs to take her to visit her mother. She would never be so careless again.
If Lord Walton did not mind, she thought she might even take one of the footmen with her.
She went to the armoire Lady Walton had given over to her use, and took out her blue merino spencer and the bonnet that went with it. It took a matter of seconds to attach a veil to its brim. For some reason, Robert did not want anyone to see her face, though she did not see why he was making such a fuss. Her bruises were fading now, and much of the swelling had gone down. Arnica was wonderfully soothing—much more effective than ale, she grimaced as she twitched the veil into position.
A few minutes later, Sukey came to tell her a cab was waiting. She had got part way down the stairs, before noticing Robert bristling at the foot of them.
‘Where are you going?’
She lifted her chin.
‘To visit my mother.’
‘That would be ill advised.’ The expression on his face was forb
idding.
But she had had enough of his high-handed edicts. ‘I am not going to leave town without bidding her farewell. She will think it most odd.’ Deborah descended the last stair and made as though she would have stalked past him. But he reached out, taking her arm, saying,
‘If you insist on going, I will go with you.’
‘There is no need.’
‘There is every need!’
She locked glares with him for a few seconds, puzzled as to why he would want to go with her, when he had made it so plain that he was sick and tired of the very thought of her. It only took a few moments’ reflection to work it out. He would not want her to say anything that might upset his precious Susannah, who was still living with her mother. The only reason he was insisting on going with her was to make sure she behaved herself.
She felt the insult keenly.
‘If you insist, I suppose I cannot stop you.’ She sighed, turning her head away from him, to gaze longingly at the open door.
It took him only a minute or two to fetch his own hat and coat. Then they walked to the cab together, he handing her in as correctly as though they were any normal married couple, going visiting together.
But his face was grim, and neither of them spoke for the duration of the short journey.
* * *
Mrs Gillies was delighted to see them. She rose to embrace her daughter as the butler showed them into the sitting room, where she had been writing some letters. Though her face puckered with concern the moment Deborah lifted her veil to return her kiss.
‘Oh, my word! Whatever has happened to your face?’
‘I…’
She had not thought of an excuse. She had not thought beyond getting out and seeing her mother. All she had wanted was to kneel at her feet, lay her head in her lap and sob her heart out.
But at that moment, Susannah bounced into the room.
‘Debs!’ she cried, going to hug her. ‘I have missed you so much these last few days. I am so glad you are come, for I have such news! Oh, good morning, Captain Fawley,’ she checked herself, dropping a polite curtsy, before turning back to Deborah.
Robert glowered at her before crossing the room to take a seat beside Mrs Gillies, who had subsided on to a sofa, anxiously plucking at the strings to her lace cap.
It was then that Susannah looked at Deborah properly.
‘Whatever has happened?’ Impulsively, she reached out to touch the bruises that were leaking from Deborah’s eyebrow, down the left side of her face.
‘I fell out of a coach,’ Deborah said. It was almost the truth—the only part that she felt ready to share on this occasion. ‘So silly of me,’ she said, settling on to a chair by the fireplace and smoothing down her skirts. ‘I would really rather not speak of it.’ She raised her head to look directly at Susannah. ‘Let me hear your news, instead.’
While Susannah went to her favourite chair by the window, Deborah caught her mother’s eye, and gave a tiny shake of her head. Then she shot a meaningful look towards Susannah, who was positioning her chair in the exact spot where the early morning sun would paint highlights in her hair.
‘I can quite see why you have claimed to be indisposed for the last few days,’ her mother said.
She cleared her throat. ‘Naturally, I could not go out while the bruises were at their worst. And I was a little shaken up, to be honest. I would not have come today, were it not for the fact that I shall be travelling down to Wycke tomorrow, and wished to take my leave of you both. I will write, of course, from there.’
Mrs Gillies relaxed immediately, understanding the silent message that her daughter would tell her everything in due course.
‘Well, I am glad you came in person. For I should not have liked you to find out my news by means of a letter. I am engaged to be married!’ Susannah beamed. ‘To Mr Percy Lampton!’
Deborah felt the world tilt on its axis. She dared not look in her husband’s direction. What a blow it must be to him, just when he had believed he was on the verge of winning his heart’s desire.
‘H-how came this about? I thought you had quite despaired of him.’
‘Yes, I had,’ she admitted, her eyes growing soulful. ‘And despair…yes, yes, that is exactly what I suffered. I did not know how I could bear it. But only yesterday he came here, begging leave to speak with me in private. I did not know that I should receive him, but in the end, your mother persuaded me to take a turn about the garden with him.’
Deborah’s heart jolted. Could he have proposed, in the garden, in the very spot where Robert had proposed to her?
