Captain Fawley's Innocent Bride

Too much! That was half the trouble. Walton always claimed he was acting in his best interests, but he was effectively robbing him of any choice. Smothering him!

If only there was some way out. Or, at least, some way he could prevent the blackguard getting his hands on his Aunt Euphemia’s fortune.

He damned the Lamptons volubly, and comprehensively, before addressing his second glass of brandy.

He had hated the name of Lampton for as long as he could remember. They had destroyed his mother, blighted his childhood with their insinuations of his illegitimacy and made no secret of the fact they had hoped he would die in some foreign country while he was on active service. The French had done their damnedest, but he was not an easy man to kill. He had survived an explosion, two amputations, a fever and gruelling months of rehabilitation.

Even in his darkest hour, when he had felt he had nothing left to live for, he had refused to let them beat him.

And he was not going to let them beat him now.

If Percy Lampton thought he was going to sit back while he waltzed off with his inheritance, then he was very much mistaken.

He would find a way to best all the Lamptons.

His face twisted into a mask of hatred.

And he didn’t much care how low he might have to stoop to do so.

Deborah started at the sound of someone knocking at the front door. Susannah had gone out for a drive in the park with Mr Lampton, and she had been looking forward to spending a peaceful afternoon reading. She had already become engrossed in her book, and was a little annoyed that she would be obliged to put it aside, and entertain some dull man who would be crushingly disappointed to find his quarry flown. Her mother, who was sitting on a chair by the window to get the best light for her embroidery, let out a sigh.

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, having evidently caught sight of the visitor as he waited on the front steps. ‘He will be so disappointed to have missed Susannah.’ Turning to Deborah, she said, ‘Ring for some tea. We must make the poor boy especially welcome, must we not?’

It was only when Captain Fawley walked through the door that Deborah understood what had prompted her mother’s sympathy. She had not approved of many of Susannah’s suitors, before Mr Lampton had come on the scene, but she had a soft spot for the Captain. It was the way he looked at Susannah, she had confided to Deborah one evening not long after they had first made Mr Lampton’s acquaintance. So wounded, so bitter, so tragically certain he had no chance against a man who was everything he was not. For not only was Mr Lampton staggeringly handsome, he had expectations. It was common knowledge that he stood to inherit a substantial fortune upon reaching the age of thirty. So he could not be pursuing Susannah for her money. He would make a better match for Susannah, Mrs Gillies had decided, than an ageing earl, or a spotty young baron. Nor would her parents look askance at him, even though he had no title, since Susannah herself seemed to have her heart set on him. And he was being so particular in his attentions, it was surely only a matter of time before he proposed.

Deborah laid her book to one side, as her mother said, ‘Oh, Captain Fawley, how good it is of you to call on us this afternoon. We are all alone, as you see, and so dull! Please, do sit down. We have ordered some tea. I am sure you will stay and drink a cup with us, even though Miss Hullworthy is not here…’ She faltered, looking a little self-conscious as she alluded to the Captain’s disappointment.

‘Thank you, Mrs Gillies,’ he replied, though he remained standing stiffly by the door, rather than advancing towards the seat she had indicated he should take. ‘I was aware that Miss Hullworthy was out. In point of fact, I waited until I was certain she would be. It is your daughter I have come to see. Miss Gillies,’ he said, his cheeks flushing as he turned towards her, ‘I know this is a little unorthodox, but might I have a few words with you in private?’

Deborah did not know how to answer him, nor to even begin to guess what on earth he might wish to say to her that would require privacy. Besides, it was completely improper! She was sure her mother would not allow any such thing.

‘Why don’t you two take a turn about the garden?’ her mother stunned her by saying. ‘But stay in sight of the windows. I am sure if Captain Fawley feels he needs to speak to you privately, he has a very good reason,’ she said, in answer to Deborah’s puzzled look. ‘I will take a seat in the back parlour, from where I will have a good view of the lawn. Will that be acceptable, Captain?’

‘Most acceptable. Thank you for your generosity, madam,’ he said, opening the door and indicating that Deborah should accompany him.

One of the reasons for hiring this particular house was that it had a good-sized garden, by London standards. There was a narrow strip of lawn, bordered by low, shrubby sage plants, interspersed with clumps of sweet-william. Against one of the walls that separated their garden from the neighbouring property, some chairs had been set out around a wrought-iron table in a position to catch the early-morning sun. The area could still be used for sitting out later, too, since a pergola had been placed to provide some shade at the height of the day. And the roses and honeysuckle clambering over the structure in a marvellously scented tangle made it a pleasant place to sit well into the evening.

Captain Fawley headed unerringly towards the flowered arbour, making sure Deborah was sitting down before glancing back towards the house. When Mrs Gillies waved to him from the window, he bowed in her direction, before turning to address Deborah.

‘Before I broach the matter I have come here to discuss, may I have your assurance that you will hold everything that passes between us in the strictest confidence?’

He returned her mystified gaze with a scowl so ferocious, Deborah began to feel a little nervous.

‘If it means so much to you,’ she answered, touched by his intention to confide in her, ‘of course I will. Though I should not like to keep anything from my mother….’

‘There will be no need to keep her in the dark for long,’ he assured her. ‘But I must insist that you do not reveal anything, not even to her, until I give you leave.’

‘That sounds a little high-handed.’

‘If I cannot trust you, then say so now, and that will be an end to it!’

Deborah scarcely paused to think. It would be quite impossible to let him leave without discovering why he had thought it imperative to breach etiquette by seeking an interview with her alone and then swearing her to secrecy. She would die of curiosity.

