had first come to London, she had held out hopes of meeting such a man. But not now they were beginning to mingle in somewhat higher social circles, to satisfy Susannah’s ambitions.
Deborah sighed heavily more than once as the carriage took them the few streets to their rented house. In the small market town where she had grown up, she would have scorned to ride such a short distance, when she was perfectly capable of walking. But in London, she was subject to all manner of ridiculous restrictions. A footman grasped her arm as she stumbled in the act of clambering out of the coach. Hired for the Season, naturally, just like the town house they had rented in Half Moon Street. She missed being able to hold a conversation without wondering if the servants, who were strangers she could not trust, were listening. She missed being able to go for a walk without one of them trailing behind, for the sake of propriety. And really, how silly was it to stipulate that a footman was necessary to knock on the door of whatever house they were paying a call at? As though a young lady’s knuckles were far too delicate for the task?
She barely restrained herself from shaking him off, but when, upon climbing the steps to their front door, she experienced a moment of dizziness, she was glad she had not. A little later, she blinked, to find herself sitting in the armchair in her pretty bedroom, a maid kneeling at her feet removing her slippers, and Susannah hovering over her, fanning her face. Her mother was behind her chair, hastily loosening her stays.
‘Did I faint?’ she asked, feeling thoroughly confused.
‘Not quite,’ her mother replied, ‘but your face was as white as paper. You must get straight into bed. Jones,’ she addressed the maid, ‘go to the kitchens and fetch Deborah a drink.’ When the woman looked a little put out, she continued ruthlessly, ‘Miss Hullworthy and I are quite capable of getting my daughter undressed and into bed. What she needs from you is a drink of hot chocolate, and some bread and butter. You have lost weight this last couple of weeks,’ she said, clucking her tongue at the sight of Deborah’s bony shoulder blades as she removed the stays and gown. ‘You have been racketing about, growing more and more tired, and only picking at your food….’
‘I am so sorry,’ Susannah put in at this point. ‘I should have noticed. Please say you forgive me for being so selfish. I have been so full of myself. My success has quite gone to my head….’
‘I think,’ said Mrs Gillies, raising her daughter to her feet, and supporting her towards the bed, ‘that it will do both you girls good to spend a few days at home quietly. We may put it about that it is on account of Deborah’s indisposition, but really, Susannah, I have been growing quite concerned about you too.’
‘Me?’ Susannah plumped down on to a bedside chair as Mrs Gillies rolled up Deborah’s nightdress and pushed it over her head, just as she had done when Deborah had been a little girl, back home in the vicarage. It was almost worth being a little unwell, Deborah decided, to be rid of that maid, and have her mother and Susannah to put her to bed as though she was herself, and not this prim débutante she had to pretend to be in order to trick some poor man into matrimony.
‘Yes, you. You know, Susannah, that I would never countenance any of those fellows making up to my Deborah.’
At this statement, both girls blinked at Mrs Gillies in surprise.
‘You may think you are doing well to attract the attention of several men with titles, but I have made it my business to find out about them, and the sad truth is that they are fortune hunters.’
‘Well…’ Susannah pouted ‘…I have a fortune. And I want to marry someone with a title.’
‘Yes, but I think you could show a little more discernment. Over the next day or so, I think it would be wise to consider the gentlemen who have been paying you attention, very carefully. Baron Dunning, for example, is only obeying his mama in paying you court. She wants him to marry, so that she will not have to make the drastic economies that his late father’s reckless gambling have necessitated. He will not be any kind of a husband to you once he has got you to the altar. Why, he is hardly more than a schoolboy!’
‘Don’t you think he likes me?’ said Susannah in a very small voice.
‘Oh, I think he likes you well enough. If he has to marry a fortune, of course he would rather it came so prettily gift-wrapped. But don’t you think,’ she said in a more gentle tone, ‘you deserve better than that?’
Susannah bowed her head, her fingers running along the struts of her fan.
‘And as for the Earl of Caxton…’
But Deborah was never to find out what her mother thought of the Earl of Caxton. The maid had returned, bearing a tray laden with a pot of chocolate, a plate of bread and butter, and a small glass of what smelled like some form of spirituous liquor.
‘Ah, just the thing for a faint!’ Mrs Gillies remarked cheerfully, startling Deborah even further. Her father, the late Reverend Gillies, had lectured his flock frequently, and at length, upon the evils of drink. And there was never anything stronger than ale served at his table. ‘That was very thoughtful of you, Jones, thank you. And now, Susannah, I think it is high time you went to bed, as well.’
She bent to kiss her daughter’s forehead, pausing to smooth back a straggling lock of hair before turning her full attention to her other charge. Susannah paused in the doorway to pull a face at her friend, knowing she was about to endure one of her mother’s patient, but excruciatingly moving lectures.
Under Jones’s watchful eye, Deborah consumed the plate of bread and butter, then, holding her nose, she downed what she had been told was brandy in one go, like the vile medicine she considered it to be, then snuggled down against the pillows to enjoy her chocolate.
A pleasing warmth stole through her limbs as she sipped the hot drink, and she could feel herself relaxing. She must have been quite wrung out, what with one thing and another, she reflected, yawning sleepily. Perhaps, after a day or two spent recouping her strength, she would be able to put the unsettling feelings she had towards Captain Fawley into proper perspective.
And the next time she saw him, she would be able to smile upon him with perfect equanimity. Her heart would not skip a beat, her breathing would remain orderly and she would not blush and grow tongue-tied. And if he took her arm, she would not succumb to the temptation to lean into him and revel in the feel of all that masculine strength and vitality concealed beneath the fabric of his dress uniform.
She was far too sensible to give in to the first infatuation she had begun to harbour for a man. Only a ninny would let her head be completely turned by a scarlet coat and a roguish smile, she told herself sternly. She must nip such feelings in the bud. She was the sensible, practical Miss Deborah Gillies, who could be relied upon to behave completely correctly, no matter what blows fate dealt her. Had she not stood firm when her mother had collapsed after the sudden death of the Reverend Gillies? Though she, too, had been grief-stricken and shocked to discover her loving father had left them with scarce two farthings to rub together, she had dealt with the legal men, assessed their budget, found a modest house and hired the few servants they could now afford. She had shaken hands with the new incumbent, who had wanted them to move out of the vicarage within a month of her father’s death, and even managed to hand over the keys of the only home she had ever known to his pretty young wife with dry eyes.
In comparison with that, this inconvenient yearning she felt for a man who was unattainable was nothing.
Yawning again, she pulled the covers up to her ears, reminding herself that she did not have the energy to waste on weaving dreams around the dashing Captain Fawley anyway. What she ought to be worrying about was what
