The Outrageous Debutante (25 page)

Eleanor tried to sit up, only to be restrained by Henry, who gently extricated himself from the sofa and went to pour a glass of brandy. He returned to the stricken lady and pressed it into her unresisting hand.

‘Sarah.’ She looked up into his face, her own blank with shock, her mind working furiously to remember all that she had been told of this particular débutante. ‘Listen to me. Drink this.’ He waited until she had complied, a few sips at least. ‘Now tell me. What is it? Do you know the lady? Is there a problem?’ He took the glass from her and crouched at her side, holding her hands comfortingly in his.

‘Yes … No … That is … I never thought to hear that name in this house—in connection with one of your family.’

‘Dear Sarah. Tell us,’ Eleanor encouraged. The shimmer of distress around her friend was almost visible. ‘It cannot surely be as bad as all that.’

Sarah looked from one to the other. They had been so kind to her, so supportive, when she had aided and abetted her brother in bringing them such pain. And now she must tell them … Of course, she must. ‘Oh, yes,’ she stated, her soft voice surprisingly harsh. ‘There is a problem. And it may be as bad as we could ever imagine.’ She looked at Henry with frightened eyes. ‘Her name by birth is not Wooton-Devereux. It is Baxendale.’

Baxendale! There was a shattering silence in the room. It seemed to echo from every corner. Even the distant hammering was silent as they absorbed that one name.

‘I don’t understand.’ Eleanor instantly swung her feet to the floor. Sarah’s remarkable statement had effectively destroyed all her contentment.

‘She is Sophia Mary Baxendale and she is my sister.’ Sarah announced it in firmer accents. Whatever the outcome, she must face it. Her past had just come back to haunt her and, whatever she felt about the revelation, it had stunned her audience of two.

‘Your sister? I did not know you even had a sister.’

‘I have not thought of her for years.’ Sarah’s eyes were full of sympathy as she watched the emotions flit across Eleanor’s face. ‘How should I? But listen. I must tell you what I know.’

Henry, reading his wife’s anxiety, went to sit beside her again and took her hands, soothing the soft skin on the inside of her wrists with his thumb. And Sarah, unearthing her family secrets, gleaned from her own reluctant mother and from Edward’s memories when she was a child and thus fascinated by such things, explained all. A disorganised household, increasing debts, the difficult birth. Then the arrival of Drusilla, her mother’s managing sister, followed by the removal of the baby to a new home, a new family.

‘So she is Sophia Mary Baxendale,’ Eleanor repeated.

‘Yes. But I have never met her. Only know of her from family records.’

‘But the crucial question now …’ Henry said slowly, considering the implications of this potentially explosive news, ‘is whether there is any recent connection, any communication, between your sister and Edward.’

‘I don’t know.’ Sarah understood the implications all too well.

‘What are you thinking, Hal?’ Eleanor also knew well what he was thinking, believed her thoughts ran in the same direction, but she needed him to say it aloud.

‘I am thinking—what do we have here? Another Baxendale plot? An attempt to strike once more at the Faringdon family—in a desire for revenge? Presumably a revenge made even more bitter by the past failures.’ There it was, laid out in stark terms as cold and flat as Henry’s eyes, dark with anger.

‘To lure Nicholas into marriage with a Baxendale,’ Sarah whispered.

‘Is the coincidence too great?’ Eleanor prayed that it was so.

‘Nothing is beyond Edward.’ Sarah fought to hide the shame as she outlined Edward Baxendale’s past sins. Something that Henry had deliberately refrained from doing, out of respect for Sarah’s unenviable position. ‘He was willing to use me and my child. He was willing to destroy the good name of you, Eleanor,
and Thomas. He would have made your position in society untenable. What would he not be capable of? Would he not use a young sister? Even if she were innocent of his intentions, she could still be a weapon for his revenge. He cannot touch you now, however much he might wish it, but he could harm Nicholas. Simply through the humiliation of luring him into marriage with a Baxendale without his knowledge. And if my brother could get money out of it … Edward is not beyond blackmail.’

‘But would the girl agree to such a deception?’ Eleanor asked in disbelief. ‘To deliberately set out to fix Nicholas’s interest, a cruel charade for a brother she hardly knows?’

