Hugo was puzzled.

The impulse to kiss Deborah Staunton had taken him by surprise. She had looked so forlorn, and he had frequently comforted her in the past. What astonished him most was that once she was in his arms the simple desire to comfort had changed into something much more dangerous. The feel of her beneath his hands, the look of helplessness in those dark, indigo eyes had been unexpectedly seductive. He had been within a hairbreadth of kissing her in real earnest. Kissing penniless hopelessly disorganized Deborah Staunton! And then she had pulled away, and the moment had passed. He shook his head. Midsummer madness! It would not be repeated, would it?

An Inescapable Match
Sylvia Andrew

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SYLVIA ANDREW

taught modern languages for years, ending up as a vice principal of a sixth-form college. She lives in Somerset with two cats, a dog and a husband who has a very necessary sense of humor and a stern approach to punctuation. Sylvia has one daughter living in London, and they share a lively interest in the theater. She describes herself as an “unrepentant romantic.”

Contents

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 One

July 1812

The curricle hardly slowed down at all as it swept off the main London highway into the narrow road leading to Abbot Quincey. But the driver judged to a nicety the difficult angle of the turn, controlling his two spirited horses with confident hands. Though it was obvious that he knew the road well, it was nevertheless an impressive demonstration of skill and strength. It was an attractive picture, too—a pair of perfectly matched bays, the tall blond young driver, and behind him his groom sitting stiffly upright—all in a verdant countryside under a cobalt blue sky. Hugo Perceval, heir to Sir James Perceval of Perceval Hall, was on his way back to the village of Abbot Quincey after a morning visit to Northampton.

Timothy Potts, the groom, allowed himself a rare nod of approval at the expert negotiation of the turn. Then, as the road straightened out ahead, empty except for a tiny figure in the distance, he relaxed and allowed his thoughts to wander… He was very fortunate in his master. The guv’nor was a nonpareil, no doubt about that! Whether in the town or in the country he always seemed to know what he was about. Of course, some would say he had been luckier than most, Nature having been very generous in her gifts. A fine, strong, handsome young fellow, he was, and good at everything he did. A proper gentleman and a very fair master. No showy exhibitions, no excesses, no sudden starts or tantrums. Always reasonable, but he wouldn’t stand any nonsense, not from anyone! Though he seldom raised his voice, when the guv’nor spoke in a certain tone they all jumped to it…

Timothy Potts’s musings were brought to a sudden halt when Hugo gave an exclamation and drew the horses up level with the slight figure of a girl, who stood by the milestone on the verge waiting for them to pass. Her face was pale, and dominated by a pointed chin and huge, shadowed eyes. She wore a white muslin dress which was creased and dirty, and a straw hat one side of which was badly tattered. But what made the ensemble really remarkable was the presence of a tall cage covered in a duster on the ground at her side, and a large animal, something like a dog, which was at the end of a piece of rope she was holding in her hand.

With a quick command to the groom to go to the horses’ heads, Hugo jumped down from the curricle. ‘Deborah? Deborah Staunton? What the devil are you doing here?’ The dog, taking exception to Hugo’s tone, growled ominously. ‘And what in the name of heaven is that ill-tempered animal?’

Miss Staunton eyed him resentfully. Fate was really very unkind. She was tired, dirty and hot. The dog had chewed her best straw hat, and her arms and fingers were sore from carrying that wretched cage. The ill-luck that had dogged her for the past week didn’t seem to have changed. When she had last seen Hugo Perceval he had been expressing—forcibly—his desire never to have anything more to do with her, and he didn’t appear to have changed his mind. She had hoped to encounter some kindly soul, a farmer or one of the villagers, who would help her on the road to Abbot Quincey, but this was the first vehicle she had seen. Why did it have to belong to the last man in Northamptonshire she wanted to meet like this?

‘Well?’ said Hugo impatiently.

Miss Staunton straightened her shoulders and rallied. Four years had passed since Hugo’s harsh words to her—four years in which she had learned that life was seldom fair, and that the weak usually went to the wall. She was no longer a tender-hearted sixteen-year-old, and she wasn’t about to let Hugo Perceval treat her in his usual high-handed fashion!

‘Really, Hugo! It’s a dog, of course! And Autolycus isn’t at all ill-tempered—he just didn’t like the way you spoke to me. To tell the truth, nor did I!’

The groom turned and regarded her with astonishment. Not many people—least of all little dabs of females—spoke to the guv’nor in this manner!

Hugo took a breath, then said carefully, ‘I’m sorry. It was a surprise. I didn’t know you were in the district.’

‘I haven’t been. I’m just arriving.’

‘And this is your luggage?’ Hugo said with an expressive glance at the cage and the dog. ‘All of it?’

Miss Staunton bit her lip. ‘N…not all of it. I had to leave the rest in the inn at the crossroads. Nanny Humble stayed with it. I was hoping that Aunt Elizabeth would send someone to collect her.’

A look of foreboding crossed Hugo’s face. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘I… I’m not sure I want to tell you, Hugo. You’ll only lose patience with me. But if you would take a message to the Vicarage I would be very obliged to you.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re out of luck. There’s no one there. Except for me, the whole family is spending the day with the Vernons at Stoke Park.’

Miss Staunton sat down rather suddenly on the milestone. ‘Oh dear!’ she said.

‘Weren’t they expecting you?’

‘Well…not exactly. Not today. I’ve come two days early, you see.’

Hugo took a deep breath. ‘You’d better tell me,’ he said with resignation. ‘Just the bare bones.’

Miss Staunton swallowed her resentment and said with dignity, ‘I had to come early for reasons which I won’t go into here. But Mr Hobson refused to take us further than the crossroads.’

‘Who is Mr Hobson?’

‘The owner of the dogcart. I paid him to bring us from Maids Moreton.’

‘The dogcart? You mean to tell me that you’ve come twenty miles in a dogcart? You must be mad!’

‘No, Hugo. Just…just not very rich. But I think I must have miscalculated the distance when making the arrangement with Mr Hobson. When we reached Yardley Gobion he said he’d done the distance we agreed. He wanted more money before he would go any further. It was most unreasonable of him, for what could I have done in Yardley Gobion?’

‘What indeed?’

‘I finally managed to persuade him to come as far as the crossroads at the end of the road here, but he wouldn’t come a yard further unless I paid him some more. And…and I couldn’t do that.’

‘You didn’t have the means?’

Miss Staunton nodded. ‘Because of Mrs Dearborne’s hat.’

Hugo regarded her with fascination. He said after a pause, ‘I’m not going to ask about Mrs Dearborne’s hat. It will have to wait. But the situation, as I understand it, is that Mr Hobson and his dogcart have gone off back to Maids Moreton…’

‘Buckingham. He comes from Buckingham.’

‘Buckingham, leaving your servant and all your worldly goods at the Travellers’ Rest. And there they will stay until you can find some way of conveying them to the Vicarage. Meanwhile, you have been forced to walk the three miles to Abbot Quincey in the heat of the day, accompanied by a large dog and…what is in the cage, anyway?’ He twitched the cover away. A sleepy green parrot with a bright blue and yellow head looked at him with irritation and swore picturesquely. Hugo took a step back.

‘Good God!’

‘Hugo! Look what you’ve done! He was asleep and now you’ve woken him up!’ Deborah snatched the cloth from Hugo’s grasp and rearranged it over the cage. The parrot muttered for a moment then grew silent.

‘Deborah Staunton, do you mean to tell me that you’re taking that—’ Hugo pointed an accusing finger at the cage—‘that parrot to Aunt Elizabeth? At the Vicarage?’ His finger shifted to the dog, now sitting scratching his fleas. ‘And the dog, too? What on earth were you thinking of?’

‘I couldn’t very well leave them behind in Maids Moreton, could I?’

‘I don’t know. But you must have windmills in your head if you expect Aunt Elizabeth to take them in—especially if the parrot often says the sort of thing I’ve just heard. And do you mind telling me why you found it necessary to drag them with you along this road? Why on earth didn’t you leave them with Nanny Humble at the inn?’

‘Er… It wasn’t possible.’

Hugo looked at Miss Staunton’s companions and nodded. ‘I suppose the landlord refused to have them?’

Miss Staunton hung her head. ‘The landlord’s wife took great offence at something the parrot said to her. And she caught Autolycus stealing… Well, he was very hungry, Hugo! I must say I think it was very foolish of her to leave a whole leg of mutton out on the table.’

Hugo surveyed her grimly. ‘You haven’t lost your talent for getting into trouble, have you?’

‘I do try not to, Hugo.’ Miss Staunton sighed. ‘Things just seem to happen. And I’ve had so much to deal with…’

‘And now there’s no one at the Vicarage today to help you…’ Hugo eyed her for a moment, then, with the air of a man facing the inevitable, he said reluctantly, ‘Very well, I shall have to take you to the Hall. I haven’t room in the curricle for the animals, but we’ll tie the dog to that tree over there—he’ll be all right in the shade. And the parrot can stay with him. As soon as we get to the Hall we’ll send someone to fetch Nanny Humble and the rest of your things. They can pick up these two, as well.’

