Midsummer Eve at Rookery End (4 page)

Sir Benedict Catesby was the last person Deborah wanted to see and she was certain that he would be equally as unhappy to encounter her. A meeting would be distasteful and awkward for them both to say the least, and yet she knew she could not leave. The evening was in full flow and, after Lord and Lady Allingham had been kind enough to invite her, it would be unthinkable to snub them with an abrupt departure.

Avoiding Sir Benedict also seemed impossible.

The rooms at Rookery End might be crammed full of guests, but they would come face to face at some point during the evening if she did not take steps to evade him. Deborah chewed on her lower lip, mulling over her predicament. She kept a watchful eye on Sir Benedict as she did so from the shelter of the elaborate flower arrangement.

He did not appear greatly changed, Deborah noted with irritation. Nonchalant and completely at ease, Sir Benedict stood several yards away to her left, idly watching the dance in progress.

He could not be described as handsome, but he exuded a magnetism that was peculiarly his own. An aura of strength and barely contained energy drew all eyes to him. His figure still possessed the lithe vigour that had once so attracted her; his complexion, always dark, was now swarthier than ever and tanned to the colour of mahogany; light from the chandeliers reflected off the ebony hue of his hair and glittering hazel eyes roamed over his fellow guests. That famous Catesby aquiline nose, which he had disliked intensely until a younger, foolish, love-smitten Deborah had told him she adored it, was unmistakable in profile.

But the cynical nature of his gaze and the harsh lines etched either side of his mouth were new, perhaps evidence of some struggle endured in the intervening years. This afforded Deborah grim satisfaction. If someone had caused Sir Benedict even a fraction of the sorrow and pain he had inflicted on her, it would be well-deserved.

Six years ago, Deborah had been desperately in love with Benedict Catesby. Honourable, intelligent, thoughtful and passionate, he appeared to be all she had dreamed of in a lover and her feelings for him had grown deeper each day. Happier than she thought possible, Deborah had given him her heart and her soul.

What a fool she had been!

His betrayal had proved agonisingly painful and love had been swept away by anger and disillusionment. Sir Benedict’s perfidy had left an emotional ache inside Deborah that had not diminished with time.

“My dear, I am exhausted with this oppressive heat,” announced Miss Charlotte Tonbridge, sitting down beside Deborah, “and also glad of a moment away from Mrs Cholmondley’s prattle.” Patting her greying curls back into place, Miss Tonbridge regarded her charge accusingly. “You may be seven and twenty, Deb, but it is improper for you to be sitting here alone, what with so many gentlemen ogling you!”

“Nonsense, Charley,” said Deborah, raising her fine dark brows at her old governess, now employed as her companion. “As you see, I am quite safe – no rakes have carried me off yet. Indeed, although I have not wanted for dance partners this evening, I believe I am considered on the shelf. My advanced years and lack of fortune make me a poor marriage prospect, it seems. And I haven’t noticed any gentlemen ogling me.”

“On the shelf!” squeaked Miss Tonbridge, incredulous. “The most ridiculous thing I ever heard! You are more than passably pretty and much admired.” She placed a gloved hand on Deborah’s arm and added, “Look, Mr Phipps is studying you through his quizzing glass as we speak.”

Deborah, observing the shy red-haired man watching her from an alcove opposite, bestowed an enchanting smile on him, whereupon a scarlet flush of embarrassment suffused his face and he scurried away.

“Oh dear,” she observed, her eyes twinkling with amusement, “poor Mr Phipps has taken fright now I have acknowledged him. Does my reputation as a bluestocking also precede me, Charley? Little wonder, then, that men are frightened off before I speak to them – an empty-headed girl is far more appealing to a man than an intelligent woman past her prime.’

“You have received eight perfectly respectable offers of marriage in recent years to my knowledge so don’t try and persuade me otherwise,” said Miss Tonbridge. “And you are hardly a bluestocking just because your articles on the Lady’s Slipper orchid have been published in
La Belle Assemblée
!”

