depressed, Deborah followed Hugo up the wide oak staircase. The precious box was deposited on a chest of drawers in Deborah’s room. Aunt Elizabeth was very fond of her niece and had always done all she could to make her feel at home. The Vicarage was large, and Deborah’s room had been given to her when she had first come as a child to Abbot Quincey. It was the same size as those of her cousins, and furnished in the same simple, but pretty way, with plenty of room for small treasures.
Just as Hugo was turning to go, Edwina came in with a vase of flowers in her hand.
‘We didn’t expect you for another two days, Deborah. Otherwise these roses would have been in your room when you arrived. Why did you come so unexpectedly?’
Deborah hesitated and colour rose in her cheeks. ‘I… I was lonely. I couldn’t wait any longer to be with you. But I should have thought it out more carefully, I see that now. I’m sorry if I’ve put you all out.’
While Edwina protested strongly at this and hugged her cousin to prove it, Hugo went slowly downstairs looking thoughtful. Deborah Staunton had always been a poor liar. There was more to her hasty disappearance from her former home than she had so far admitted. He must have the truth from her before very long, and see if she needed help.
After Deborah came downstairs again he took her to see the stable where Autolycus had been housed. The dog was already asleep again.
‘I hope you haven’t been rash in recommending him as a guard dog,’ said Deborah, eyeing Autolycus doubtfully. ‘He’s not really very brave. But thank you for thinking of it. And…and for the rest of your help today.’
‘It was nothing,’ he said. ‘It was quite like the old days. But some time soon I intend to hear the real reason for your sudden departure from Maids Moreton.’
Deborah looked up at him, eyes wide in shock, then she looked away. ‘W-what do you mean?’
‘You mustn’t thank me one minute, then treat me like a simpleton the next, Deborah, my dear,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I am not as gullible as the twins. If you had waited another forty-eight hours you and Nanny Humble would have travelled at your ease in a carriage sent by Uncle William. As it was you came in a dogcart—not the most comfortable of vehicles. Moreover, the dogcart had been hired in Buckingham—two miles away from your old home. It’s natural to wonder why. Also, you hired it, even though you knew you didn’t have enough money to pay the full charge. Such desperation doesn’t arise from loneliness or a simple lack of patience, my friend.’ He looked at her gravely, but she remained silent. He went on, ‘And then there is the matter of your aunt’s equally hurried return to Ireland. Is it all connected?’
She looked at him in dismay. ‘I… I can’t tell you, Hugo.’
‘Not now, I agree. But you’ll confide in me before long. Good night, Deborah. Try to keep out of trouble for the next week. We shall all be busy with preparations for the fête.’
‘The annual fête! I’d forgotten all about it. We used to have such fun at the fête… I’ll do my best to be good, Hugo.’ She made a face. ‘Though my best doesn’t always seem to work… I’ll certainly be extra careful, I promise—and the twins are very good to me—they’ll help.’ She sighed. ‘They don’t know how lucky they are—they seem to know how to behave without even trying!’
Hugo nodded, smiling fondly. ‘They certainly do. As well as being pretty… Very pretty. The two of them together are indeed a striking sight. They would cast a number of accredited society beauties quite in the shade.’
Deborah’s heart sank. Hugo really was becoming serious. She said hopefully, ‘Perhaps Robina will introduce them to the Ton after she is married? I’m sure they would be a success.’
He frowned. ‘Perhaps… Though I’m not sure it’s at all necessary. They are so unspoilt, it would be a pity if… Well, we shall see, we shall see. They may well find suitable partners here in Northamptonshire.’
When Hugo wasn’t being the kindest man she knew, thought Deborah in exasperation, he was far too lordly! It was obvious to her that he had now decided that one of his cousins would make a suitable wife and assumed that all he had to do was to decide which one. Such arrogance! It would serve him right if neither would accept him—but she couldn’t imagine that would happen. She suddenly felt weary beyond measure.
‘Good night, Hugo,’ she said and turned to go. Then, to her astonishment, Hugo put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her nearer. He kissed her on the cheek.
‘Don’t lose heart,’ he said. ‘Things will be better for you now. We are here to look after you.’
‘Thank you.’ Deborah could not have said anything more. Hugo’s nearness was playing havoc with her emotions. Delight, despair, an almost irresistible impulse to reach up and bring his head round so that his lips could meet hers… She stiffened and withdrew. Such wanton behaviour would shock him to the core. What was worse, he would be embarrassed and uncomfortable, too. She knew how he thought of her, and it was not as a man thinks of a possible wife. ‘Deborah would never be in the slightest danger from me!’ he had said to Aunt Elizabeth, laughing at the very idea. It had hurt, but it had not surprised her.
‘Good night, and thank you once again.’ She turned and went into the house.
Hugo slowly walked back to the Hall. He was puzzled. The impulse to kiss Deborah Staunton had taken him by surprise, but he supposed it had been a natural one. She had looked so forlorn, and he had frequently comforted her in the past. But what astonished him was that once she was in his arms the simple desire to comfort had changed into something much more dangerous. The feel of her fragile bones beneath his hands, the look of helplessness in those dark, indigo eyes, had been unexpectedly seductive. He had been within a hair’s breadth of kissing her in real earnest. Kissing little, penniless, hopelessly disorganised Deborah Staunton! And then she had, quite understandably, stiffened and pulled away and the moment had passed… He shook his head. Midsummer madness! It would not be repeated.
He firmly dismissed the incident and turned to contemplating his own future. Now that he was based more or less permanently in Northamptonshire, was he going to find the life of a country gentleman intolerably dull? For the last ten years he had lived in the fashionable world, and though he had never outrun his budget he had managed to enjoy most of the delights London had to offer. He was aware that he was known in society as a man of taste and judgement. He had always been a keen sportsman, and through practice and, yes, luck, he had achieved success in most of the activities admired by his London acquaintances. They had been good years…
But he had promised his parents he would settle down when he reached thirty, and that time had now come. He had returned to Abbot Quincey with the fixed intention of marrying, and it seemed to him that either of his twin cousins would make a very suitable wife. The Percevals were a good sound stock—there could be no objection to marriage between cousins. The problem would be which one to choose! He was fond of them both, and they both seemed to like him. Yes, he could do a lot worse. Life with either one of them would be very pleasant…
Might it be dull, perhaps? Possibly, but he would be kept fully occupied with the responsibilities to his family and to the estate he would one day inherit. He and Frederica—or Edwina—would have a sound relationship based on friendship, love for their children and their separate duties. That would be enough. Quite enough. Indeed, excessive feeling of any kind was in rather poor taste—he had usually managed to avoid it. Yes—marriage to someone like Edwina—or Frederica—would suit him very well. Either of them would make an excellent future Lady Perceval. Unlike poor Deborah Staunton…