‘Hugo! I wouldn’t dream of tying Autolycus to a tree and leaving him behind. Nor will I leave the parrot. Autolycus and the parrot both stay with me.’

‘Don’t be such a simpleton, Deborah! I can’t take you all. There isn’t nearly enough room in the curricle.’

‘I won’t leave them behind!’ said Miss Staunton stubbornly. Autolycus, hearing further sounds of disagreement, left his fleas to their own devices, got up bristling, and growled again. He advanced on Hugo.

‘Down, sir!’

The authority in Hugo’s voice stopped the dog in his tracks. He looked uncertainly at Miss Staunton, who took a firmer hold of the rope and said gently, ‘Sit, Autolycus dear.’ The dog looked again at Hugo.

‘Sit!’

Autolycus sat. Hugo nodded in satisfaction and then turned to Miss Staunton. ‘You will leave the dog and the bird here,’ he said, quite pleasantly, ‘and I promise that they will be collected within the hour. Come, no more nonsense! Get in, there’s a good girl. My horses won’t tolerate this heat much longer. Get into the curricle, Deborah.’

‘I will not!’

Timothy Potts peered round to gaze again at the creature who had dared to oppose his master’s will with such determination. She looked as if a breath of wind would blow her away, but the pointed chin was raised in defiance, and her voice was firm.

‘It’s no use your trying to bully me, Hugo. My mind is quite made up. The animals and I stay together. So pray continue on your way, and let me continue on mine.’ With this she picked up the cage, gave the rope a slight tug and set off towards Abbot Quincey.

‘Stop!’ She paused without turning round. Hugo ran his hand through his hair and said in exasperation, ‘I can’t leave you to walk the rest of the way in this heat. Be reasonable, Deborah. Look—the animals would do perfectly well in the shade over there, and it wouldn’t be long before they were collected.’

Miss Staunton hesitated, and Hugo pressed his advantage. ‘I’ll come for them myself, if you insist,’ he added with a persuasively charming smile.

‘Very well. I’ll see if they will stay,’ she said, as she coaxed Autolycus over to the tree. Hugo shook his head at such soft-heartedness.

But the animals refused to stay for even two seconds. When Miss Staunton moved away, Autolycus sat down and howled long and mournfully as soon as he found he could not follow. The parrot took exception to this powerful lament and danced on his perch with loud squawks and raucously vulgar cries. It was an impressive duet and the sound echoed far and wide across the peaceful countryside.

‘For God’s sake!’ said Hugo disgustedly. ‘I can’t bear it. You’ve won, the three of you. Deborah, you can take that parrot on your knee, and the dog can run alongside. Hold the horses, Potts, while I release that misbegotten hearthrug.’ Autolycus who had apparently regarded this last remark as a compliment of no mean order, stood wagging his tail and very ready to oblige. ‘Right!’ Hugo released the dog and walked to the curricle. ‘Now, sir! Come here!’ This command was obeyed with such enthusiasm that Hugo staggered under the onslaught. ‘Down, sir!’ he roared, brushing his previously immaculate coat. It was evident that cattle had recently sought shade under the tree. Autolycus grovelled with an anxious look up at his new friend. Hugo took the rope and tied it to the side of the curricle. ‘That dog needs a few lessons in manners, I don’t trust him to behave properly. Let’s hope that somewhere in the general medley there’s carriage-dog ancestry.’

‘He’s half Dalmatian,’ Deborah informed him. ‘And half Irish wolfhound. I think.’

‘I suppose that might account for his…unusual appearance,’ said Hugo.

Deborah fired up in defence of her pet. ‘He’s lovely!’ she said fiercely. ‘And he’s been out quite often with Mrs Dearborne’s gig.’

‘Good! Potts, if the dog starts pulling away, let him loose—understand? He could pull the lot of us over.’ Hugo got into his seat. ‘Let them go, Potts!’ The curricle moved slowly off, the horses, impatient at the delay, kept to a moderate pace under Hugo’s iron hand.

All went well, though the sight was now curious, rather than stylish. The driver was, as before, blond, tall, handsome and still reasonably immaculate. But the pace was considerably less dashing. Other than a tattered straw hat leaning out to the side, nothing could be seen of his passenger, hidden as she was behind a large, duster-covered cage. The groom’s upright posture in the rumble seat was somewhat spoilt by his nervous hold on a rope knotted round the rail. And at the end of the rope was a dog, clearly having the time of its life, as it loped alongside the curricle, waving its tail like a banner. It was hard to say what colour it was, for its coat was half plain, half a patchwork of white, brindle and fawn with touches of black. But though so large, it looked amiable enough, a large black patch over one eye giving it a comically rakish air.

As the combination approached Abbot Quincey, the duster slipped off the parrot’s cage and the bird woke up again. It mistook the motion of the carriage for the movement of a ship and began to cry raucously, ‘Belay, there! Avast, you lubbers!’ with other comments of a similar but less polite character. Miss Staunton had some difficulty in covering the cage again, and long before she did so half the population of Abbot Quincey was grinning at Hugo and his load. It was a relief when they reached the drive up to the Hall on other side of the village.

‘You’ve done it again, Deborah,’ said Hugo grimly as they came to a halt in the courtyard.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve made a laughing stock of me. Just as you did in London.’

‘Oh no, Hugo! That wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened in London. I thought those people in the village were enjoying it in a…a friendly kind of way. They like you.’ Miss Staunton shuddered. ‘That was nothing like what happened in London.’ Then after a pause she said wistfully, ‘I so hoped you had forgotten that episode. That we could begin again, and be friendly as we were in the old days, when we were children. You didn’t seem to mind so much when I got into scrapes then. But you’re still angry, aren’t you? Even after four years.’ When he frowned, she added, ‘I was very young, Hugo…’

He looked down at her with a reluctant twinkle in his eye. ‘It took me a long time to regain credibility with my friends after wading out of that lake.’

‘But I didn’t mean to upset the boat, Hugo!’

‘Oh, I know you never mean to. But you never seem to learn, either! I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been the victim of your not meaning to! You were only in London for a month, but I spent a small fortune getting you out of trouble one way or another. And in the process you managed to get me bitten by a dog, set upon by footpads, accused of abduction… I can’t remember the rest. Falling into the lake was the last straw. And it was all brought about without your meaning to!’

‘That last time you were so angry. You said you never wanted to see me again.’

‘Did I? Well, if I did, it was probably prompted by an instinct of self-preservation. I didn’t like to imagine what you might do next!’ He looked at her crestfallen expression. ‘But you’re right. That’s all in the past and should be forgotten. I’m not angry any more, Deborah.’

‘I’ve grown up a lot since then, Hugo.’

Hugo cast an eye over the dog and the parrot. ‘Have you? I’m relieved to hear it.’

‘I swear I’ll be more careful in the future! Are we…are we friends?’

He got down, untied Autolycus, then came round to take the cage from her. ‘I suppose so.’ He smiled at her. ‘I can’t be at odds with my little cousin, can I?’ His face was on a level with hers.

‘I…I’m not your cousin,’ she stammered. ‘I’m a cousin of your cousins, remember?’

‘I’ve always thought of you as a cousin of mine, too. And now you’ll be living with them at the Vicarage, won’t you? Come, we must arrange for one of the men to pick Nanny Humble up. Will he need to take some money with him? Have you any other debts?’

Miss Staunton, somewhat out of breath, got down and followed her rescuer through the courtyard, hurrying to keep up with Hugo’s long strides.

‘It would be a good idea to pay the landlady at the Traveller’s Rest something… She was quite upset about Autolycus and the meat. But you must keep a careful account of what you spend. I shall pay it all back.’

Hugo looked down at her with a certain amount of sympathy. The sum was insignificant. But how was Deborah Staunton, who was as near destitute as made no difference, planning to pay back anything at all?

‘We’ll sort all that out later,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile I shall put you into the hands of the housekeeper, while I see to things. I propose to put your canine friend in an empty stable. He must be tired and thirsty after that run. He’ll probably sleep. Will he want more to eat?’

‘Autolycus always wants more to eat. It would help him to settle down if you gave him something.’

Hugo handed Miss Staunton and the parrot over to the housekeeper, then disappeared. Mrs Banks, who had been with the Perceval family since before Hugo was born, accepted without comment the advent of an exotic new pet, saw it settled on a table in the small parlour, then turned her attention to Miss Deborah.

By the time Hugo came into the parlour Miss Staunton was looking a lot more respectable—she had had a wash, her dress had been shaken and pressed and her hair had been brushed and tied up again.

‘That’s all settled. Autolycus has had a good meal, and is now snoring off his exertions of the day. I’ve despatched a carriage to collect your nurse and possessions. They should be back within the hour, and we can all go over to the Vicarage when they arrive. Meanwhile I think we would both like some refreshment. It’s very hot—would you like to sit outside under the cedar?’

