The Debutante
The Sinclair Society Series, Volume 2
Bethany Swafford
Published by Lilac Petal Press, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE DEBUTANTE
First edition. June 15, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Bethany Swafford.
Written by Bethany Swafford.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Coming Soon
Also Available By Bethany Swafford
For my parents, who taught me to love books
Chapter One
When the Season ends in London, fashionable society seeks amusement elsewhere, and that place is Bath. While some with ill-health— imagined or otherwise— took to the waters, others enjoyed the best society had to offer in the way of theater, dancing, and such diversions. There are even those who spend their whole lives in Bath.
Propping my father’s watch on my dressing table, I leaned down to check my appearance in the small mirror. My walking dress was of a jaconet muslin and perhaps was too delicate for a lady’s maid to be seen in. However, as it was my half-day, I had dressed to please myself.
“But what if Miss Dunbar requires something, Miss Nelson?”
Restraining myself from a sigh, I sent a glance over my shoulder. The housemaid, Eliza, stood by the door, wringing her hands together. She was no older than fifteen and was, in general, a nervous creature. “You will provide whatever it is that Miss Dunbar wishes,” I said, struggling to keep my tone reassuring. “You must have done so before my arrival.”
“Yes, but Miss Dunbar hates me. She threw a jar of cream at me one day when I took too long to reach her room.” Poor Eliza’s eyes were wide, and I wondered how she had lasted as long as she had in the house. Seven months must have been some record for this household.
“Then, you must be sure to keep from being late, Eliza. I have no intention of foregoing my few hours away from my duties,” I stated firmly, as I straightened. I picked up my bonnet. “As Miss Dunbar has no engagements, I suspect she will spend her afternoon practicing the pianoforte, and she will not be in need of any assistance.”
My words did nothing to alleviate the fear on Eliza’s face. However, there was nothing more I could say on the matter. Hardening my heart, I tied on my bonnet and picked up my reticule. “I shall return in time to assist Miss Dunbar in dressing for the evening,” I said.
Her cheeks flushing, Eliza scurried out of my room. I plucked my father’s watch from the dressing table and placed it safely in my reticule to carry with me. It was one of the few items I made sure to keep close by for fear of someone happening to it.
I left my room, taking care to close the door firmly behind me. Keeping my belongings secure had become highly critical in the past few months.
“Why, Miss Nelson.”
The male voice made my skin crawl. “Mr. Dunbar,” I responded, lifting my gaze to the face of the oldest Dunbar son.
Daniel Dunbar was a handsome man, and he knew it. He was tall and had the build of a man who frequented Gentleman Jackson’s academy. From the moment he first saw me in his father’s house, he had been persistent in his attempts to garner my affection.
From what the housekeeper, Mrs. Dobbs, had said to me, the last lady’s maid had been dismissed in disgrace from the consequences of falling for the charming man.
Such a fate would not befall me.
“It’s your half-day, isn’t it?” Mr. Dunbar asked, his blue eyes flicking over my appearance in a way that made me shudder. His smile widened as though he liked what he saw. “Permit me to walk with you.” As he spoke, he extended his arm for me to take.
“No, thank you. I am in no mood for company.”
His eyes focused on my face, darkening with annoyance. “Miss Nelson, everyone desires company.”
“Not everyone,” I said, striding forward boldly. He stepped in front of me to block my way down the back staircase. “Sir, kindly permit me to pass by. I have declined your company and can think of no reason for you to be on this level of the house. Good day.”
Moving aside, Mr. Dunbar offered a mocking bow as I swept past him. While I hoped that my continued refusal of his attention would bore him, I feared he was fascinated with the idea I might be uninterested and thus worth pursuing. Somehow, I would have to find a way to hurry my investigation so that I could leave as soon as possible.
I had been in Bath two weeks and had learned nothing new of my brother Jonathan’s untimely death. In fact, I had not come across anyone who had ever known him. Such was the obstacle of being in a place where people came and went so easily, something that had not occurred to me before my arrival.
However, I could not rest until I had tried every avenue open to me.
AS I WALKED ALONG THE pavement, I passed many people who were taking advantage of the beautiful weather. Young ladies were giggling and gossiping together as they walked. Gentlemen strode along with confidence.
I was careful to keep my head down and avoided all eye contact. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to recognize me as Miss Juliet Sinclair, and with so many people in Bath, the risk was higher than it had ever been in London.
Fortunately for me, my destination was not a well-traveled place. Once I left the confines of the streets of Bath, I was reminded of the walks I used to take when I was at home in the country with my parents. Birds sang in the trees around me, and the sun shone down, warming my face.
It had taken me the entirety of my last half-day to locate the right parish register that contained where my brother Jonathan was buried. By that point, it had been too late on my previous half-day for me to visit his grave. Now, at long last, I could.