‘You can trust me,’ she vowed.

For a minute or two, he frowned down at her, searching her face as though he needed to be absolutely sure before committing himself any further. Finally, he squared his shoulders, as though coming to a decision about her, and muttered, ‘If I did not think I could trust you, I would never even have considered coming to you. One thing I have noticed about you—you seem to possess more integrity than most girls of your age. I know that you have endured much during this past year, and borne it all with fortitude.’

Deborah filled up with pleasure at his praise, though gruffly delivered.

‘You have also confided in me that when your Season comes to an end, you will have little to look forward to. I hope you will not take it amiss if I speak bluntly?’

He was about to trust her with some burden that he carried. How could she object if, in his extremity, he phrased it bluntly?

‘You may speak freely to me,’ she assured him.

‘Well, then,’ he said, taking the seat beside her and staring earnestly into her face, ‘not to wrap the matter up in clean linen, the facts are these. You have neither the wealth, nor the looks, nor the wiles required to snare a wealthy husband.’

Deborah gasped, wounded to the core by his harsh assessment of her complete want of feminine allure. But he did not even pause in his catalogue of her failings.

‘You might, perhaps, have secured the interest of a more ordinary man if you were not so frail. But I have no need to tell you that a man who must earn his own living, as, say, a soldier, or a diplomat, will want a wife in robust health, with the stamina to raise his family, and order his household in possibly less-than-comfortable circumstances.’

She was about to point out, in no uncertain terms, that she was not some frail creature that could not withstand a little hardship. And argue that, while such a man as he had spoken of was exactly the sort of husband she had come to London to find, Susannah’s ambitions had catapulted her into spheres where such men did not venture. She was quite sure, that if she ever met such men, they might see she had some redeeming features. But he gave her no opportunity to say a word.

‘You have admitted to me that you do not expect to receive any proposals of marriage,’ he ploughed on with brutal candour, ‘and that at the end of the Season, because of your straitened circumstances, you will have to seek paid employment. If you do not become a governess, you must serve as a teacher, for ever confined to some stuffy classroom. You will be quite miserable, for you would much rather marry, and be mistress of your own establishment than be for ever at the mercy of some other family’s spoiled brats.’

Deborah’s heart was pounding hard. She could not remember any man ever insulting her so comprehensively. Even though all he had said was true, it was cruel of him to fling it in her face. How dare he taunt her with her wish to marry, having told her she stood no chance of snaring a man!

‘I do not think I wish to continue with this conversation,’ she said, rising to her feet and turning her back on him.

‘Miss Gillies, do not turn me down before you hear the whole.’

Turn him down? She froze. What was he trying to say?

‘The…the whole?’ Reluctantly, she looked at him over her shoulder.

‘Yes. Miss Gillies, I have recently discovered that if I can but persuade some respectable female into marriage, I will inherit a substantial property.’ He got to his feet, reached for her upper arm and spun her to face him. ‘I thought you, of all women, might overcome your revulsion for such a man as I am in return for lifelong security.’

‘You are asking me to marry you?’ Deborah’s heart was pounding with quite another emotion than she had been experiencing a moment earlier. She might have known his intention had not been to deliberately hurt her. He just obviously thought of himself as such a bad bargain for any woman, he had to highlight what he thought her alternative to accepting his proposal would be. ‘The devil or the deep blue sea,’ she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Oh, how could he think no woman could love him!

‘Don’t dismiss the idea out of hand,’ he implored her. ‘Please, hear me out.’

Deborah’s heart soared, even as she lowered her head to fumble in her reticule for a handkerchief. She did not know why she was crying, really. It was so silly when it felt as if a huge dark mass, which had been crushing her hopes and dreams, had finally rolled away, leaving her giddy and dazed. The man she loved had asked her to marry him!

She dropped back down on to her chair. The only reason, she now admitted to herself, that she had decided to forswear marriage and seek work was that she could not see herself marrying anyone except Captain Fawley. If she had received a proposal from any other man, she would have been gratified, but she did not think she could really have accepted it. But of course she would marry him. In a heartbeat! As soon as she had got this ridiculous urge to weep tears of relief under control, she would tell him so….

‘Miss Gillies, I know I have little to offer you myself. But consider the property that comes with the marriage.’ He sat down next to her, leaning forward as he put his case. ‘I believe it would make an ideal family home. There will be room for your mother. I am sure you wish to be able to provide for her in her old age. I know her pension to be so meagre you thought it would be better to work than be a burden on her. And would you not rather raise children of your own than be paid to teach other people’s? I would even permit you to hire a fencing master for our daughters, if that is what you wish,’ he added, the touch of humour reminding her of the conversation they had shared at the Marquis of Lensborough’s ball.

Though his reference to children was made in a jocular fashion, she knew he was spelling out to her that he was offering her a real marriage, not just a convenient arrangement. She had a brief vision of a boy and a girl capering about a broad, sunlit lawn, waving wooden swords at each other, while Captain Fawley, lounging beneath the shade of a gnarled oak tree, shouted instructions to them. Another little boy, with a grubby face, grinned down from the branches of the tree, while her mother, seated on a rustic bench nearby, smiled contentedly at her grandchildren. She watched them all from the windows of a rambling stone house, a tiny baby nuzzling at her breast. And then the Captain Fawley on that sun-drenched lawn turned to look at her. And he smiled at her. And his expression was not that of the bitter, careworn cripple who was putting this proposition to her, his eyes full of hopeless entreaty. He had become a contented family man.