Deborah nodded silently, and Hugo went to give the necessary orders. She wandered into the garden and sat down in the shade. It was four years since she had last seen Hugo, but he was the same as ever—autocratic, decisive, efficient. And underneath it all, very kind. The Vicarage girls all adored him, though they were very much in awe of him. As the eldest of the young generation of Percevals, Hugo had always taken his responsibilities towards them all very seriously. Deborah knew that he had counted her among those responsibilities, even though their actual connection was remote. Her mother’s sister, Elizabeth, was married to Hugo’s Uncle William, his father’s brother, and the vicar of Abbot Quincey.

Deborah’s parents’ marriage had been a difficult one, and as a child she had often spent months at Abbot Quincey, joining the games and pastimes of her Vicarage cousins and the three Perceval children from the Hall. Herself an only child, at home she had often been lonely, left to her own devices. Those months at the Vicarage had been the happiest times of her young life, and Hugo, who was quite a few years older than the rest of them, had been her hero and chief confidant.

And now Hugo still seemed to regard her as one of his flock. Apparently, even though he had just returned home himself after ten years spent among the very highest London society, the old habit refused to die. It might have wavered four years before after the disasters she had brought about during her short visit to the capital, but the old feeling seemed to have survived, after all.

Deborah was not sure whether she was glad of this or not. It had certainly helped today. She would have been at her wits’ end without Hugo’s intervention. But though she seldom allowed herself to dwell on the true state of her feelings towards Hugo Perceval, she had never regarded him with the same awe as her cousins did. They were gentle, affectionate, biddable girls and she loved them all dearly. But they would never dream of disagreeing with anything Hugo said. Deborah was by nature more critical, and recent events had forced her to be more independent. Life had not dealt as kindly with her as it had with the young Percevals. Ever since her father’s death she had had to be strong enough to make decisions for herself and her mother. She had grown used to it. And she wondered whether she might find Hugo’s calm assumption of authority a touch overbearing…

They were so different, too, she and Hugo. He set himself and everyone else a high standard of perfection in dress, conversation, manners…in anything he undertook. Nothing was left to chance in Hugo’s scheme of things. In contrast, Deborah’s own life had always been chaotic. She had always been inclined to act first and ponder on the consequences afterwards, and, obliged though she was for the many times he had rescued her, she had often found Hugo’s calm forethought and assurance irritating… She had frequently had to battle with a desire to shake that complacency.

But when he met her in London, she had been feeling very lost. She had been so grateful for his attempts to ease her passage into society, but what had she done in return? She had turned his perfect life upside down, and made him an object of ridicule to his acquaintances. No wonder he had been so angry with her…

‘That’s fixed. Now, Deborah Staunton, I want to hear your explanation!’ Hugo had come back while she had been dreaming and was sitting on the other side of the small teatable.

‘Where do you want me to begin?’

‘With Mrs Dearborne’s hat, of course! My guess is that Autolycus had a hand in it. Or do I mean a paw?’

‘You’re right, as usual. Autolycus cannot resist a nice straw hat.’

‘So I see,’ he said, eyeing the tattered straw on her own head. ‘And did Mrs Dearborne make you pay for another?’

‘I had to offer—and she accepted! It was new, of course. One of those big ones with lots of ribbon and…and feathers. It was very expensive, Hugo.’ She started to chuckle. ‘It was almost worth it just to see Autolycus running off with feathers streaming out of his mouth and Mrs Dearborne in full pursuit. She is…is quite a portly lady, and was soon out of breath. But when I caught him in the end, the hat was ruined. I must say that I think Mrs Dearborne was very severe. After all, I had taken the parrot off her hands! And—’

‘One moment. Why did you take the parrot?’

‘Well, someone had to! Mrs Dearborne didn’t want it any more and no one else would have it.’

‘And how did Mrs Dearborne, whom I am growing to dislike, come to have a parrot with such an exotic vocabulary?’

‘Her lodger, who had been a sailor, passed it on to her before he left. She thought it would be company. But then she discovered its…its…er…social disadvantages. The ladies of Maids Moreton were quite shocked by some of the things it said.’

‘I can well imagine it. Carry on.’

‘Well, even though I had helped her out with the parrot, Mrs Dearborne was very angry with Autolycus… So I paid. And that meant I didn’t have quite enough for the journey.’

‘Where was your aunt while this excitement was going on? Your father’s sister, I mean. I thought she was looking after you?’

Deborah paused for a moment. Then she said awkwardly, ‘She left. She went back to Ireland the day before yesterday.’

‘What? Leaving you to look after yourself?’ Hugo was shocked. ‘I can’t believe it!’

‘She went very suddenly. Of course, she had arranged to go back to Ireland soon, anyway. She always knew that I would eventually make my home with Aunt Elizabeth after Mama died. But why she left Maids Moreton with so little warning, I don’t know. It was very awkward. After she’d gone there was hardly any money, and I wasn’t sure if Aunt Elizabeth would be back from London after Robina’s come-out.’ Then with a lightning change of mood which was typical she said, ‘Oh, Hugo, I quite forgot to ask! Do tell me! How did Robina do? Was her début a success?’

‘You could say so. From what I observed, Cousin Robina is going to make a very good match. She’s in Brighton with the Dowager Lady Exmouth at the moment.’

‘You mean she might marry Lord Exmouth?… How wonderful! But she deserves it! She’s so pretty, and good. And I’m sure she would behave beautifully…’ For a moment Deborah looked wistful. Then she laughed and said, ‘Aunt Elizabeth will be delighted—her eldest daughter so suitably engaged! Perhaps she will let me keep Autolycus at the Vicarage, after all?’

Hugo smiled. ‘Perhaps. But I wouldn’t bet a groat on her toleration of the parrot.’ He watched Deborah’s face with amusement as her look of dismay was replaced with an expression of hopeful pleading. ‘All right! I might be able to help you. In fact I’ve thought of someone who might, just might, enjoy the parrot’s company.’

‘That would be such a relief! It’s not that I don’t like it, exactly. But I quite realise that it is not a suitable inhabitant of a Vicarage. I wouldn’t have brought it, except that I didn’t know what else to do with it. Do you really know someone, Hugo?’

‘I think so—but I won’t say any more at the moment in case it doesn’t work. Leave it with me, Deborah. I promise to find a home for it somewhere.’

‘Oh, Hugo! Thank you!’

Hugo had forgotten how Deborah Staunton’s face could light up in a way he hadn’t seen in anyone else. She was not conventionally beautiful, and certainly did not possess the sort of looks he particularly admired. His preference was for pretty blondes, with regular features, and gentle manners. Even when Deborah was looking her best—which was not the case at the moment—the combination of a mane of black hair, pale cheeks and eyes of such a dark indigo that they looked black was too dramatic for his more conventional taste. Among her cousins she was like a young falcon set down in a dovecote, with much the same unexpected consequences. Judging from his experience in the past, life with Deborah would always consist of a succession of crises, a far cry from his own calm, well-judged existence. But all the same, without feeling himself in the slightest danger, he found the manner in which her face could light up with joy very appealing.

They had been sitting with their backs to the house, taking advantage of the splendid view, but turned when they heard voices behind them.

‘Deborah! What a surprise! Where did you find her, Hugo?’

The visitors to Stoke Park had returned. Lady Perceval was hurrying over the lawn to greet her unexpected guest, closely followed by Lady Elizabeth and the rest of the family. There followed a series of huggings and kissings and exclamations as Deborah was passed from one to the other. The Perceval girls in particular greeted their cousin with the greatest possible affection. Deborah held a special place in their hearts, and though she was by no means the youngest of them they had all always regarded her as someone in need of special care and protection. It was some time since they had seen her and they exclaimed at the change in her appearance.

‘Girls, girls, be quiet!’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘I am sure you mean well, but I think you forget your manners! Deborah has had a trying time these past years, but it cannot be pleasant for her to hear your tactless comments.’

‘But she’s so pale and thin, Mama!’ cried Henrietta, the youngest and liveliest of the Vicar’s four daughters.

‘That is quite enough, Henrietta!’ Lady Elizabeth took Deborah’s hands in hers. ‘My dear, as you can see, we are all delighted that you’ve come at last. But surely you were not due for another two days? I would never have accepted the Vernons’ invitation if I had known you were coming today. You must have thought us very remiss. How did you come? And what have you done with all your possessions?’

‘I…I’m sorry, Aunt. I…I…’

Hugo came to Deborah’s aid. ‘Deborah has been well taken care of, I assure you, Aunt Elizabeth. And Nanny Humble is looking after the rest of their goods and chattels. They should all be here at any moment.’

As if on cue, a servant came out to tell Lady Perceval that the carriage with Mrs Humble and a number of goods had arrived in the courtyard. Deborah excused herself and hurried off ahead of the others. She wished to make sure that Nanny Humble did not reveal the facts behind her unconventional arrival in Abbot Quincey before she had had time to prepare her aunt for it. Hugo had divined her purpose and she was grateful to see that he was delaying her aunt and Lady Perceval with questions about the Vernons.