There was no one in sight as I wove my way among the gravestones. The peace of the graveyard was welcome after the exhausting week I had just endured. Finally, in a corner, I found the stone I was searching for:
Jonathan Sinclair
Kneeling down and pulling my glove off, I ran my hand over the cold stone. “Oh, Jonathan.” Deep in my heart, I knew that a woman would never have been entrusted the kind of secrets he’d carried with him. Still, I wished there had been some way he could have told me what he was doing for our country.
Our parents, or at least our father, had known the task Jonathan had taken on. I had been left to believe my brother merely traveled for pleasure. I couldn’t help but feel I hadn’t known my brother at the end of his life. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I took a deep breath, trying to push away the grief.
My gaze shifted to the small bouquet of violets, limp and half dead already, that rested against the base of the gravestone. Startled, I realized then that my brother’s grave appeared to have been looked after diligently in the last five years.
Who would have done such a kind thing? A friend of Jonathan's?
Shaking my head, I found a small grave with grass grown up
around it and sat on the gravestone. There was yet another purpose for my long walk. Sure of being unseen by anyone who might carry tales, I pulled a letter from my reticule. It was thicker than usual, which meant my great-aunt had forwarded my correspondence. Since it was not usual for me to receive many letters, this was a surprise.
My Aunt Beth's letter was the first one I read, and amid her Shakespearean insults that I had little patience to decipher, it detailed her disappointment in me. She wondered how I could persist in the pretense of being a lady’s maid, asked when I would be returning, and informed me I had missed Mr. Henry Bladen’s visit. He had, fortunately, accepted her excuse of my being indisposed and had not returned.
The only word that came to mind when I read those words was, good. What kind of fickle woman did he imagine me to be? He was the one who had abandoned me when I had needed him and then had remained absent for five years. If he believed he could reappear and my affections would be unchanged, he was mistaken.
As they invariably did, as of late, when it came to affection, my thoughts turned to Mr. Oswyn Harper. Had he tried to discover my whereabouts? Not that he had any reason to do so, as I had stumbled upon his traitor for him. Why would he think of me again?
With a shake of my head and mentally scolding myself for being a fool, I folded Aunt Beth’s letter and turned my attention to the letter she had enclosed. I didn’t immediately recognize the handwriting, but when I opened it and read the salutation I knew. There was only one person who ever referred to me as ‘Jules,’ and that was my longtime friend, Mary Thornton, nee Heath.
With a sigh, I scanned through most of her barely legible writing. Her correspondence was exactly like her personality: erratic and bubbly. She had been married for four years, and her habit of letter writing had tapered off to an occasional, random missive.
‘How laughable to think that I have been married so long and have children of my own. I do wish you could be as happily settled as I am, Jules. Perhaps you should come for a visit, and I can introduce you to all of my neighbors. There are several eligible young men who would be worthy of you...’
Sighing, I broke off my perusal of Mary’s letter. She’d written similar sentiments many times over the years, and I had never taken her up on her offer. At first, Henry Bladen had been a shadow on my heart, but now? Now I didn’t feel like I knew myself at all, and if I didn’t know myself, how could I expect someone else to come to know me?
I glanced one last time at my brother’s grave. “I will find out what happened to you, Jonathan,” I promised. “And, if I possibly can, I’ll make sure justice is done and the traitor is found.”
The last would be an almost impossible task, and I knew it. Still, it seemed like something I needed to say, a promise I had to make. It would give me the patience to get me through the long days.
FEELING MORE AT PEACE with myself and my goals, I re-entered Bath. I was halfway to the Dunbar home when someone crashed into my back. As I stumbled, my grip tightened on my reticule, as I knew well the tricks of a boy on the street. It was fortunate that I did so for I felt a firm tug on my purse, but I managed to keep it in my hand. When I had regained my balance, I spotted a child dressed in tatters racing away.
“Pardon me, miss,” a male voice called, behind me. “Are you uninjured?”
Turning, I took in the young man. He didn’t appear to be very much older than me. “No harm was done,” I said, patting my reticule. “Thank you for your concern.”
He gave a small chuckle. “I am glad to hear it. It seems to be only I who have suffered a loss to the scamp.”
“Perhaps he believed he had more need of it than you,” I said, unable to keep a smile from my lips. The child vanished from sight, and the man did not give chase or call out as I had expected him to.
Pale gray eyes flicked over me, and interest sparked on the man’s face. “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”
His tone was curious; otherwise, his words could have been understood a direct cut. Oddly enough, this triggered my amusement, and I bite off a laugh. “Indeed, I would be astonished if we had, sir.”
“And why would you say that?”
My amusement faded as I steeled myself to be honest. On the surface, this light-hearted young man seemed to be one I would have readily enjoyed passing my time with if I had been a young lady visiting Bath like any other. However, lamenting what could not be was hardly a productive use of my faculties. “Because I am Miss Dunbar’s maid.”