‘We don’t know, Nell.’ Henry’s fingers tightened round her wrists, forcing her to look at him and consider the weight of his words. ‘We know nothing about her. But what we do know is that Edward is quite capable of playing a role—of winning the lady’s compliance with a heart-rending tale of the need for justice. The evil Faringdons and the innocent Baxendales.’

‘Of course he would.’ Eleanor nodded her agreement. ‘So what do we do? Can we do anything?’

‘It could be a completely false alarm, of course.’ Henry frowned down at Eleanor’s hands where they still rested, enclosed in his. ‘Nick’s interest might have moved on to someone else, another débutante. Or your mama might have misread his gallantry. But better that he knows.’

‘I agree.’ Sarah sighed. ‘If nothing else, Lord Nicholas needs to know that Miss Theodora Wooton-Devereux is not who she seems.’

A
t Aymestry Manor, Nicholas and Theodora fell headlong and effortlessly into a love affair, watched closely but with indulgence and a wry acceptance by Agnes Drew and Mrs Grant. There was no doubting the happiness that wrapped the pair around, excluding all others, so that they might as well have been living on a deserted mountain top. It did a body good, Mrs Grant informed her interested guest, to see Lord Nicholas so taken up with a young lady who clearly returned his sentiments. It was high time he had something to occupy his mind, other than the state of the summer crop or the quality of wool from his prize Ryeland sheep! And a man as handsome and desirable as he in the marriage market—he should not be burying himself in the country. It was more than time he was wed and producing an heir for Aymestry. The Manor had been empty of children for far too long.

Agnes Drew listened, but made little comment, attempting without success to ignore the concern that would not let her be. A relationship built on a lie at worst—a deliberate falsehood at best—was flawed from the very beginning. But Miss Thea was past taking advice, as held fast in love as Lord Nicholas. So she listened and watched. And hoped that fate would not manipulate events in so cruel a fashion as to bring loss and heartbreak to either of the lovers. When her conscience dictated that she should
advise Thea that a return to London was both expected and eminently sensible, Agnes for once threw good sense to the winds, considered it—and kept her counsel.

They rode the estate together. Nicholas lent her one of his well-bred horses, a compact chestnut mare with a mind of her own, to replace The Zephyr, who was still recovering. Across the pasture and open meadow, so unlike the confines of Hyde Park, Thea was free to gallop. And did so. Nicholas and his lady were quick to discover their equally competitive nature and revelled in the freedom to exercise it. Who might win did not seem to matter.

He showed her Aymestry, newly aware of the pride and affection in which he held this jewel of an estate. It pleased him to see it through her eyes, the pastures and mixed woodland, the mere where the swans were still in residence with their almost-fledged young. Not a large estate, but beautiful, a gleaming emerald, in a perfect setting of green hills and sparkling streams.

Then on to Burford—the vast house with its classical architecture and extensive estate, where herds of sheep and cattle grazed the pastures.

Thea was an interested and critical observer. She heard nothing but good of Lord Nicholas. He was well received, whether on the estate or in the small town of Kingshall. After her experience of the Maidens, it would not have surprised her to sense some animosity. But here there was no threat of danger. And Nicholas’s manner was easy. He stopped to speak to those he passed, he knew their names, their families and their concerns.

Her admiration grew as she saw the extent of his responsibilities. However much he might be involved in his own property of Aymestry and his dreams of breeding desirable horseflesh, the estate at Burford was never to be neglected. He told her a little about his brothers. And his nephew Tom, Marquis of Burford. If—when—Tom took over the running of the estate in his own right, he would not find it wanting.

So Nicholas was a man quick to recognise obligation and stern duty. Yet he did not crow of his achievements. And Thea had actually accused him of living on the profit and possessions of others.
How little she had known of him then! She had the grace to feel ashamed.