Chapter Two

Nanny Humble was not in the most cooperative of moods. She was too old, she said, to be traipsing about the countryside in a dogcart, then left to while her time away in an ill-kept inn with a landlord who couldn’t wait to get rid of her, while Miss Deborah went off into the blue with that dratted dog and that heathen-tongued bird, leaving her to wonder whether she’d ever see her young mistress again… If Miss Deborah knew how much… Deborah recognised the anxiety behind the angry words, and dealt gently with her old servant. She managed to cut the tirade short without causing further offence, begging Nanny Humble to leave complaints and explanations till later.

‘I’m sorry our journey was so uncomfortable, Nanny dear. But we’re nearly at the Vicarage now, and we’ll soon be in our old rooms.’

‘Her ladyship is very kind, Miss Deborah. But it’s different now. I’m sure I don’t know what’s to become of us…’ Nanny Humble’s voice wavered and Deborah put her arms round her.

‘We’ll be safe here in Abbot Quincey. Try not to worry. Look, here comes Lady Elizabeth. Remember, not a word to her of our recent difficulties—you must leave it to me to tell her about them later. Not now.’

Lady Elizabeth greeted Deborah’s old servant and asked how she was. Then, turning to her sister-in-law, she suggested that Mrs Humble should wait in the servants’ quarters while they finished their talk with Deborah. Lady Perceval readily agreed.

‘I think a drink of something cool would be welcome on such a hot day, would it not, Mrs Humble? My housekeeper will take care of you until Miss Deborah is ready to go to the Vicarage. Shall we say an hour? Come, Deborah! I cannot wait to hear your adventures.’

More chairs and cushions were brought out and the two families settled once again in the shade of the cedar. Frederica and Edwina each took one of Deborah’s hands and towed her gently to one of the benches. Here they sat her down between them, expressing in their soft voices their delight at seeing her, and showing their loving concern for her. She felt herself relax. Here at Abbot Quincey she felt…cherished. She looked at them all. The Percevals were a tall, blond race with a remarkable family resemblance. Sir James and his wife, the owners of Perceval Hall, were on a garden seat opposite her, enjoying the cool shade of the cedar. Hugo, their elder son, stood behind them, leaning against the trunk of the tree. Hester, their only daughter, so like Hugo in appearance, was perched on the arm of her parents’ seat. It was quite normal for Hester to seem quiet and withdrawn in company, but today she looked pale and preoccupied, and kept casting anxious glances in the direction of the drive. Deborah wondered what was wrong. She made a note to ask Hugo later. On another bench to the right sat Sir James’s brother, the Reverend William Perceval and his wife, the Lady Elizabeth, Deborah’s aunt. Aunt Elizabeth, the elder daughter of the Duke of Inglesham, was always the same—narrow, aristocratic face, upright posture, dressed plainly but with exquisite neatness. Today her normally somewhat severe expression was softened. Though she was a strict parent, with impossibly high standards of behaviour, Lady Elizabeth had a loving, caring heart. She had invited Deborah to make her home at the Vicarage some time ago, and was now obviously happy to see her niece in Abbot Quincey at last. Deborah smiled. For the first time in many months she felt secure.

She was trying to decide how best to present the story of her arrival in Abbot Quincey when she was forestalled. Lowell Perceval came bounding across the lawn, closely followed by the youngest of the Vicarage girls, Deborah’s cousin Henrietta.

‘I say, Deborah! Whose is the parrot? And where’s the dog?’

Deborah wondered, not for the first time, why Hugo’s younger brother was so unlike him. Lowell was rather like Autolycus. Enthusiastic, reckless, he never seemed to consider the consequences of his actions, but plunged in, scattering all before him. She was still wrestling with what to say when Hugo once again came to her rescue.

‘The parrot is mine. And the dog is asleep in the stables, not to be disturbed.’ When Hugo spoke in that tone of voice even Lowell subsided. He sat down on the lawn and looked at his brother with eager curiosity, reminding Deborah even more of her dog.

‘You have a parrot, Hugo?’ Lady Perceval asked, turning in amazement towards her son. ‘Did you buy it in Northampton? It must have been on impulse, surely. You didn’t mention it before you went.’

Deborah directed a pleading glance at Hugo and said, ‘I… I brought the parrot with me, Lady Perceval. I… I gave it to Hugo.’

‘How nice,’ said Lady Perceval, a touch faintly.

‘It’s a beautiful bird,’ said Lowell. ‘And it talks. But—’

‘Yes, quite!’ said Hugo, directing another quelling glance at Lowell. ‘I have no intention of leaving it where it is, Mama. It is merely on its way to someone who will appreciate it, I think. Deborah, perhaps we should explain to Aunt Elizabeth that an unfortunate accident prevented your carrier from bringing you all the way to Abbot Quincey.’ He turned to his aunt. ‘Deborah would have been in some difficulty if I had not chanced upon her at the beginning of the Abbot Quincey road.’

‘An accident? Was anyone hurt?’

‘No,’ said Deborah, picking the story up. ‘But I was forced to leave Nanny Humble and the bulk of our things at the inn at the crossroads.’ She paused and Hugo spoke once again.

‘I despatched a carriage for them as soon as we got here.’

‘But how did the animals get here? The…the parrot and the dog?’ said Lady Perceval. ‘They weren’t with Mrs Humble.’

‘I thought I ought not to leave them with Nanny Humble, so Hugo kindly brought them with us,’ Deborah replied, not looking at Hugo.

‘That dog and the parrot? In the curricle?’ asked Lowell in disbelieving accents.

‘Of course.’

‘I wish I’d been there to see it,’ said Lowell with a grin.

‘Half of Abbot Quincey did.’ Hugo’s tone was grim.

‘So you have a dog with you, Deborah. I had a pug once—he was a dear little thing and very affectionate,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘I think I still have his basket. I must look it out.’

‘Er… I don’t think Autolycus would fit into a pug’s basket,’ said Hugo.

‘Autolycus? What a strange name for a dog! Deborah, why have you called your dog Autolycus?’ Henrietta’s question was a welcome diversion, and Deborah turned to her with relief.

‘He was a character in Shakespeare.’

‘A rogue and a thief,’ added Hugo. ‘I’m sorry to say that the name reflects on the dog’s moral character. The original Autolycus was a “picker up of unconsidered trifles”. At a guess I’d say it’s a good name for the animal.’

Henrietta laughed. ‘He sounds a real character. Who chose the name? You, Deborah?’

‘My father named him,’ said Deborah with reserve. ‘Just before he died.’

There was an awkward silence, and several members of the family threw an anxious glance at Lady Elizabeth. It did not please Deborah’s aunt to hear any mention of Edmund Staunton. Her father, the late Duke of Inglesham, had cast her sister Frances off for marrying Mr Staunton against his commands. He had ignored Lady Frances’s further existence till the day he died, and had ordered the rest of the family to do the same. Lady Elizabeth had not found this possible. She had remained in touch with the Stauntons in defiance of her father’s wishes, and had now offered their daughter a home. But she had never approved of the man for whom her sister had sacrificed so much. Lady Frances and her husband were now both dead, but Elizabeth Perceval’s Christian conscience was still wrestling with the problem of forgiveness for the man who had run off with her sister and reduced her to penury. With an obvious effort at brightness she said, ‘Well, are we to see this dog of yours, Deborah?’

Hugo gave his brother a speaking look. It was Lowell’s fault that Autolycus was to be sprung on the family without careful preparation for the blow.

‘I think he’s asleep, as Hugo said,’ protested Deborah weakly.

‘Then we shall all go to the stables to visit him,’ announced Lady Perceval with a smile. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re ashamed of him, Deborah.’

‘Oh no! I love him dearly. It’s just…’

‘Come along then!’ The party got up and made for the stables.

Autolycus was lying where Hugo had left him, snoring gently. He had the supremely contented air of a dog well exercised, well fed and now comfortably settled. When he heard Deborah’s voice he raised his head, wagged a sleepy tail and flopped down once again.

‘He’s very big,’ said Lady Elizabeth slowly.

‘He doesn’t expect to live indoors, Aunt Elizabeth! He’s well used to being kept in a stable or one of the outhouses.’ Deborah was perhaps unaware of the desperation in her voice. But Hugo heard it.

‘It’s time you had another guard dog, Aunt Elizabeth. You still haven’t replaced old Beavis, have you?’

‘But—’ Deborah began, but Hugo interrupted her. His frown told her plainly that this was no time to be expressing foolish doubts about Autolycus’s qualifications as a guard dog.

‘The dog is amiable enough,’ he said firmly, ‘but he can growl quite terrifyingly. And his size would put most ruffians off.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘We’ll see what your Uncle William has to say.’