His eyebrows went up in surprise, but he didn’t walk away. “I am Adam Melbourne,” he said to my surprise. “I am an acquaintance of Miss Dunbar and her family. I ought to have guessed a new maid had been employed as Miss Dunbar has been in fine looks as of late. May I know the name of her miracle worker?”
“Miss Julie Nelson.” The name rolled off my tongue so easily. It almost felt more comfortable than ‘Juliet Sinclair.’ “It was a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“May I have the honor of escorting you? After all, a young ruffian may decide your reticule worth his time.”
Surprised by the offer, I studied him for a moment. Mr. Melbourne was dressed in the impeccable garb of a young gentleman —tan breeches, a dark blue coat, and black topper. He was slightly taller than me, his build solid. Appearances could be deceiving, though, for all he looked to be respectable and relatively harmless.
“I promise I won’t bite.” He said this with a smile as if to put me at ease.
Deciding to take the chance, I inclined my head in acceptance and began walking. He fell in step beside me, and we went several minutes without saying anything. “Perhaps you could help me with a bit of a puzzle,” he finally said. “I must confess I have an interest in your mistress, Miss Dunbar.”
Of course he did. Why else would he still be walking and talking with a maid? “You do get to the point quickly,” was all I said.
“She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” he continued, his tone fervid and admiring. I barely kept from rolling my eyes. “An incomparable if ever a person deserved to be called such.”
Rose Dunbar was, without a doubt, a beautiful young lady. Golden hair and bright blue eyes gave her an angelic appearance. She was petite and knew how to speak with softness. If an elderly lady were present at a gathering, Miss Dunbar would offer her arm or beg to be of some assistance. I had heard many sing her praises during my time in Bath.
However, that was the face she presented to the members of society. In private, she was the most self-centered, spoiled girl I had ever had the misfortune to come across.
“You wish to be in her good graces, then, Mr. Melbourne?” I had wondered how long it would take before a gentleman thought to use me as a way to get inside information concerning Miss Dunbar. A mere two weeks, apparently.
“I will not ask you to do anything unethical. I simply wish to know her likes and dislikes. Anything that will give me an advantage among her admirers.”
Feeling a wave of sadness, I shook my head. Mr. Melbourne seemed to be sincere and, at least on the surface, a good man. Rose Dunbar would use him, flirt with him, and then leave him for the first rogue that caught her eye.
“She has a fondness for roses,” I said with a sigh. Even if I told him all I knew about my employer, he wouldn’t believe me. He would have to discover the truth of Miss Dunbar's character for himself.
“I could have guessed that.”
Anxious to end the conversation, I quickened my steps. “She is also fond of novels. She is as accomplished as any other young lady. That is all I can tell you, Mr. Melbourne. I have not been with Miss Dunbar long enough to have a better grasp on what she does or does not enjoy.”
Quickly, Mr. Melbourne matched my gait. “Never say Miss Dunbar is a novel reader!”
“I believe I just did,” I said irritably. Miss Dunbar had often in the past two weeks sent me to the bookshop to search out a gothic novel, or some poetry, and she kept Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels next to her bed.
&nb
sp; “Have I offended you in some way?”
Forcing my annoyance away, I shook my head. “Indeed not, sir.”
“I find I don’t quite believe you.”
“What you choose to believe, sir, is entirely up to you.” Primness had crept into my voice, and I cringed at how like a strict governess I sounded. “I am not certain knowing these details will give you an advantage with Miss Dunbar.”
Mr. Melbourne heaved a sigh. “No doubt you are right. She is unconcerned with such material things.”
Remembering Miss Dunbar’s disdain at buying anything when the shopkeeper had a sale, I bit my lip and stared straight ahead. The idea of moderation in spending was foreign to her. She would rather be able to brag about how much she spent on a bit of lace with the notion that the more expensive, the better.
“Unless you want to give her the idea that you desire a relationship with her maid, I suggest you leave me here,” I told him, as we drew closer to the Dunbar home on Milsom St. “It would hardly be encouragement for her to show interest in your suit if she were to see me walking with you.”
Though, I had the suspicion that it would inspire jealousy from Miss Dunbar and to be caught in such a situation would have been highly uncomfortable. As it was, I had no inclination to encourage a match between my mistress and Mr. Melbourne. He did not deserve a wife such as Miss Dunbar would make.
With a dramatic sigh, Mr. Melbourne took my hand and bowed over it before I could object. “I am not deterred,” he said, straightening with a smile. “Good day, Miss Nelson.”
With quick strides, he continued on his way and strode past the Dunbar residence as though he had no notion the object of his adoration resided within. With a shake of my head, I made my way to the servants’ entrance.
I could only hope the man had his eyes open before he made a grave mistake.
Chapter Two
The Debutante: A Regency Mystery (The Sinclair Society Book 2) Page 1