The air stirred and then a voice she recognised very well said softly in her ear, ‘Lady Incognita, I presume? And with a stalwart chaperon! How do you do, ma’am? Shall we step outside and talk?’
Deb was mortified. She sat on the bench outside the Customs House and watched Ross and Richard Kestrel as they talked. They were some distance away, but she could follow the conversation fairly well by watching her brother-in-law’s expression. Ross was looking furious and Deb did not really blame him. It was doubly mortifying, however, that Richard was obliged to accept the censure that should by rights be vented upon her. Now she felt even more at a disadvantage.
Deb looked out across the River Deben and wondered why on earth she had never imagined that Lord Scandal and Lord Richard Kestrel could be one and the same.
It seemed so obvious now that she knew. Mrs Aintree had commented that his letter was arrogant, just like the man himself: arrogant, authoritative under that deceptively lazy air, and given to command. Deb remembered that she had even mused at one time that they might be one and the same person, and then she had dismissed the idea because she had thought that Lord Richard would never take the local newspaper, nor answer a chance-placed advertisement…
She glanced back at the gentlemen. Whatever it was that Richard was saying to Ross was evidently quite persuasive. Deb saw Ross’s forbidding expression ease slightly, saw him nod once, shake his head twice, and finally look in her direction. Richard shook hands with him and Ross, with one hard, backward glance at Deb, headed away up Quay Street. Deb took a deep breath as she watched Richard approach. Now that the moment—and Lord Scandal—was here, she did not really know what to do. She thought it best if they ended the interview as quickly as possible. Clearly it was impossible for her to appoint Lord Richard Kestrel as her temporary fiancé and the quicker the matter was settled the better.
Richard was standing before her. He took one look at her scarlet, mortified face and said, ‘Shall we walk a little, Mrs Stratton? Your brother-in-law has very kindly given us a half-hour together in which to discuss this matter.’
Deb took his arm, feeling slightly dazed. ‘What did you say to Ross?’ she asked. ‘I did not think that he would leave us alone.’
‘I said very little,’ Richard looked rueful. ‘Since I did not wish to betray your confidence and could not be sure whether you had told him about your advertisement, I made no mention of it. Instead I merely said that you and I had a matter to discuss and asked him to grant me a little time with you.’
Deb nodded. She felt even more distressed as she realised the extent to which Richard had most chivalrously drawn Ross’s fire away from her and to himself.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘You are welcome.’ Richard scanned her face. ‘I was assuming, of course, that you still wished to speak with me. If you have changed your mind, you need only say the word. Ross has gone to the gunsmith’s and we may meet him there.’
Deb hesitated. Richard waited. There was nothing in his face to sway her opinion, but even as she was poised on the edge of calling the whole thing off, she was surprised to feel a strong urge not to dismiss him. He was, after all, her only hope.
‘Perhaps,’ she said cautiously, ‘I could decide what to do once we have spoken.’
She saw a ghost of a smile touch Richard’s lips. ‘Of course,’ he said.
They walked a little way along the path, Richard waiting politely for her to take the initiative.
‘I should have guessed it was you, I suppose,’ Deb said wryly. ‘I cannot imagine why I did not. Probably—’ she stole a sideways look at her companion ‘—because I did not want to. Lord Scandal, indeed!’
Richard laughed. ‘I thought it peculiarly appropriate.’
‘No doubt it is. But it is not at all appropriate for the role that I had in mind.’ Deb sighed. ‘I knew all along that it was a poor idea, but it was the only thing that I could think to do.’
‘Why do you not tell me all about it?’ Richard asked encouragingly. ‘Since you do not have any alternative applicants to interview, Mrs Stratton, you might as well see if I would fit the bill.’
‘There is no possibility that you would be suitable—’ Deb broke off, looking at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Just a moment. You said that I do not have any alternative applicants. How would you know that? Did you know that I was the one who had placed the advertisement?’
Richard looked at her, brows raised quizzically. ‘I confess that I did.’
‘How? How could you possibly know that?’