The tension eased visibly. Everyone knew that, except in matters connected with his ministry, the Vicar would do whatever his wife suggested.

‘Well, I suppose we must gather ourselves together and set off for home. It has been a most eventful day,’ said Lady Elizabeth. ‘First the Vernons, then finding dearest Deborah here waiting for us, then the dog…’ Her voice trailed away as she glanced doubtfully back at the stable.

The Reverend William and his wife drove off to the Vicarage in the carriage, followed by Nanny Humble and Deborah’s possessions in the gig. With the exception of Hester, who returned to her attic, the young people had elected to walk to the Vicarage, collecting Autolycus as they went. Deborah took the opportunity of a moment alone with Hugo to ask what was wrong with Hester.

‘Is she ill?’

‘No, she’s in love.’

‘In love! Hester? But…’

‘Yes, I know. My sister has always sworn she would never marry. And now she’s in love, and she doesn’t know what to do. It’s an absurd situation!’

‘Poor Hester! If her affection isn’t returned what can she do?’

‘That’s what makes it all so ridiculous! The man she loves is Robert Dungarran, one of my best friends—the most sensible, reasonable chap you could wish to meet. In all the years I’ve known him he has never shown the slightest sign of idiocy. But now he is in as desperate a case as Hester. He adores her! He writes notes to her which she tears up, he calls to see her every day—even though she absolutely refuses to receive him. That’s why she went up to her attic when we left—in case he calls.’

Deborah looked bewildered. ‘But if she is in love with him, and he with her…?’

‘Exactly! They are both mad! I tell you, Deborah, passionate love is a plague to be avoided. There is neither sense nor reason in it. To be honest, I am surprised and a little disappointed in Dungarran. I would not have thought his present behaviour at all his style. When I choose a wife I promise you I shan’t have all this drama. I shall find a pretty, well-behaved girl who, like myself, has little taste for such extravagances. We shall, I hope, live in amicable harmony, but I want no passionate scenes, no tantrums, no dramatic encounters. I give you leave to push me into the nearest duckpond, Deborah, if you ever see signs of such madness in me.’

Deborah looked at Hugo in silence. She was not surprised at his words, though they chilled her. He had always disliked scenes and avoided them whenever possible, taking pride in keeping calm whatever the provocation. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had seen Hugo lose his temper. When he did, the resulting explosion was spectacular, as she knew only too well. It was a sad fact that she appeared to be one of the few people in the world who could provoke Hugo into a rage—usually quite inadvertently.

Theirs had always been a strange friendship. In the past she had looked up to him along with all the other children, though never with the same awe. And in spite of the ten years’ difference in age between them he had always talked to her more freely than to the others. Perhaps it was because she had been the outsider, the cuckoo in the nest. Perhaps it had started because he had been sorry for her. But for whatever reason, Hugo had always confided in her, used her as a sounding board for his views. She sighed, then said, ‘What will happen to Hester, do you suppose?’

‘I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea. She can be extremely pig-headed. But on the other hand Dungarran can be very determined. We shall no doubt see eventually, but meanwhile I hardly like to watch them both making such fools of themselves.’

It was as well that Lady Elizabeth did not observe the walking party. Autolycus, refreshed by his nap and encouraged by the astonished admiration of Lowell and Henrietta, was in tearing spirits. But Hugo had only to snap his fingers for the dog to come to him. And on the one occasion when Hugo was forced to address him severely, Autolycus grovelled in piteous abasement.

The twins, who had till now been slightly nervous of such a large dog, laughed delightedly and bent over to comfort him.

‘He’s lovely, Deborah!’

‘He’s so sweet!’

‘He’s a confidence trickster!’ said Hugo in disgust. ‘Look at him! One minute after chasing one of my pheasants with evil intent, he’s doing his best to look as if he’d never harm a fly in his life.’ He was right. Autolycus was now standing between the twins, gazing from one to the other with gentle submission. It was impossible not to admire the picture they presented—Edwina and Frederica in their delicate muslins and shady hats, Autolycus standing waist high between them, gently waving his fearsome tail. A Beast and not one, but two Beauties.

Hugo regarded his cousins with a connoisseur’s eye. They had grown up during his years in London, and he was of the opinion that they were now the prettiest of all the Perceval girls. Robina, the eldest Vicarage daughter, and Henrietta, the youngest, were dark like their mother, but the twins were true Percevals, tall, blue-eyed blondes with rose-petal skins and regular features, gentle in manner and graceful in movement. Lady Elizabeth was a woman of strong principles, and all four of her daughters had been reared with a sound knowledge of Christian duty, and a clear sense of proper behaviour. Robina had just come through a very successful Season and was now well on the way to becoming the wife of one of society’s most distinguished aristocrats. Henrietta, still only seventeen, seemed to be developing a penchant for his brother Lowell. But Frederica and Edwina were, as far as he knew, still unattached. They were now nineteen—time to be thinking of marriage. Either one of them would make some man an excellent wife…

Deborah noticed Hugo’s admiring appraisal of his cousins, and her heart gave a little lurch, then sank. She had always known that he would one day find the sort of girl he admired and marry her. And now that his thirtieth birthday was so close, he was bound to be looking more energetically for a wife. Either of her cousins would fulfil Hugo’s requirements to perfection. Edwina was livelier than Frederica, but they were both gentle, affectionate, biddable girls. Neither of them would ever argue or create a scene—scenes distressed them. With the right husband they would lead tranquil, loving lives, dispensing their own brand of affection and encouragement to the world around them. But she could not believe that Hugo would be the right husband for either of them. He would be kind, there was no question of that, but he would take it for granted that his wife would acquiesce in all his wishes. Neither of the twins, already so much in awe of him, would ever argue with him. Hugo would become a benevolent despot, and his wife’s personality would be stifled. The twins deserved better. And such a marriage would do Hugo no good either.

She gave an impatient sigh. If Hugo did set his heart on one of them, what could she do to prevent it? What influence could Deborah Staunton have—a pale, dark-haired little dab of a thing, dependent on her aunt for a roof over her head, a scatterbrain, frequently guilty of acting before she thought—in short, the opposite of everything Hugo admired in a woman… It was sometimes all she could do to keep him on friendly terms with her! If only she didn’t have this unfortunate propensity for getting into trouble!

When they arrived at the Vicarage they found the gig with Deborah’s possessions waiting for them in the courtyard. Nanny Humble had already gone into the house.

Hugo watched as the servants carried in a couple of old valises, one or two parcels tied with string, some boxes of books and music—all that was left of Deborah Staunton’s family home. It brought home to him how bereft she was, how slender her resources. One had to admire her courage, her gaiety, in the face of what must be a difficult future.

‘Stop! Oh, please handle that more carefully! Give it to me—I’ll carry it!’

Deborah’s urgent cry roused Hugo’s curiosity. What was she so concerned about? He saw that she now had a rosewood box in her arms, about eighteen inches by twelve and six or seven inches deep. She hugged it close, though it was clearly awkward to carry.

‘Let me,’ he said, taking the box from her. He could now see that the top was beautifully worked marquetry of variously coloured woods surrounding a small silver oval with ‘Frances’ written on it. Deborah’s eyes followed the box anxiously as he carried it in for her.

‘I shan’t drop it, nor shall I run away with it,’ he said with amusement. ‘Where shall I put it down?’

‘It will go in my room. Thank you, Hugo—you could put it there until I take it upstairs.’

‘Nonsense, I shall carry it for you. What is it? It looks like a writing-box. Was it your mother’s?’

‘Yes. It’s almost the only possession of hers that I’ve managed to keep. But I refused to let it go…’

‘Why should you?’

She looked at him sombrely. ‘You don’t understand.’

They were interrupted by Lady Elizabeth. ‘What on earth are you doing on the stairs, Hugo? Surely the servants can carry Deborah’s things to her room? What have you there? Oh!’ There was unusual delight in Lady Elizabeth’s face. ‘It’s Frances’s writing-box! I have one just the same! Come and see!’ She took them into her little parlour at the back. On a table to one side of the window was a twin of the box in Hugo’s arms. It had the same marquetry top, but this one had ‘Elizabeth’ on the silver name plate. ‘My father had them made for us. He presented them to us as soon as we were able to write a full page of perfect copybook writing.’ She smiled fondly. ‘Frances had a hard time getting hers. She was always too hasty, and there was usually a blot before she had finished. But she managed in the end. What do you keep in it, Deborah? I keep recipes in mine!’

‘I… I have some letters. Letters from my mother, and correspondence between my mother and my…my father.’

The pleasure faded from Lady Elizabeth’s face. ‘I see. Of course. Well, give it to one of the servants to take upstairs.’

‘I have it now, Aunt Elizabeth. I’ll take it,’ said Hugo. ‘Is Deborah using her old room?’

‘Of course. You’ll find Mrs Humble up there. Come down straight away again, Hugo. You’re no longer children, and it isn’t fitting for you to be in Deborah’s room.’