When it rained and discouraged their daily rides, they gravitated to the library at Burford Hall. To Thea’s delight, amongst the dusty leather volumes there were novels to be read. Scott’s
Waverley
and
Guy Mannering
were soon discovered. And
Ivan-hoe
, which she declared she liked less well, the plot being more farfetched. She devoured
Glenarvon
by Caroline Lamb, with her sensational and outrageous dissection of members of society whom Thea was quick to recognise with wicked pleasure. Also a remarkable choice of Gothic novels, which made her laugh and groan at their absurdities. She gave up on Mrs Radcliffe’s
Mysteries of Udolpho
and turned instead with something like relief to Lord Byron’s
Childe Harold
.

A further source of surprise was the vast number of travel books, which it was impossible for her to ignore. Descriptions of far-flung lands all spoke to Thea’s adventurous heart. But she had never been as happy as she was at that moment in the rural fastness of Herefordshire. And gloried in it.

And could discover another side to the man whom she was coming to know. For the library also contained treatises on estate improvement. She browsed through back copies of the
Farmers’ Journal
, articles on making use of marls and clover and new grasses. Reports encouraged land drainage and the use of new implements for ploughing and threshing. Arthur Young’s writings on his travels around the country were well thumbed, she noted, as were advice on improvements to cattle and sheep breeding. And, of course, horses.

For Nicholas cared. Thea’s admiration grew, as did her love.

Nicholas, for his part, was totally captivated. Theodora was everything he could want, everything he had dreamed of. Released from the rigid convention of life in the judgmental eye of society, she relaxed, enabling him to see her true nature: an intelligent woman, well read, well traveled, which made her a delight to converse with. Energetic, full of life, she was eager to explore his home, to ask and discover. She was even interested
in his plans for the estate, God help him! He was lost indeed! And she laughed. Whenever he thought of her it was to see her eyes sparkling, her lips curved to show her pretty teeth, her face alight. How could he not laugh with her? What more could any man desire in a wife?

As for the physical attraction—he had never wanted a woman as he wanted Theodora. Had never been aroused so readily by a mere glance, by a simple turn of a head, by a brush of feminine fingers against his. Sometimes he did not know how he kept his hands from seizing her shoulders and dragging her into his embrace, into his bed, capturing her mouth with his. He smiled with sardonic humour. She wore his self-control to breaking point—and was well aware of it. For Miss Wooton-Devereux was, without doubt, flirtatious when the mood took her.

And, if all that were not enough, a thick luxurious layer over all was the conviction that she was meant for him. He had simply been waiting for her all his life. He woke every morning, at ease with the knowledge that he could spend the day with her. The vague dissatisfaction and unease with the future vanished as soon as Thea came to stand with him, or sit or ride. As long as she was there, life could hold nothing more.

Sometimes he saw a shadow in her eyes. It concerned him, but perhaps it was simply a lingering memory of the terror of the Maidens’ attack. It had pleased him that at last she trusted him enough to tell him the truth of that disturbing episode. It had not been easy for her. They had ridden to Dinmore Hill, where they had dismounted to stroll through the woods with their new brightness of leaves and the intense hue of the bluebells.

‘I should tell you, Nicholas …’ She had been quiet for a little time, lost in her thoughts or in the surrounding beauty, but now she took his hand and turned to face him. She did not smile.

‘Hmm?’ He watched the dappled sunlight play over her hair, her fair skin. How lovely she was.

About … about my strange behaviour.’

His brows arched in silent enquiry.

‘The Maidens—when I … when I …’

Thea—I had not thought of it again.’

‘But I have. I do. It was the same when I struck out at you with my whip. I should tell you—’

‘Thea.’ His fingers tightened on hers. ‘There is no need.’

‘I think I must. There should be no shadows between us.’
Except for the one, the darkest of dark shadows, which I dare not name!

‘No. Thea—I asked Agnes. After the incident with the Maidens. When you were so distressed—I thought I needed to know.’ His voice was very gentle.

‘Oh. Well, then …’ It took Thea by surprise. She did not know how she felt about that.

‘She was very loyal, but I pressed her.’

‘And she told you.’

‘Yes. Enough that I might understand.’ He lifted a hand to run his fingers down her cheek, a soft brush of sympathy.

‘I cannot control the fear. It is the overwhelming noise—the crush of people.’

‘I know. I understand, darling Thea. It is not important.’

‘I feel a coward.’ She turned her face to press against his fingers.

‘You are no coward. You are brave and resourceful. And I love you beyond reason.’