Deborah laughed, shook her head and opened the delicate ivory fan suspended on a silk cord around her wrist. “Alas, even that is enough to scare away all but the most tenacious suitors. Not that I care - I have enough money to live in respectable penury and will not enter marriage without love.” Casting another glance at Sir Benedict’s brooding figure, she fanned her cheeks and murmured, “I fear I shall never marry.”

“My dear, do not say so,” replied her companion. “You suffered at the hands of that dreadful Sir Benedict Catesby, but that need not ruin your opinion of marriage forever.” Charlotte shuddered. “Thank goodness he left the country – think how terrible it would have been if you had been obliged to meet him at some event or other!”

“By an awful quirk of fate, that moment has arrived, Charley.”

Startled, Miss Tonbridge followed the direction of Deborah’s gaze and peered through the foliage. When she saw the tall, dark-haired man standing near the dance floor, she exclaimed, “Good gracious, it
is
him! I can scarce believe it! I had no idea he had returned to England.” Her gaze flicked back. “How can you remain so calm, Deb? I-I feel quite faint!”

After a hurried search, Charlotte drew a silver vinaigrette box from her reticule and inhaled deeply.

“Try not to draw attention to us by swooning,” said Deborah, alarmed by her companion’s pale complexion. “I am shocked and surprised to see Sir Benedict here, but creating a scene will serve no purpose.”

“But what do you intend to do?” Miss Tonbridge lowered her voice even though Sir Benedict was some distance away and the music was playing loudly. “Surely you don’t wish to speak to or even acknowledge That Man.”

“No, and for the last few minutes I have been trying to think how I can avoid him. Such a pity – I had been enjoying myself.”

Charlotte took another sustaining sniff of vinaigrette. “To think that you have attended only a handful of functions since coming out of mourning for your aunt, and yet you have the misfortune to see the man you dislike most in all the world at Rookery End!”

“Perhaps he will solve the problem by snubbing me outright if we do meet.”

Miss Tonbridge stared at Deborah. “Surely he will not do so? It would be terribly embarrassing and even he cannot have become so ill-bred. Whatever I thought of Sir Benedict’s morals, the manners he showed to society could not be faulted.”

“True,” agreed Deborah bitterly. “A pity his behaviour in private did not match his honourable public persona.” She gave a little shrug of resignation. “But all that is in the past and I need to deal with the present. Charley, I have a sudden desire to explore Lord and Lady Allingham’s beautiful conservatory.”

Charlotte nodded her understanding. “I’ll come with you.”

“Very well, but there is no need to stay afterwards. I shall be happy to browse there alone for a time and for us both to be absent from the ballroom for too long could give rise to comment. Come back for me in half an hour. By then Sir Benedict might have removed to the card room or, better still, have left altogether. If not, we must make our excuses to the Allinghams and depart.”

Sir Benedict was forever to wonder what made him look across the ballroom at that moment and thus glimpse Miss Deborah King making her way to the door.

He recognised her at once.

That graceful carriage was printed indelibly on his mind, as were the curiously endearing way she tilted up her chin and the silken mass of russet curls, now confined in an elegant twist on the top of her head.

Shock, anger and, to his amazement, desire surged through him. Damn it all, he thought he had done with such nonsense six years ago! Miss Deborah King deserved no consideration. In Sir Benedict’s eyes, she was the worst type of female, one who kept her callous nature hidden behind a demure exterior. The Divine Deborah lured men into loving her with a devotion bordering on obsession and then abandoned them without a word of explanation. No doubt having caught some poor fellow in her wiles this evening, she had tired of his company and was quitting the room to seek another victim.

Irritated to discover that the mere sight of her still had the power to affect him, Sir Benedict’s lips writhed in a humourless smile at the opportunity fate had presented. If he could witness Miss King flirting with another man and preferably deliver his opinion of her character to her charming face, the memories that had almost ruined his life would be exorcised once and for all. Excusing himself from the twittering matron trying to engage him to dance with her daughter, he headed for the door in Miss King’s wake.