Hugo burst out laughing. ‘Aunt Elizabeth! Set your mind at rest. Deborah would never be in the slightest danger from me!’

‘I know that, of course. But the rest of the world may not.’

Somewhat depressed, Deborah followed Hugo up the wide oak staircase. The precious box was deposited on a chest of drawers in Deborah’s room. Aunt Elizabeth was very fond of her niece and had always done all she could to make her feel at home. The Vicarage was large, and Deborah’s room had been given to her when she had first come as a child to Abbot Quincey. It was the same size as those of her cousins, and furnished in the same simple, but pretty way, with plenty of room for small treasures.

Just as Hugo was turning to go, Edwina came in with a vase of flowers in her hand.

‘We didn’t expect you for another two days, Deborah. Otherwise these roses would have been in your room when you arrived. Why did you come so unexpectedly?’

Deborah hesitated and colour rose in her cheeks. ‘I… I was lonely. I couldn’t wait any longer to be with you. But I should have thought it out more carefully, I see that now. I’m sorry if I’ve put you all out.’

While Edwina protested strongly at this and hugged her cousin to prove it, Hugo went slowly downstairs looking thoughtful. Deborah Staunton had always been a poor liar. There was more to her hasty disappearance from her former home than she had so far admitted. He must have the truth from her before very long, and see if she needed help.

After Deborah came downstairs again he took her to see the stable where Autolycus had been housed. The dog was already asleep again.

‘I hope you haven’t been rash in recommending him as a guard dog,’ said Deborah, eyeing Autolycus doubtfully. ‘He’s not really very brave. But thank you for thinking of it. And…and for the rest of your help today.’

‘It was nothing,’ he said. ‘It was quite like the old days. But some time soon I intend to hear the real reason for your sudden departure from Maids Moreton.’

Deborah looked up at him, eyes wide in shock, then she looked away. ‘W-what do you mean?’

‘You mustn’t thank me one minute, then treat me like a simpleton the next, Deborah, my dear,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I am not as gullible as the twins. If you had waited another forty-eight hours you and Nanny Humble would have travelled at your ease in a carriage sent by Uncle William. As it was you came in a dogcart—not the most comfortable of vehicles. Moreover, the dogcart had been hired in Buckingham—two miles away from your old home. It’s natural to wonder why. Also, you hired it, even though you knew you didn’t have enough money to pay the full charge. Such desperation doesn’t arise from loneliness or a simple lack of patience, my friend.’ He looked at her gravely, but she remained silent. He went on, ‘And then there is the matter of your aunt’s equally hurried return to Ireland. Is it all connected?’

She looked at him in dismay. ‘I… I can’t tell you, Hugo.’

‘Not now, I agree. But you’ll confide in me before long. Good night, Deborah. Try to keep out of trouble for the next week. We shall all be busy with preparations for the fête.’

‘The annual fête! I’d forgotten all about it. We used to have such fun at the fête… I’ll do my best to be good, Hugo.’ She made a face. ‘Though my best doesn’t always seem to work… I’ll certainly be extra careful, I promise—and the twins are very good to me—they’ll help.’ She sighed. ‘They don’t know how lucky they are—they seem to know how to behave without even trying!’

Hugo nodded, smiling fondly. ‘They certainly do. As well as being pretty… Very pretty. The two of them together are indeed a striking sight. They would cast a number of accredited society beauties quite in the shade.’

Deborah’s heart sank. Hugo really was becoming serious. She said hopefully, ‘Perhaps Robina will introduce them to the Ton after she is married? I’m sure they would be a success.’

He frowned. ‘Perhaps… Though I’m not sure it’s at all necessary. They are so unspoilt, it would be a pity if… Well, we shall see, we shall see. They may well find suitable partners here in Northamptonshire.’

When Hugo wasn’t being the kindest man she knew, thought Deborah in exasperation, he was far too lordly! It was obvious to her that he had now decided that one of his cousins would make a suitable wife and assumed that all he had to do was to decide which one. Such arrogance! It would serve him right if neither would accept him—but she couldn’t imagine that would happen. She suddenly felt weary beyond measure.

‘Good night, Hugo,’ she said and turned to go. Then, to her astonishment, Hugo put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her nearer. He kissed her on the cheek.

‘Don’t lose heart,’ he said. ‘Things will be better for you now. We are here to look after you.’

‘Thank you.’ Deborah could not have said anything more. Hugo’s nearness was playing havoc with her emotions. Delight, despair, an almost irresistible impulse to reach up and bring his head round so that his lips could meet hers… She stiffened and withdrew. Such wanton behaviour would shock him to the core. What was worse, he would be embarrassed and uncomfortable, too. She knew how he thought of her, and it was not as a man thinks of a possible wife. ‘Deborah would never be in the slightest danger from me!’ he had said to Aunt Elizabeth, laughing at the very idea. It had hurt, but it had not surprised her.

‘Good night, and thank you once again.’ She turned and went into the house.

Hugo slowly walked back to the Hall. He was puzzled. The impulse to kiss Deborah Staunton had taken him by surprise, but he supposed it had been a natural one. She had looked so forlorn, and he had frequently comforted her in the past. But what astonished him was that once she was in his arms the simple desire to comfort had changed into something much more dangerous. The feel of her fragile bones beneath his hands, the look of helplessness in those dark, indigo eyes, had been unexpectedly seductive. He had been within a hair’s breadth of kissing her in real earnest. Kissing little, penniless, hopelessly disorganised Deborah Staunton! And then she had, quite understandably, stiffened and pulled away and the moment had passed… He shook his head. Midsummer madness! It would not be repeated.

He firmly dismissed the incident and turned to contemplating his own future. Now that he was based more or less permanently in Northamptonshire, was he going to find the life of a country gentleman intolerably dull? For the last ten years he had lived in the fashionable world, and though he had never outrun his budget he had managed to enjoy most of the delights London had to offer. He was aware that he was known in society as a man of taste and judgement. He had always been a keen sportsman, and through practice and, yes, luck, he had achieved success in most of the activities admired by his London acquaintances. They had been good years…

But he had promised his parents he would settle down when he reached thirty, and that time had now come. He had returned to Abbot Quincey with the fixed intention of marrying, and it seemed to him that either of his twin cousins would make a very suitable wife. The Percevals were a good sound stock—there could be no objection to marriage between cousins. The problem would be which one to choose! He was fond of them both, and they both seemed to like him. Yes, he could do a lot worse. Life with either one of them would be very pleasant…

Might it be dull, perhaps? Possibly, but he would be kept fully occupied with the responsibilities to his family and to the estate he would one day inherit. He and Frederica—or Edwina—would have a sound relationship based on friendship, love for their children and their separate duties. That would be enough. Quite enough. Indeed, excessive feeling of any kind was in rather poor taste—he had usually managed to avoid it. Yes—marriage to someone like Edwina—or Frederica—would suit him very well. Either of them would make an excellent future Lady Perceval. Unlike poor Deborah Staunton… She would lead a man a pretty dance indeed! He would never know what she might do next!

Chapter Three

Deborah had the promised talk with her aunt the next morning, and was so shocked by what she heard that she collected Autolycus and set out to find solitude and peace in the woods surrounding the Hall. She walked along the familiar paths, lost in her own thoughts, until she was roused by excited barks and yelps from the dog. Hugo was walking towards her, Autolycus leaping up at his adopted new master.

‘That damned dog! Down, sir! Why the devil don’t you keep him on the leash until he knows how to behave?’ Hugo said testily. ‘Ill-disciplined dogs are a menace to all! I said down!’ Autolycus flattened himself in his usual posture of abject apology whenever Hugo addressed him thus, and lay quiet. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Edwina told me you had come this way.’ He took a look at her dazed expression. ‘You’ve been crying! What’s wrong?’

Deborah threw up her head and said angrily, ‘I haven’t been crying! I never cry. If my eyes are red it’s because…it’s because I had a fly in one of them.’

‘Let me see.’

‘It’s gone now.’

‘Deborah, tell me why you are upset.’

‘I’m not upset, I tell you! I’m very pleased!’ Deborah took a breath and said more calmly, ‘I’ve just learned that I’m not poor! Not at all! I have an income of a hundred pounds a year!’

‘My poor girl, that won’t go far!’

‘It’s riches, Hugo! I thought I had nothing.’

Hugo fell into step beside her and they walked along the shady path together. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Where has this wealth come from?’

‘Grandmother Inglesham.’

‘The Duchess? I thought that the Ingleshams had cut you all off?’

‘They had. But when she died my grandmother left some money with Aunt Elizabeth to provide an allowance for my mother. One hundred pounds a year. But not before my father was dead. The Duchess of Inglesham was determined not to let Edmund Staunton benefit in any possible way.’

‘So she still loved her daughter, though she couldn’t forgive Staunton!’

‘Loved!’ Her scorn was devastating. ‘It’s not my idea of love, Hugo.’

