Deb shook her head slightly. ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she said, but she knew her face betrayed her.
Now that her hysterics had subsided, the familiar mix of blame and misery returned like a shadow to her mind. Mrs Deborah Stratton…She had no real claim to the name, nor to the status that her supposed widowhood gave her. She had never been properly married.
She knew why Olivia felt guilty. Her sister had assumed that she would understand about her difficulties in the marriage bed and Deb did and that was the precise problem. Very few people knew that Neil Stratton had already been married when he had eloped with Lord Walton’s younger daughter. With good fortune, no one would ever find out. And yet Deb felt haunted by the truth and even more troubled by her seduction at the hands of so skilled and callous a man.
It had been Olivia who, in the painful weeks after Deb had discovered herself betrayed, had pointed out to her gently and beautifully that Deb should never consider herself dishonoured because she had given herself to Neil in good faith, thinking him her husband. Deb had wept for days, knowing that Olivia spoke a logical truth, but also knowing that it made no difference to her feelings. She blamed herself. If only she had not been so impetuous, so quick to be persuaded into an elopement, so foolish in thinking that what she was doing was romantic…It had never crossed her mind that Neil might be a fortune hunter intent on catching a larger dowry than the one he had originally married. She had aided her own downfall by playing into his hands and, if anyone ever discovered the truth, she would be ruined.
She had not been married to Neil Stratton when she had made love with him, even though she had thought herself to be his true wife at the time. It was only after his death that Deb had discovered about Neil’s wife and child, and she was left feeling used and tainted, both by her faith in his love for her and by his casual taking of her body. She could not see how she could ever conquer the feeling of dishonour. She could not see how she could ever trust a man again.
Olivia was watching her and put out a sympathetic hand. ‘Oh, Deb, I am sorry…’
‘Do not be.’ Deb gave her sister a quick smile. ‘It was a long time ago. These days, I scarce think on it. And at least I know that you understand why I could not contemplate marriage, no matter how Papa presses me…’
Olivia looked stubborn. ‘With someone else it might be different.’
Deb shook her head. ‘No, no marriage.’ She cleared her throat, anxious to push her worries back into the dark corner where they belonged. ‘I thought we were talking about you, Liv, not about my difficulties in that respect.’
‘I think that we have done quite enough talking on that subject,’ Olivia said, trying to regain her previous composure. ‘It is not in the least genteel of me to divulge so much intimate detail. I cannot think what possessed me.’
‘Yes,’ Deb said, ‘but since you have done, what is to be done about Ross, Liv? You cannot carry on like this.’
Olivia blushed slightly. ‘No, we cannot. I suppose that I must talk to Ross and try to build up some sort of understanding with him. And next time that he comes to my room I will try to…to join in…’
‘Do you want to?’
Olivia blushed harder. ‘I can try. It might be quite nice.’ She looked up at Deb, a smile still lurking in her eyes. ‘I do not wish to spend the rest of my married life in a passionless desert,’ she said. ‘And after all, Ross is quite an attractive man.’
‘He is prodigiously attractive,’ Deb said drily.
‘Yes. And I would not wish someone else to think so and offer to console him. It is not that I dislike him, Deb.’ Olivia frowned. ‘It seems that there is a huge gulf between us that we do not understand how to bridge. The only problem is that Ross swore he would not trouble me again.’
There was a pause whilst the maid bustled in with tea, but once the door was closed again, Deb jumped to her feet.
‘If you truly wish to attract Ross, then I have just the thing for you,’ she said. ‘I received a letter from Rachel Newlyn this morning—’
Olivia’s face lit up. ‘Oh, how is she?’
‘Very well,’ Deb said. She gave Olivia a dry look. ‘I think that she may be enjoying married life rather more than you or I did!’
Olivia giggled. ‘Would you not, with Cory Newlyn? He is devastatingly attractive…’ Olivia waved her hands around descriptively.
‘I know,’ Deb said meaningfully.