Richard did not prevaricate. ‘I met with your gardener’s boy on the road, the morning that you placed your advertisement. I…happened to see the letter addressed to the Suffolk Chronicle, and when the advertisement came out I guessed that it was you.’
Deb regarded him stormily. Certain issues that had puzzled her were beginning to make more sense. ‘Oh! I do believe that you deliberately asked Mr Strawbridge to throw away any other letters addressed to Lady Incognita!’
Richard grinned. ‘You should be flattered, Mrs Stratton, that I wanted to help you so much that I was prepared to go to any lengths to do so.’
Deb gave a long, angry sigh. ‘Flattered? I am no such thing. For all I know there could have been a whole host of meek and helpful gentlemen prepared to offer me their assistance—’ She broke off as she heard Lord Richard’s unmistakable guffaw.
‘Meek and helpful?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘You are looking for a gentleman who is meek?’
‘Yes!’ Deb said, thoroughly ruffled now, ‘so you may see why you do not fit the bill at all!’
‘In that respect I should have to concur,’ Richard said, ‘but I am still anxious to offer you my aid, Mrs Stratton. Especially as I have denied you the chance of assistance from other gentlemen.’
Deb shook her head. She felt wretched. ‘There is no point in my relating the whole story to you, Lord Richard. No point at all. It was a stupid plan and now I shall simply have to reconsider.’
They were walking slowly along the path that wended its way beside the River Deben. The breeze off the river was cool but it did nothing to calm Deborah’s frantic thought processes. She could see no way out of the coil. She knew she would have to call off the plan she had made to hoodwink her father and come up with some other ideas. The only difficulty was that at present her mind was a complete blank.
‘I feel very guilty for preventing you from finding your meek and…er…helpful gentleman,’ Richard said presently, the quiver still in his voice. ‘Are you sure that I may not help you, Mrs Stratton?’
Deb looked at him. She felt hot and frustrated—frustrated because she could see no way out of her dilemma now and hot because merely looking at Lord Richard Kestrel seemed to have that effect on her. Had she been advertising for a lover, then she might be looking at the right man. She had to remember, however, that that was not the role she wished to fill.
‘No, Lord Richard,’ she said, ‘you may not help me. When I tell you that I was advertising for a temporary fiancé you will understand why.’
Not a muscle moved in Richard Kestrel’s face. Deb had to admire the coolness with which he took her announcement.
‘You require a fiancé?’ he queried.
‘No,’ Deb corrected, ‘I require a temporary fiancé. Now you may see why you would be the very worst person for the role.’
‘I do not see that at all.’ Richard sounded quite hurt. ‘Why am I not suitable?’
‘Why not?’ Deb looked at him closely, trying to work out if he was teasing her. The handsome face was quite impassive and she could not tell.
‘Where do I begin?’ She said. ‘I need someone who is biddable, reliable and—’
‘Meek?’ The betraying quiver of humour was back in Richard’s voice.
‘Precisely,’ Deb said. ‘You, on the other hand are reckless, dangerous and a rake.’
‘In your advertisement you asked for a man of honour, discretion and chivalry,’ Richard poi
nted out.
‘Yes?’
‘I possess all of those qualities.’
Deb bit her lip. ‘I do not believe so.’ She paused, feeling that this was a little harsh. ‘I suppose that you are discreet,’ she allowed. ‘You did not march into the Customs House and announce your business in front of everyone. And you were most chivalrous just now in drawing Ross’s anger away from me.’
‘Thank you,’ Lord Richard said ironically. ‘You do not seem so certain about my honourable qualities.’
‘Your behaviour to me has been far short of honourable,’ Deb pointed out. She remembered guiltily that she had entertained some decidedly dishonourable thoughts about him herself and had connived at his activities with a certain degree of enthusiasm. She did not wish to appear a hypocrite. She fidgeted.
‘A rake’s behaviour is by definition dishonourable,’ she amended.
‘Touché,’ Richard agreed. ‘It is, of course. But do you at least concede that I can behave with honour if I try?’
‘I have no notion.’ Deb gave a little shrug. ‘I should say, if pressed, that probably you could not. However, the question does not arise since you do not fulfil my other requirements.’