‘Oh come, Deborah! She did leave her the money…’

‘Money? It’s not the question of money! My mother didn’t care about the money! It was a word from her own mother that she wanted. What sort of love denies any contact with someone who loves you? Sends money through someone else, refuses to meet a daughter who is aching to see you, to have your forgiveness? My poor mother hoped for a reconciliation till the day the Duchess died!’

‘Perhaps your grandmother was afraid of what the old Duke would say?’

‘Pshaw! Real love doesn’t count that sort of cost, Hugo! If I loved someone I wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop me! I would fight to be with them, help them, show them how much I loved them. That’s what I would call love.’ Unaccustomed colour was in her cheeks and her indigo eyes were flashing blue fire. Hugo was fascinated. He could well believe what she said. Deborah Staunton would fling herself into the fray with passion, with no thought for her own good. He wondered what it would be like to love or be loved like that. For a fleeting moment the vision of such devotion was extraordinarily appealing. But then his customary dislike of excessive emotion reasserted itself. He nodded and said calmly, ‘All the same, a hundred pounds a year is not a fortune, Deborah.’

She looked at him with a strange smile in her eyes. Then she said wryly, ‘I know the Percevals do not consider themselves rich. Compared with what they were in the past they might even think they are poor. But you’ve never known what it is to be really poor, Hugo. I don’t suppose it occurred to you when you saw me in London four years ago that I was living on a shoestring.’

‘Then why on earth did your mother send you?’

‘She was worried about my future and hoped that I would find a husband. If I had been able to make a good match it would have solved the chief of her worries. When Mrs Young offered to have me with her for the Season, Mama was delighted. Poor Mama! She was so sure that some gentleman or other would be glad to marry the granddaughter of a Duke. So she sold everything she had left that was of any value and sent me off to London.’

‘It was mad to do such a thing!’

‘It wasn’t very sensible, I agree. It meant that later, when times were hard, she had nothing to fall back on. But Mama was like that. She took the risk because she loved me. She knew that the Inglesham family were to be in London that year for the season, so she wrote to them. I think she hoped that…that they would take an interest in me, once I was there in front of them, so to speak. But they refused even to acknowledge me. And the rest of the Ton followed suit.’ When Hugo gave a muffled exclamation Deborah said fiercely, ‘I didn’t mind! I could see as soon as I arrived that I wouldn’t “take”, as they say—even if I’d had twice as many dresses and jewels and introductions. And the Ingleshams were just the sort of people I disliked most. I disliked London, too. I sometimes thought that you were the only creature in the capital who cared anything at all about me.’

Hugo walked on in silence for a moment, frowning. Then he said brusquely, ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before? After you had tipped us both into the lake I was pardonable angry. It was the last in a whole series of mishaps and I had had enough. But you let me drag you back to Mrs Young’s, ranting all the while, swearing never to see you again and you didn’t say a word—not a word—of all these difficulties! Do you think I’d have rejected you quite so comprehensively if I’d known?’

‘I didn’t want your pity!’ flashed Deborah. Then she gave him a fleeting grin. ‘Besides, as I remember it, Hugo, you didn’t give me a chance to say anything at all! You’re very fluent when you’re in a rage. Anyway, there was little enough you could have done. I’m not sure whether you knew or not, but the morning after that awful episode news came that Papa was ill, and I left London for good.’

‘All the same…’ Hugo was seriously upset, and Deborah tried to comfort him.

‘I didn’t blame you, Hugo. Really, I didn’t. After all your kindness to me I’d disgraced you again. You called it the curse of the Stauntons, and you were right.’

There was silence for a moment, then Hugo said, ‘Are you going to tell me why Miss Staunton left for Ireland so unexpectedly—leaving you to fend for yourself?’

‘I can tell what you are thinking, and once again you’re right!’ Deborah’s tone was bitter. ‘The Stauntons are not at all good Ton. I’m surprised you even bother to talk to one.’

‘Don’t be so stupid, Deborah!’

‘It’s not stupidity,’ she cried. ‘It’s shame! The real reason my aunt left was because she had taken money that wasn’t hers.’

‘What? What money?’

‘Mine! As I learned this morning from Aunt Elizabeth. I thought that the Inglesham allowance had finished when my mother died, but it hadn’t. It was transferred to me—though no one told me at the time.’ Deborah’s voice trembled and she stopped for a moment. Then she went on, ‘For eight or nine months my aunt regularly collected my allowance from the lawyer in Buckingham and said nothing at all about it. I suppose she simply pocketed the money.’

‘So that is why she left so suddenly? You started to suspect her?’

‘Far from it! I might have been puzzled when she packed and left within twenty-four hours, but I kissed her fondly and wished her a safe journey. I was a gullible fool. But she was in some kind of trouble, and I think she was running away from something—or someone. There was a man who called the day before she left. They had a furious argument—I don’t know what it was about, but I heard money mentioned. He left in the end saying that he would be back. She packed her things and departed early the next morning.’

‘With no thought for you?’

‘Well, before she went she did advise me to leave Maids Moreton as soon as possible. And I did.’

‘Did you see this man again?’

‘No. And I didn’t want to. He was dressed like a gentleman, but he didn’t behave like one. He frightened me.’

‘Have you told Aunt Elizabeth about this man?’

‘No! And I’m not going to!’ She clutched his arm. ‘Hugo, you mustn’t mention it either. It’s not as if I’m not in any danger, and…and the whole shameful episode is better forgotten.’

‘There’s no need to ruffle your feathers and stare at me so fiercely. I think you’re right. There’s no reason to upset Aunt Elizabeth. This man, whoever he is, is unlikely to come here. And I don’t suppose your Aunt Staunton will want to show her face again, either.’ At the touch of contempt in Hugo’s tone Deborah turned her head away in shame. She gave a sob. He swore under his breath and pulled her into his arms.

‘Don’t let it hurt you so, Deborah. Your aunt’s deceit must have been a blow, but you must forget her now and be happy here.’

‘But we all tr-trusted her, Hugo! She…she was f-family—my father’s s-sister. My m-mother l-loved her.’

Hugo held her tight, her face against his chest, while she wept away a hopeless mixture of feelings—sorrow, outrage, shame, a bitter sense of betrayal and, perhaps more than anything, a sense of relief after months of tension and deprivation which had followed her mother’s death—deprivation which she would have been spared, if only her aunt had been honest. It was all perfectly understandable, but Hugo had never seen Deborah give way so completely, and it twisted his heart.

‘My poor girl! What a time you’ve had!’ He let her cry for a moment and when she grew calmer he said, ‘But think of your inheritance! I see I must be prepared to fight off the fortune-hunters, now that you’re a woman of substance.’ A watery chuckle told him that his nonsense had succeeded in diverting her. She pulled away and looked up at him, her face beginning to dissolve into laughter. Sunshine always followed swiftly after cloud with Deborah. He was filled with admiration at her courage, at her refusal to be daunted for long by the blows that life had dealt her. It seemed very natural that he should hold her like this, and his arms tightened round her. So often in the past he had held her so—after a fall from the apple tree, a slip on the stepping-stones over the stream, the death of some little animal she had befriended. Deborah had always come to him for comfort. And he had always found it surprisingly easy to talk to her.

After a short moment Deborah released herself. ‘Thank you, Hugo,’ she said, mopping her eyes. ‘You are very good to tolerate such a watering pot. I’m sorry I gave way quite so completely—it suddenly seemed just too much. I feel better now.’

They walked on in a companionable silence. Summer was at its height, and the oaks and elms, the ash trees and alders were in full foliage. Autolycus ran to and fro, rummaging in the undergrowth, leaping back with a startled yelp when a rabbit popped up out of its hole and as quickly disappeared again, chasing a squirrel with enthusiasm, only to bark with frustration when it sought refuge in a tall tree. Deborah occasionally made a short foray to gather some flowers, leaves and seed-heads, and when Hugo asked about them he was told of their properties.

‘I am surprised that you have to ask, Hugo! I suppose in London you merely called in the pharmacist when you had various aches and pains. Here in the country we make our own, and the woods and hedgerows are full of all kinds of remedies.’

‘I don’t remember that I ever had to call anyone in.’

‘Oh? So you’ve never had sprains and bruises during all those gentlemanly pursuits? You’ve been fortunate!’

He laughed. ‘Of course I have, you little shrew. What would you have done for me? Given me one of those?’

‘No, I’d use comfrey for any sprains and that doesn’t grow here. I’d have to go to the other side of the village for it. Agrimony is found there, too—that’s good for gout.’

‘Thank you, but I am not a victim yet. What do you have there to help me?’

‘This is burdock, which is good for burns, betony to help your digestion, bugle to cure dementia after drinking…’

‘How useful!’ Hugo interposed drily. ‘That yellow one is weaselsnout, isn’t it?’

Deborah pulled a face at him. ‘Hugo! Is that what you call it? It has a much prettier name—and a wonderful reputation.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s called yellow archangel, and the herbalists claim that it “makes the heart merry, drives away melancholy and quickens the spirits”. What else could one ask for?’