She passed her sister the letter and went across to the desk in the corner on the room. Rachel’s parcel was still there, where Deb had unwrapped and left it earlier in the morning.
Olivia read aloud: ‘I am sending a pot of balm for Lord Marney’s collection of rare breeds, for I hear from your sister that the pigs have a skin complaint—’
‘No, not that bit,’ Deb said hastily as Olivia gave her a curious look. ‘The next paragraph.’
‘I am also sending a pot of my own rose-scented face cream, made from a recipe discovered by Mama in an ancient Egyptian text. It is certainly extremely good for the complexion, but I have to counsel you not to use it unless you wish to attract a great deal of masculine attention!’ She paused and raised her eyebrows.
‘Read on,’ Deb said, laughing.
‘It contains a special ingredient that the Egyptians swore was an aphrodisiac—oh, my!—so I am warning you to use it sparingly, unless you wish to bewitch Lord Richard—’
‘Quite so!’ Deb said, snatching the letter. She had forgotten the last bit and felt herself colouring up. ‘So if you wish to borrow it—’
‘Not so fast,’ Olivia said, laughing at her sister. ‘Are you sure that you do not wish to use it yourself?’
‘For what purpose?’
‘To attract Lord Richard Kestrel,’ Olivia said. She eyed Deb with amusement. ‘On reflection, however, I do not believe that you require any artificial assistance in that task, not when you appeared out of the conservatory at the ball looking as though you had been thoroughly kissed!’
Deb smiled reluctantly. ‘Actually, that was the one occasion on which Lord Richard did not kiss me!’
Olivia opened her eyes very wide. ‘The one occasion he did not? You mean on every other occasion—’
‘Almost,’ Deb said.
‘When he escorted you back from Marney a few days ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘And before that—at the musicale?’
‘Yes.’
‘And in the wood—’
‘Yes, but you knew about that already. I mentioned it to you myself that afternoon we took tea.’
Olivia looked riveted. ‘And?’
Deb shrugged a little awkwardly. ‘I do not know, Liv.’ She frowned and smiled simultaneously. ‘It is quite absurd, but I find that I like him…I cannot seem to help myself.’
‘It was bound to happen sooner or later,’ Olivia said gently, ‘and Lord Richard is very likeable.’
‘Yes, but…’ Deb gave her sister a guilty, sideways look. ‘I have been thinking of him a great deal, Liv. I do not understand myself. On the one hand I feel I simply have to avoid him, and on the other I would like…Well, you know what I would like! It is the most appalling and wanton thing. I cannot trust a man, I have no desire for marriage and yet I long for the fulfilment of a physical relationship. I am quite shocked at myself.’
There was an unhappy silence.
‘It is most understandable,’ Olivia said, after a moment. She patted her sister’s hand. ‘Do not be so hard on yourself, Deb. You have been cheated of every natural emotion and every good experience that you might have expected to find in marriage. Yet you are young and full of life, and you feel things passionately. You are starving yourself of love…’
‘I know,’ Deb said shakily. She got up and walked over to the window. The tears blurred her eyes and thickened her throat.
‘There was no tenderness in your relationship with Neil,’ Olivia said, after a moment, ‘and since then you have been the very pattern-card of respectable wido
whood. It is only natural that you feel the way that you do. Do not reproach yourself for it.’
‘Almost you convince me,’ Deb said unhappily. ‘But why have I fixed upon Lord Richard? I have a lowering feeling that it is simply because he is there.’
Olivia looked at her for a long moment and then she shook her head. ‘No, Deb. You do not believe that. Do not demean your feelings like this. If you were only looking for an affaire, then you might have chosen any of the personable gentlemen who have been in Midwinter this year past. Sir John Norton, for example—’
Deb shuddered. ‘Never!’
‘Exactly. Whereas you have known Richard Kestrel for several years and, despite your protestations, are most attracted to him. There is an affinity between you whether you like it or not.’
Deb shook her head. ‘It is an affinity that can come to nothing. I cannot compound my previous folly by entering into a relationship like this with my eyes open. What, am I to indulge in not one but two relationships outside the bond of marriage? I should be nothing but a wanton!’
