in the choice of his bride, as I am sure you will discover when you meet her.’ She clicked her tongue in exasperation. ‘Men are such odd creatures. No telling what will take their fancy.’
Susannah and Deborah followed closely in her mother’s wake, like chicks seeking the warmth of a mother hen. The dowager’s evident pleasure in seeing the girls served as a welcome antidote to their frosty reception, and reassured the other guests that these two girls were persons worthy of notice. Soon, Susannah’s hand was being solicited for the dancing that was about to ensue. She very correctly saved the first dance for Captain Fawley, but when he came to claim her hand, Deborah was somewhat startled to find he had brought a tall, fair-haired man with him.
‘Permit me to introduce my half-brother, Miss Gillies,’ he said to her. ‘Lord Charles Algernon Fawley, ninth Earl of Walton.’
He looked nothing like Captain Fawley. Not only was he fair-haired and blue-eyed, but there was nothing about their facial features to suggest they could be related at all.
Deborah curtsied. He bowed, then shocked her by saying, ‘Would you do me the honour of allowing me to partner you for the first dance?’
It was with mixed feelings that she allowed Lord Walton to lead her on to the dance floor. It had been so kind of Captain Fawley to ensure she was not left on the sidelines, while Susannah formed part of the set that opened such a glittering ball. She had never danced with an earl, never mind such a handsome one. She should have been giddy with rapture. But as they trod the measure of the stately quadrille, she could not help being agonisingly aware that, though she formed part of the set that contained Captain Fawley, she was not his partner. Nor could she help but be aware of the satisfaction that gleamed from his eyes every time he linked hands with Susannah.
On the whole, she was glad when the exercise was over, and Lord Walton led her back to the bench where her mother was sitting, chatting happily with a bevy of dowagers.
As Susannah’s next partner came to claim his dance, Captain Fawley bowed stiffly to Deborah. His face looked a little strained as he said, somewhat defensively, ‘I am not going to ask you to dance, Miss Gillies. But may I have the pleasure of your company during the next set, if your card is free?’
In spite of all the stern lectures she had given herself, her heart began to beat a tattoo against her ribs in response to his request. In truth, she would much rather spend time talking to him, than treading prescribed steps in time with the music. Especially since she could tell that performing the quadrille had cost him quite dearly. Lines of tension bracketed his mouth, and his eyes were dulled with pain.
‘Yes, thank you. I should like that.’ She smiled, laying her hand upon his arm as he held it out. ‘In fact,’ she suggested, sensitive to his evident discomfort, ‘I should quite enjoy sitting and watching the dancers.’
He quirked one eye at her. ‘You sound just like Heloise—that is, my sister-in-law, Lady Walton. As an artist, she likes to observe the ton at play. Do you sketch?’
‘Oh, no, not really. No more than any young lady is supposed to.’
He suddenly frowned. ‘Of course, you are not in the best of health, are you? Here, let us sit on this sofa, so that you may rest.’
‘I do not need to rest. Not tonight. I am not generally invalidish,’ she retorted. Then could have kicked herself for being so insensitive. He had probably homed in on her precisely because he thought she was frail, so that he could have the opportunity to sit without making it look as though it was what he needed to do.
He settled her on a cushioned window seat, far enough from the swirling crowds so that they could engage in conversation, yet still within sight of the chaperon’s bench.
‘Are you enjoying your Season?’ he enquired politely, ignoring her last tactless remark.
‘In some ways.’ She sighed. She did not want to waste her few precious moments with him in polite nothings. Yet he did not look as though he was really interested in her answer. ‘I am certainly glad to see my mother enjoying herself so much.’ She looked across the room to where Mrs Gillies was dividing her time between chatting with her acquaintances and watching Susannah’s progress with obvious satisfaction. ‘From the moment we heard that a Season in London was going to be possible after all, it was as though she came back to life.’
‘Your father died not long ago, I seem to recall?’
‘Yes, and it hit her very badly. For several months she seemed to lose interest in everything. I had to…’ She paused. She did not want to sound as though she was complaining. ‘Well, we were not left in very comfortable circumstances. But look at her now.’ She smiled fondly at her mother across the room. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. ‘It has done her so much good to launch Susannah. And finding so many of her old friends in London has successfully distracted her from her problems.’
‘But what of you?’ he persisted. ‘I can see your friend is enjoying her triumph. And that your mother is in her element. But how does the delicate Miss Gillies fare in the hurly burly of London society?’
‘I have told you before, I am not in the least delicate! It was only because…’ She tailed off, blushing as she realised she was on the point of divulging just how desperate their straits had been before the Hullworthys had come to their rescue.
The little cottage, which had seemed perfectly charming when they had moved in during the summer, had revealed all its inadequacies during the first autumnal storm. The roof leaked, the windows rattled in their casements, and the chimneys smoked. Her mother had shrunk into herself as though finally realising that she was going to eke out the rest of her days in penury. Feeling as though she had contributed to her mother’s state of mind, by not having managed to find somewhere better, Deborah’s health had broken down.
That, at least, had roused Mrs Gillies from her apathy. Fearing that she might lose her daughter, as well as her husband, within the space of a few months, she had put pride to one side and finally accepted the Hullworthys’ offer of rooms up at the Hall so she could nurse Deborah back to health in warmth and comfort.
Even though it meant they had become charity cases.
Deborah was only having this Season at all because she felt she owed the Hullworthys her very life. She had not wanted to come, especially not at their expense, but Susannah wanted her mother to launch her into society, and Deborah was necessary to make the whole thing look right.
‘If you must know, this whole thing seems…unreal. Wasting entire days shopping so that we may fritter away the evenings dancing, or doing something equally frivolous…it is a bit like living a dream, from which I am waiting to awake, so that I can get back to my real life again.’
‘Do you dislike it so much?’ he frowned.
‘Oh, no. It is quite a pleasant sort of dream…’ she sighed ‘…for the most part.’ She frowned down at the dainty satin slippers that peeped from beneath the hem of her gown, wondering what on earth had possessed her to speak so frankly. Yet having begun, she felt a compelling urge to unburden herself to the one person she thought might understand her sentiments.
‘It is just that I cannot ever permit myself to enter into it all in quite the same way as Miss Hullworthy does. She is here to catch a husband, whereas I…’ Her breath hitched in her throat.
‘You do not wish to marry?’ Captain Fawley looked puzzled.
‘Of