‘What indeed? Perhaps I should call you weaselsnout, Deborah. You often have the same effect.’

‘Hugo!’ Deborah protested laughing, not sure whether she was flattered at his compliment or not too pleased about the name.

‘Do you know all the plants?’

‘On the contrary. I am an ignoramus compared with Lavender Brabant!’

‘What? The Admiral’s daughter? Lives in Hewly Manor? I don’t think I’ve exchanged more than two words with her in my life.’

‘Years ago, when I stayed with Aunt Elizabeth, I sometimes met Lavender in the woods. She taught me the little I know—I think she can recognise every plant that grows round here. I’m not surprised you haven’t spoken to her—she’s somewhat elusive. A recluse, like Hester.’

‘Ah yes. Hester…’ He walked on in silence for a moment.

‘You’re worried about her, aren’t you, Hugo? What do you think she will do? About Lord Dungarran, I mean.’

‘My sister is famous for her stubbornness, but I think… I hope she might eventually give in. Dungarran can be very persuasive. He was saying something last night about taking extreme measures. I don’t know what they can be, but I hope he doesn’t intend to carry her off. I don’t see him as a latterday Lochinvar, and only extreme youth could excuse such dramatic behaviour. Oh, it’s all rather ridiculous. What a pair of fools they are!’

‘No, Hugo. Love is never ridiculous. You watch—Hester will see reason in the end. I know she will.’

‘Reason? Reason has absolutely nothing to do with it. But Robert Dungarran would be a splendid match for her. He is extremely eligible, and an excellent fellow besides. I admit that I should like to see Hester settled, especially before…’ He hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘Before I settle down with a wife myself. I’ve been talking to my father. As you know, he is anxious to see me married.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Deborah’s voice was muffled as she bent her head, ostensibly to avoid some overhanging branches. ‘And?’

‘I mentioned the twins to him. He would be well pleased if I offered for one of them and he believes that my Uncle William would be delighted to give his consent.’

‘Really?’

‘Finding husbands for four daughters is a heavy burden. It looks as if Robina’s future is now secure, but my poor uncle still has three more dowries to find. As you well know, sending a daughter to London for the Season is an expensive business—and for the twins he would have to find enough for two!’

‘But surely Robina would help!’

‘She isn’t married yet, Deborah. The twins are past their nineteenth birthday already.’

‘Oh come, Hugo! There’s still plenty of time! Robina will certainly be married before next year’s Season starts. She would be delighted to sponsor the twins in London. I am sure. Indeed, she will enjoy it. The twins are certain to be a huge success! Two of them, identically pretty, identically charming… Society will be hugely impressed. How can you have any doubts?’

Hugo went on almost as if he had not heard her. ‘And either of them would be perfect as the next chatelaine of Perceval Hall.’

There was a pause. Then Deborah said quietly, ‘What about you, Hugo? Which one would be perfect for you?’

He shook his head. ‘That’s the trouble! I would find it very difficult to make up my mind between them!’

She looked at him with astonished disapproval. ‘You mean you don’t know? Hugo, you can’t, you mustn’t contemplate marriage with either of my cousins until you know which one you love!’

‘How can I do that? They are both equally lovable!’

‘I agree. But they are not…not interchangeable. Frederica is a person in her own right, and so is Edwina. Each one of them has her own quite distinct personality.’

‘Aren’t you being a little absurd, Deborah? Of course I know they are different. Edwina is livelier, Frederica has more forethought. Edwina has the better seat on a horse, Frederica is the more graceful dancer. They both play the harp well, though you have always been the truly musical member of the family…’

‘Stop! Stop!’ cried Deborah. ‘I don’t wish to hear any more of this…this soulless catalogue of my cousins’ talents. How can you possibly choose a wife by such superficial criteria?’

Hugo was offended. ‘I don’t understand you,’ he said coldly. ‘What do you propose I should do? Disappoint both families by looking elsewhere?’

‘By no means. But I do think you ought to get to know both Edwina and Frederica a great deal better before you contemplate marrying either of them. I love them both dearly, and any man who won the affection of either of them would be very lucky. But without strong and lasting affection—equally strong on both sides—marriage is a dangerous enterprise.’

‘How you exaggerate, Deborah!’

‘Hugo, I know what I am talking about, believe me!’

‘I assure you that I haven’t the slightest intention of making my marriage a dangerous enterprise. I have always maintained that two reasonable people, with similar interests and good will on both sides, can make a success of any partnership—marriage included. Romantic extravagance poses the greatest danger to such a partnership, and neither of the twins would ever indulge in that!’

Deborah shook her head, but saw it was useless to argue. She changed her ground. ‘What about Edwina and Frederica? Do you know how they would regard an offer from you?’

‘Whichever one I approached would naturally consider it very seriously.’

Deborah gave a most unladylike snort. ‘Naturally!’

Hugo wasn’t offended by this. He said in quite a matter-of-fact way, ‘You mustn’t think me a cox-comb, Deborah. My cousins are reasonably sensible girls. They must know that marriage to me would enhance their position in the world. My wife would eventually be mistress of a very handsome estate, with an assured place in society. That must be worth something. And I am not, as far as I am aware, a monster.’

He looked at her with a touch of anxiety. ‘I think they like me enough. Don’t they? Don’t they, Deborah?’

‘They are certainly fond of you, Hugo—we all are. But…enough to marry? That’s something you would have to ask the lady of your choice yourself. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘May I say something? Something you might not like?’

‘Do,’ said Hugo. ‘You don’t usually hesitate.’

‘I… I think that, if you were to ask one of my cousins to marry you, she might accept you without questioning her own feelings in the matter. They both admire you so much. And, of course, they are both aware of how much it would please the family.’

‘Is that so very wrong? Admiration is not a bad basis for a loving relationship. And in the absence of any previous attachment, what is wrong with pleasing one’s family?’

‘But what if their affections are already engaged elsewhere, however tentatively? I suspect that they would still defer to their parents’ wishes.’

‘You might give me some credit for better feelings,’ said Hugo a touch impatiently. ‘If I knew that to be the case, I should not approach them, of course. I should look for someone else.’

Deborah commented somewhat acidly that she was pleased to see that Hugo could be so philosophical. That, whatever else, his heart did not seem to be very passionately involved in this choosing of a partner for life.

‘Deborah, I think you are in danger of falling into the same trap as poor Robert Dungarran. Passionate love is a hindrance to good understanding. It leads one into all sorts of foolishness, and I will have no part of it.’

Hugo was becoming exasperated. He decided to end the discussion. Deborah Staunton’s views were just as he would have expected—all feeling and no sense, and he would not heed them. Ignoring the slight doubt she had raised in his mind, he said, ‘Now, where is that wretched dog? He seems to have disappeared!’

They had been so absorbed in their discussion that they had forgotten the dog. When they looked round they saw that they had reached the edge of the wood, and were passing one of the estate cottages. There was no sign of Autolycus in any of the fields round about, and Deborah was just about to see if he had slipped into Mrs Bember’s cottage in his perennial search for food, when pandemonium broke out inside the large chicken-house at the end of the garden. There was a crash as the side of the building collapsed and Autolycus scrambled out, closely pursued by a furious cockerel and a stream of hens. He leapt over the hedge on which Mrs Bember had spread some clothes to dry, and raced away over the field, clearly in fear of his life, with his ears flapping and a large petticoat trailing behind him like the tail of a comet.

It was such an absurdly comic sight that they both burst out laughing, but they soon stopped in dismay when old Mrs Bember came hurrying out shouting, ‘Come back! Come back here! Oh dearie me, what shall I do? Come back here, you dratted creatures!’ She stopped short when she saw Hugo. ‘Oh, whatever can I do, Mr Hugo? Some dog has broken down my hen-house and let out all the chickens. They’re such silly creatures, I’ll never get ’m back! What’ll happen to all my egg money? And my petticoat’s gone! My best one, too.’ She peered short-sightedly at Hugo’s companion. ‘Why, it’s Miss Deborah! Oh, excuse me, ma’am, I was just that upset I didn’t see you. I didn’t know you was back, y’see. But Miss Deborah, you’re here at a bad moment, I can tell you. I’m in such a pickle! That animal has chased away all the chickens. What am I to do, Miss Deborah? They’ll never come back—and I can’t go chasing about after ’m the way I used to. I’ve lost ’m! And my best flannel petticoat, too.’

Deborah went up to the old lady and led her gently back towards the cottage. ‘Mrs Bember, I’m so sorry! But you really needn’t be so worried. We’ll sort it out. Look, why don’t I make you something to drink, while Mr Hugo sees what he can do.’ As she said this, she threw an appealing glance at Hugo.

Hugo smiled at Mrs Bember. ‘Leave things to me. I’ll get some of the men to put things right for you, Mrs B. Your chickens will be in a new home by nightfall, I promise. I can’t answer for your…er…petticoat, though.’

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