‘It is not like that,’ Olivia said, ‘and you know it. Neil—’
‘Oh, very well, I acknowledge that I was tricked by Neil!’ Deb raised her hands in a vehement gesture. ‘The fact remains, Olivia, that I have never been truly married and yet I have given myself to one man and I will not compromise my own honour by giving myself to another. I cannot!’
Deb realised that she was shaking, and when Olivia came across to her and put her arms about her she allowed her sister to hold her like she had done when they were children comforting each other.
‘I am sorry,’ Olivia said, after a moment. ‘It was wrong of me to offer advice. You must do what you believe is right.’ She laughed a little bitterly. ‘Hark at me! And I am the one reaching for the Ladies Magazine when my husband makes love to me! It is always easier to give guidance than to take it.’
Deb laughed too. She went over to the desk and pushed the pot of hand cream towards Olivia. ‘At least one of us may yet get this right. So take this with my blessing, Liv. I wish you luck.’
‘What about the ointment for Ross’s pigs?’ Olivia asked, tucking the pot of face cream in her reticule.
‘Oh, yes!’ Deb jumped up and hurried over to the window seat, where she had left the rest of Rachel’s parcel half-unpacked. ‘Here you are!’
Olivia took the second pot and pressed a kiss on her sister’s cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. She paused in the doorway. ‘If you do decide to act on your feelings, Deb, then I wish you every happiness.’
After Olivia had gone, Deb went across to the grate and removed one of the scrunched up pieces of paper. Sitting at her desk, she rested her chin on her hand and bit the end of the quill pen. Forget Richard Kestrel, she instructed herself sharply. Her task was to find a discreet and reliable gentleman to be her fiancé, not a disreputable knave to be her lover, no matter how her body ached for him. She tried to concentrate.
Dear Lord Scandal…
She put the pen down again. Damnation, Deb thought, as well ask a rake to be her fiancé as a man with such an alias.
Dear Lord Scandal, are you a trustworthy and honourable gentleman? I suspect not, with a name like yours. However, my need for assistance is acute. I should therefore deem it a kindness on your part if you were prepared for us to meet…
A day later, Lord Richard Kestrel pocketed the letter that was waiting for him under the alias of Lord Scandal at the Bell and Steelyard Inn, and passed two guineas to the innkeeper, one for the safe delivery and the other for the suppression of all the other missives addressed to Lady Incognita. He went out and climbed straight back into his carriage, waiting until the vehicle was on the move before he broke the seal. Resting one elbow against the window, he perused the contents. An appreciative smile touched his mouth. Lady Incognita certainly had a way with words. And she wanted to meet him. Sensibly, she had chosen a public place for their tryst, but one that gave them the opportunity to be alone if they wished to talk in private. He wondered whether she would bring a chaperon to meet him. He tried to imagine the look on the chaperon’s face, and on Deb’s face, when they saw him.
The assignation was arranged for the following day. He would certainly be there. In fact, he could barely master his impatience.
Chapter Ten
Deb had arranged to meet Lord Scandal at the Customs House in Woodbridge that Wednesday afternoon. She had read in the paper that there would be an auction of smuggled goods held that day and it had struck her that the sale would provide the perfect circumstance for an assignation. There would be a great many people about, thereby providing security, yet once the initial contact was made it would be possible for her to step aside with Lord Scandal if she wished.
She had also taken the additional precaution of asking Ross to escort her to the sale so that she should not be alone when the contact was made. There was, however, one small difficulty. She had not told Ross the true purpose of their errand to Woodbridge for she had known that he would cut up rough about it. Now, however, they were approaching the rendezvous and she realised that the moment of truth had come.
‘Ross,’ she said, as her brother-in-law held open the Customs House door for her, ‘there is something that I should tell you.’ She hesitated, for Ross did not look very receptive. A black frown had settled on his forehead and he waited for her to continue with weary patience. Deb took the plunge. ‘You see, I particularly needed your escort today as I am meeting a gentleman here and I—’ She broke off as someone hushed her from inside the auction room. ‘I need to be sure that he is reliable…’
Deb slid into one of the seats at the back of the hall and pulled Ross down beside her.
