The Earl of Walton frowned thoughtfully into his glass of port. ‘He lacks only four months to his thirtieth birthday,’ he said at length, enigmatically.
‘What has that to say to anything?’
The Earl sighed, then looked his younger brother full in the face. ‘What is Miss Hullworthy to you, Robert? Do you care for her?’
‘I certainly don’t want to see her ruined. Good God, you know what a menace Lampton is around women. Only remember the trouble he caused Heloise when she first came to London!’
Percy Lampton had joined forces with the Earl’s discarded mistress in an attempt to soil his young bride’s reputation. The marriage had very nearly foundered before the Earl had got wise to what was going on.
‘I don’t forget it,’ said the Earl crisply. ‘Although, in this particular case, I think I can see what motivates him.’
‘Well, I cannot! Much as I dislike the man,’ he said with a pensive frown, ‘he strikes me as too fastidious to get embroiled in the kind of scandal that would erupt if he really did seduce her….’
‘He won’t need to go so far. All he means to do, I think, is to keep her away from you until he attains the age of thirty.’
‘What has his age to do with anything?’
The Earl sighed. ‘Upon his thirtieth birthday, Percy Lampton will come into a substantial inheritance.’
‘But what has that to do with me? Or Miss Hullworthy, come to that?’
‘You brought her to his notice, Robert, by pursuing her so hotly. Inviting her to Lensborough’s engagement ball caused the devil of a stir.’
‘That was my intent,’ Captain Fawley replied brusquely. ‘But why should Lampton think my affairs are any of his business?’
‘Because of my Aunt Euphemia’s will, I should think,’ he said wryly. ‘Which rather ambiguously named either you, or Percy Lampton as her heir.’
Captain Fawley went very still. ‘I have been named in the will of some woman that I have never heard of? Why has nobody informed me of the fact until today?’
The Earl shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Aunt Euphemia died not long after I brought you home from Spain. My mother’s family always regarded her as something of an eccentric, but when her will was finally read out, they declared she must have been unhinged. I do not think so. And nor did her lawyers or her doctors. Naming you as her beneficiary was not an irrational act, but rather her attempt to redress the injustice she felt her brothers had done to you over the matter of your upbringing.’
‘Felt they had done?’
The Earl acknowledged his brother’s objection. ‘Did do. We both know your mother should have been moved to the dower house and granted an annuity, and that you should have been brought up at Wycke, along with me.’ He clenched his fist on the tabletop. ‘They would have contested Aunt Euphemia’s will, too, if I had not convinced them I had the resources to fight them tooth and nail until there would have been nothing left for anyone to inherit. Eventually, we reached a compromise with the trustees of her estate, which ensured that at least her fortune would remain intact until such time as one of you met with certain conditions.’ He swirled his port round in his glass, staring into it meditatively. ‘I rather think they ceded to my terms, instead of embarking on what would have been a protracted legal case because, at that time, nobody really expected you to survive.’ He smiled mirthlessly.
‘All right,’ Captain Fawley grated, ‘I accept that at the time this will was read, you acted on my behalf, since everyone thought I was about to stick my spoon in the wall. But I have been living under your roof for nigh on two years. Why is this the first I have heard about the will?’
‘Would you believe me if I told you I did not think it would do you any good?’
‘Not do me any good? I have a substantial sum of money owed me—at least I must assume it is, or the Lamptons would not have considered contesting the will to get it—and you say it would not do me any good?’ Captain Fawley got to his feet, blood surging hotly through his veins. This was not the first time he had felt such hatred for his brother. No, he checked himself, only his half-brother. Though they shared the same father, his mother had never quite made the grade with the Earl’s starchy relations. They had evicted her from his father’s home before he was cold in his grave, threatening her with all sorts of dire consequences should she try to claim anything from her late husband’s estate. Bereft, pregnant and without powerful friends to advise her, she had quietly returned to her middle-class family and dwindled away.
‘What are you about, Walton? You pretend to act in my interests, but how can I forget that your mother was a Lampton too?’
Walton barely reacted to his brother’s thinly veiled accusation.
‘You forget, perhaps, that I mentioned there were conditions attached to you inheriting anything,’ he said with icy calm. ‘Until a few weeks ago, nobody, least of all myself, could have guessed you might want to meet them.’
‘If I had known what they are, I would have been able to make the decision for myself!’
‘Then do so now,’ the Earl stated coldly. ‘If you truly wish to escape the ignominy of living on my charity, all you have to do is make a respectable marriage. For one thing my aunt made resoundingly clear. She had no wish to have a bachelor living in her house. But do not tarry, Robert. If you are not married by the time Percy attains the age of thirty, then the trustees have decreed everything will go to him. He is, after all, a blood relative, which you are not.’
Robert felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. No woman in her right mind would marry him. He knew it. Charles knew it. That was why he had not told him about the legacy. Knowing that a fortune lurked for ever just beyond his reach would only have added a further layer of torture to his existence.
He slumped back into his chair. Once again, he had lashed out at his brother, who had only ever had his welfare at heart. And sadly, though they both knew he hated having to subsist on his brother’s charity, they also knew there was no viable alternative. Charles had offered on numerous occasions to make over to him the estates and trusts that should have been his, as the younger son of the Earl of Walton. Had he inherited them from his father, he would have been glad to live the life of a gentleman farmer, pottering about his acres. But the old man had not named him in his will…how could he, when he had not even been aware his wife was pregnant when he had died so suddenly? To accept them now, from his brother, out of some kind of misguided charity… He grimaced with distaste. No, he had been brought low enough, without stooping to accepting handouts, like some beggar on the streets.
If only he could be independent! His mind revolved over what Walton had just told him about this will. All he had to do, apparently, was to persuade a respectable female to marry him. Yes, that was all, he reflected bitterly. Persuade some poor woman to wake up to the nightmare of his face upon her pillow every morning.
Yet, Lampton must have thought he might have been able to persuade Miss Hullworthy to marry him. Or why would he have gone to such lengths to detach her from him?
‘Damn him!’ He lurched to his feet. ‘Damn all the Lamptons. And damn you too.’ He rounded on his half-brother. ‘Oh, yes, you claim you acted for the best, but because you decided to keep me in the dark, Percy Lampton is dangling that girl on a string. If only I had known, I would—’ He stopped, bitter rage roiling in his gut. ‘You have a lot to answer for, Walton,’ he grated, turning on his heel and striding from the dining room.
He crossed the hall and slammed into the suite of rooms Lord Walton had set aside for him in his London residence. Linney, his manservant, who had been with him since his days in the army, was sitting at a table covered with newspaper, a tankard at his elbow and a pair of boots across his knees.
When Captain Fawley slumped into the chair opposite him, Linney reached under the table for a stone bottle, wiped round the rim of a rather smeared glass tumbler with the sleeve of his shirt and poured his master a full measure.
Captain Fawley drank the bumper off in one go, and pushed it across the table for a refill. He could not let Lampton get away with this! Apart from the fact he hated all the Lamptons on principle, the way he was falsely raising Susannah’s expectations was downright dishonourable. Was there nothing that family would not stoop to, to increase their already substantial personal wealth?
It was not even as though Percy Lampton needed the money as much as he did. Lampton lived a comfortable, independent bachelor lifestyle, whereas he was completely dependent on his brother. His half-brother, he corrected himself.
He leaned his forehead on his hand, struggling against the sense of resentment that thoughts of his half-brother still roused, even after all the man had done for him.
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 blun
tly?’
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!
Captain Fawley's Innocent Bride Page 5