‘The…er…biddableness and the meekness?’
‘Indeed.’
Richard squared his shoulders. ‘No, I am certainly not that, and what is more, I should not even try.’
‘You would not do what I told you?’ Deb looked at him and decided that the question was pointless. Was this a man who would be obedient to a woman’s dictates? She thought not—unless they coincided with his own.
‘No, I would not do as I was told,’ Richard said, confirming her thoughts.
‘There, then.’ Deb spread her hands. ‘You are quite unsuitable to be my short-term fiancé.’
They had reached the place where the path narrowed and became a rough track leading down to Kyson Point. There was a seat in the sun, with a fine view across the river to the parish of Sutton beyond. Deb made to turn back, but Richard put out a hand to stop her.
‘Perhaps you could tell me a little about why you need a fiancé in the first place,’ he suggested. ‘Who knows, I may at least be able to provide an alternative suggestion to solve your difficulties. May we sit? I find perambulation unsuited to serious conversation.’
Deb looked at him suspiciously. ‘Are you seeking to make fun of me?’
Richard looked hurt. ‘Not the least in the world! No sane person advertises for a temporary fiancé unless they have a very powerful reason to do so.’ He gave her a smile. ‘I can testify that you are not insane, Mrs Stratton, therefore you must have your reasons. I confess that I am keen to discover them.’
Deb frowned. On the one hand Lord Richard Kestrel was hardly the person she would have chosen as a confidante, for such a role seemed too intimate. The previous time they had met, they had exchanged confidences that had made her feel very vulnerable. To open her heart to him again was surely a mistake. But on the other hand he spoke a great deal of sense and she was in a tight corner now. If he had any proposals that might solve the problem, then she wanted to hear them. After a moment she sat down and opened her parasol to shade her both from the bright sunlight and Lord Richard’s perceptive gaze. He waited patiently and after a moment Deb started her story.
‘I require a temporary fiancé because I have told my father that I am engaged to be married,’ she said. ‘We are to return home for my brother’s wedding in less than two months and Papa has commanded that I bring my betrothed with me.’ She picked at the seam of her gloves. ‘I am in the suds because I pretended to be engaged when I was no such thing. Papa was demanding that I return to live in Bath and I could not bear to do so—’ Once she had started, she found that the whole foolish tale tumbled out. She told Richard of her father’s concerns about the dangers of invasion in Suffolk, of his desire to see her living back at Walton Hall and his determination to promote the match she had rejected when she eloped with Neil Stratton. On the one hand she was mortified to be exposing her folly to Richard Kestrel, but on the other it was oddly soothing to talk to him. To her surprise, she found that he was a good listener. He did not interrupt and only asked a few questions for clarification.
‘I can perfectly comprehend,’ he said as she finished, ‘why you feel you cannot return to live under your parents roof after three years away. If Lord Walton plans to arrange a match—’
Deb shuddered and he broke off, covering her hand briefly with one of his. His voice had dropped. ‘You would not feel able to marry your cousin Harry, I assume?’
‘No,’ Deb said wretchedly. She tried to keep the pain from her voice, but could not quite succeed. ‘There is nothing wrong with Harry, my lord, other than the fact that we could never be happy together. I may sound selfish, but I have already made one improvident match in my life and have no wish to be miserable a second time.’
She glanced at Richard’s face and saw that he was watching her with both shrewdness and sympathy, and she gave him a shamefaced smile.
‘I am sorry that your first choice was so unhappy,’ he said.
‘I…’ Deb blushed and looked away from his searching gaze. She did not feel comfortable revealing too much to him. ‘I thought that I was in love with Neil,’ she said, with difficulty. ‘It was only on mature reflection that I realised that I had been rather hasty.’
‘You were only married a short time, were you not?’ Richard asked.
Deb nodded. ‘We had five weeks together before he was posted abroad and he died of a fever two months later.’
‘Those five weeks must have been quite dreadful to have left you with such harsh memories,’ Richard said. Deb could sense his eyes upon her, but she did not look up. She could not. All her bitterness and misery had fused into a tight pain in her chest and she could not speak.