The auction was in full swing, but the room was only half-full. The sale of items taken by the revenue usually drew quite a crowd, but seizure of smuggled goods had been light recently and there was no brandy on sale today so none of the town’s publicans had turned out. At the front of the hall sat the usual bunch of gawpers who always attended an auction but never bought anything. Further back sat a sprinkling of Woodbridge citizens including Mr Rumbold, who was a collector of items such as snuffboxes and jewellery.
Ross’s frown had not lightened whilst he waited for Deb to explain herself further. Now he started to whisper crossly in her ear.
‘Do I understand you to be saying that you have made an assignation with a gentleman, Deborah?’
‘Yes!’ Deb whispered back. ‘And just in case he is not trustworthy, I need you here to protect me—’
Ross muttered some imprecation, fortunately under his breath. ‘You mean that you have arranged to meet a stranger? What the devil are you about, Deborah?’
‘It is not as it seems,’ Deb hissed back. ‘Allow me to explain.’
‘By all means,’ Ross said, scowling.
The auctioneer pointed his gavel at them. ‘Sold to the gentleman!’
‘Now you have cost me five guineas,’ Ross complained, ‘and gained me a set of engraved glasses that I did not want.’
‘Oh, stop complaining,’ Deb grumbled. ‘Give them to Olivia—it would be nice for you to give her a present for once!’
She heard Ross give a bad-tempered sigh and was grateful that the progress of the auction prevented him from asking her any further questions. Explanations would simply have to wait until later. She felt a little guilty. She knew that she was taking advantage of Ross’s good nature. She should have told him more of the business first, instead of springing it on him at the last moment. But if she had done that, he would have forbidden her to attend and then she would have no chance of meeting Lord Scandal…
She sat bolt upright, clutching her reticule on her lap. Seldom had she felt so apprehensive. Lord Scandal might already be in the room. The thought made her feel breathless with nerves. She had come this far in her quest for a fiancé, but now she had a very strong urge to turn tail and flee. Had it not been for Ross’s reassuring if irritable presence beside her, she
probably would have done so.
A hasty scan around the hall revealed that it was unlikely that Lord Scandal was already among them. The Tide Surveyor was sitting a little way away to her left, and next to him was Owen Chance, the Riding Officer whom Deb had met at Lady Sally Saltire’s ball. Mr Chance saw her glance in his direction and a smile lit his eyes. He inclined his head politely. Deb smiled back, although she thought it might have come out a little lopsidedly. Her nerves were not diminishing as she made an inventory of the people in the hall. In fact, they were increasing.
There were two ladies who had come in after Deb and Ross and were now sitting whispering through the auction, the plumes in their hats nodding as they gossiped. They could be discounted. Deb’s gaze moved on. The only gentleman in the room was Sir John Norton of Drybridge, who was currently bidding for another set of fine engraved wineglasses. Deb felt a clutch of horror. She hoped that Lord Scandal was not Sir John, for she did not care for him very much. How unconscionably embarrassing it would be to discover that her respondent was someone she already knew and did not like. That would be far worse than having to dismiss the application of a stranger.
The door opened behind her. Deb heard it but could not see anything, for she had just realised that she had chosen the worst possible place to sit to watch for anyone coming in. Her back was to the entrance and in order to see the door she would have to turn around and crane her neck. That would draw too much attention so she would simply have to sit tight and wait…
She tensed. There was a swirl of fresh air, a burst of sunlight, and then the door closed and the hall was quiet again, but for the drone of the auctioneer’s voice as he drove the price up on a packet of Dutch mantua silk. Deb sat still as a mouse, her nerves stretched to breaking. She could hear measured footsteps coming closer. She could see nothing, but she knew that someone was standing just behind her, and suddenly, disconcertingly, she could tell who it was.
Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 02] Page 13