‘Firstly, he begged that I would forgive him for neglecting me for such a long time, after having paid me such particular attention. He explained that, at first, he had only meant to pass some time flirting with the prettiest débutante of the Season. But as time went on, his attraction to me grew so strong that he felt impelled to break off all contact with me, before things went too far. For his family would never agree to him marrying a woman from my background. He knew that he would have to choose between me and his family, should he propose marriage. But in the end, he could stay away no longer. He cannot live without me. There!’ she finished, her hands clasped together, her eyes bright with wonder. ‘Is that not wonderful?’
‘Amazing,’ said Deborah weakly, finally darting a concerned look in her husband’s direction. His face expressed all the contempt she had known he must feel on hearing such an ingenuous declaration. They both knew why Lampton had begun to flirt with Susannah. And could both guess what he was playing at now.
Hincksey was a dangerous man to cross. He was obviously not going to rest until he recouped Lampton’s debts one way or another. He must have realised he had made a grave error in supposing Robert would be a soft target, and decided to lean on Lampton again.
Desperate to find the money to pay the villain off, Lampton must have seen he had no choice but to take advantage of Susannah’s infatuation with him. It might mean breaking with his family, but, by the sound of it, the threats Hincksey had used on him had made him fear for his very life. He probably believed he would not live if he could not persuade Susannah to marry him, and thereby gain control of her dowry. It would have given his lying words the very ring of sincerity needed to convince Susannah he was in earnest, especially when he was telling her exactly what she most wanted to hear.
‘I do hope you will be happy,’ she managed to say, when she could not in all conscience offer very fulsome congratulations.
‘Oh, I shall be…’ she sighed, a faraway look in her eyes ‘…for I love Percy so much! We will be married as soon as the banns can be called,’ she went on, sitting forward. ‘I do hope you will be my maid of honour. Even though you never asked me to be yours,’ she added with a touch of reproof.
‘I am sure Deborah would be delighted,’ Robert put in, rather shocking her. ‘You must let us know when and where the wedding is to take place, and she will attend you.’
The rest of the visit was taken up in discussing Susannah’s bride clothes, how delighted her parents would be that she had made such a satisfactory match in her very first Season, and whether she should marry in the fashionable St George’s Chapel, or in their own parish church at Lower Wakering.
* * *
Robert, unsurprisingly, had made no contribution to the conversation. When the time came for them to leave, he could not disguise his relief.
He sank into the seat opposite her in the cab that they hired to take them back to Walton House, looking drained.
In spite of the fact that Deborah had decided she no longer loved him, he looked such a picture of abject misery that her tender heart went out to him.
‘I am so sorry,’ she said softly, barely restraining herself from reaching out to touch him comfortingly upon his sleeve.
His eyes flew open, catching her in the very act of withdrawing her hand and curling it in her lap.
‘What have you to be sorry for?’
‘That Percy Lampton i
s going to marry Susannah after all.’
He frowned at her for a few seconds before saying slowly, ‘I do not know why you should think I might be sorry Lampton is marrying her. It was at my suggestion, after all!’
‘Y-your suggestion? But you could not want him to…not any man to…’ She faltered to a close, completely bewildered by his statement.
‘Of course I wanted Lampton to marry Susannah. They deserve each other!’ he snapped. ‘She is a silly, selfish, shallow creature who only looks upon the outward man, and all he wants is enough money to live in style. He does not care how he acquires it, even to marrying a girl he feels is so far beneath him on the social scale that she is fit only to be his mistress.’
Deborah shook her head. ‘I cannot believe…’ but suddenly, she saw what had happened. He had fallen out of love with Susannah, just as painfully as she had fallen out of love with him. It seemed that unrequited love was doomed to wither away. It certainly explained the bitterness of the words he had chosen to describe Susannah’s character. Had she not cursed him soundly, during her long, lonely, sleepless nights? And as she turned to look out of the window she noticed how many people’s faces, as they hurried along the streets, looked strained or downcast. Life, she decided, was a depressing business.
‘Can you not believe that I would do anything to keep you safe, Deborah?’ he said urgently, leaning towards her.
She turned to him with a start. This was the very last thing she would have expected him to say. Her astonishment must have shown on her face, because he sat back, his own face taking on a sardonic cast.
‘No, you cannot believe anything good of me. I do not blame you, I suppose, but this I will tell you. I warned Lampton that if he did not marry Susannah, I would make him pay for putting your life in danger. I only had to discharge my pistol the once, to make him see that it was high time he swallowed his pride. He soon decided he could marry a girl whose money comes from trade, once he understood he had to pay Hincksey what he owed, else face my vengeance. Why should I care how miserable either of them are, so long as I know Hincksey will never have cause to go near you again?’
Captain Fawley's Innocent Bride Page 22