After a moment, Richard sighed and said, ‘Forgive me. I realise that you do not wish to speak of it.’
Deb shook her head dumbly. She did not wish to say any more whilst her feelings were in such confusion. She knew that she could not countenance losing her relative independence by returning to Bath, and that another marriage was quite out of the question after the fiasco that had been her first. Making a business arrangement to employ a temporary fiancé had seemed a relatively safe way to thwart her father’s plans and maintain her independent existence.
Yet now that had become far more complicated. The only candidate for the role of fiancé was a man to whom she was drawn by intense feelings that she did not understand and could barely accept. Until her recent wayward thoughts on the subject of taking a lover, she had imagined that she did not wish for male companionship at all. Her attraction to Richard Kestrel had given the lie to that and, though Olivia had made her see that there was nothing unnatural in such feelings, she was still on edge and uncertain what to do. To confide in him now brought a new level of intimacy to their relationship. To accept him as her fiancé, albeit temporarily, would draw them even closer.
‘I am not quite sure how we came to discussing this topic,’ she said, striving for an even tone. ‘What I require is a fiancé acceptable to both myself and my family or—’ she looked at Richard ‘—some other alternative. Perhaps you can help me there?’
Richard shrugged. ‘I can see no alternative.’ He smiled. ‘Fortunately the solution is close at hand. I will be your temporary fiancé.’
Deb jumped up in agitation. ‘I have already told you, my lord. It is quite impossible for you to fulfil the role!’
Richard got to his feet. ‘It is not so foolish. Think for a moment, Mrs Stratton! What could be more acceptable to your family than a betrothal to man who is already an acquaintance of long standing—and a friend to your brother-in-law? It is far more credible than that you produce some stranger for approval, like a magician whipping a rabbit out of a hat. No one would be taken in by that!’
Deb bit her lip. His logic so far was faultless. ‘I cannot believe that my family would approve of
you,’ she said slowly. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’
Richard did not seem unduly perturbed. ‘There is not a matchmaking mother on earth,’ he said cynically, ‘who cannot overlook a rake’s reputation if he is rich and titled.’
Deb could not argue with that either, although she tried. ‘I cannot believe that Papa would be so sanguine,’ she said.
‘Oh, he will,’ Richard said, the cynical light still in his eyes. ‘I guarantee it.’
Deb pressed the palms of her hands together. ‘Then there is Liv and Ross. They would never believe that ours was a genuine betrothal. I have told Liv—’ She broke off, biting her lip. She could hardly repeat to him the conversation that she had had with her sister.
‘I told Olivia that I wanted to take you as a lover not a husband’ would start them on an entirely different conversation, and one that would be even more perilous. Which was what made it madness even to consider Lord Richard Kestrel in the role of her fiancé. She was already far too susceptible to his charms as it was.
Richard took her hand. He smiled a little. ‘You have told your sister that you think me a reprobate and want nothing to do with me?’
Deb blushed. ‘Not precisely, but those are the sentiments I should be holding.’
‘Ross would very likely call me out if he knew what we planned.’ Richard’s smile turned rueful. ‘However, I think that it would still probably be worth it.’
Deb did not miss his use of the word ‘we’. Her heart skipped a beat. It seemed that the betrothal plan was suddenly moving rather swiftly.
‘I am persuaded that you are correct,’ she said. ‘Ross may be a friend of yours, but he would never countenance our betrothal, nor the deceit involved in misleading my father.’ She freed herself from his grip, ‘Oh, I wish I had never started this! There must be a dozen reasons why it would never work. You will not do, my lord. I wanted someone deferential. You are too…too forceful and too high-handed…’
She turned away. There was far more to it than that, of course. There was something about Richard Kestrel that made her respond on the most instinctive and feminine of levels, something male and dangerous. To accept him as her fiancé, temporary or not, to agree to spend more time with him, to allow him insidiously to grow closer to her…These were all such foolish ideas that she had to put a stop to them now.
Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 02] Page 14