He found himself in a crowded ante-room, but with the benefit of his superior height he soon realised that Miss King was nowhere to be seen. Searching the supper room, the refreshment room and the room set aside for gaming produced a similar result. He was tempted to abandon the pursuit and waste no further time on the heartless baggage, but dogged determination drove him on.

Opening another door, he entered a small drawing room lined with family portraits. The music from the ballroom had faded into the distance and was now barely discernible in the quiet enveloping him.

Suddenly feeling that he was trespassing in a private part of the house, he turned to retrace his steps, but before he could, a sound from the other side of the room caught his attention. The swish of fabric over marble flooring was followed by a figure moving swiftly behind one of the Doric columns flanking the archway which led to the conservatory.

Had Miss King come to this secluded spot to seduce her latest beau? If she had, perhaps he could save one poor wretch from heartache.

Grim-faced, Sir Benedict strode forward, rounded the column and then came to an abrupt halt, staring in astonishment at the petite, grey-haired, silk-clad lady before him.

“Charley!” he cried. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Miss Tonbridge, who had at first recoiled in the face of Sir Benedict’s thunderous expression, drew herself up to her full height. After a moment’s hesitation, she said in a clipped tone designed to discourage further conversation: “Not that it’s any concern of yours, but I am Miss Deborah’s companion this evening!”

Sir Benedict, surprised at but not intimidated by this frosty response, lifted an eyebrow. “Come, Miss Tonbridge. We were on good terms once – can we at least be civil to each other now, having met again so unexpectedly?”

“We can try,” said Charlotte, through gritted teeth.

Observing this, a rare smile flitted over Sir Benedict’s lips. “You are too well-mannered to admit that you obviously wish me at the devil. Are you in good health?”

“Tolerably, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” His hazel eyes regarded her steadily as he added, “And Deborah? How is she?”

“In excellent health, sir,” said Charlotte, with more emphasis than necessary.

“I’m glad to hear that too.” He gave her a quizzical look. “Why are you accompanying Miss King to this glittering evening? Is Deborah’s aunt enjoying one of her nervous spasms?”

“Lady King died over a year ago.”

A flush spread over Sir Benedict’s lean cheeks and an awkward silence ensued. “My apologies, Charley; I had not heard that she had passed away,” he said eventually. “My remark was in poor taste.”

“She was not carried off by one of the spasms she delighted in,” admitted Miss Tonbridge in a slightly softer tone.

“Oh?”

“She fell into a decline after becoming an avid follower of Lord Byron’s diet,” admitted Charlotte. “Nothing else would do for Lady King but to endure endless hot baths and to eat only boiled potatoes soaked in vinegar. Deb tried to persuade her aunt that it was folly, but perhaps you recall something of Lady King’s intransigence.”

“Indeed,” observed Sir Benedict drily, “I was once closely acquainted with it.”

Miss Tonbridge inclined her head in acknowledgement and continued in a voice that brimmed with disapproval towards the late Lady King: “Having followed the reducing diet to an extreme, she then took it into her head to copy the Prince Regent’s overindulgence. Her ladyship succumbed to colic after gorging herself on Stilton cheese, strawberries and asparagus.”

He raised his brows. “I am sorry for it, but I cannot say I am entirely surprised – Lady King was headstrong to the point of stupidity.” After a pause he added, “That must have been a difficult time for Deb.”

“And why should you care about Deborah’s welfare when you treated her shamefully?” retorted Miss Tonbridge.

“
I
treated
Deborah
shamefully!” He uttered a shout of incredulous laughter. “You are mistaken. If you only knew how much I–” Sir Benedict hesitated, frowned and then continued in a more moderate voice, “What happened is in the past. My concern is merely out of polite interest.”

“Sir Benedict, I may have been away tending my invalid sister, but Deborah has told me since of your conduct,” said Miss Tonbridge in cutting accents. “I never thought that you, of all people, would be so cruel!”

A hard expression slid into his eyes. “You misjudge me completely; perhaps that is not surprising given your loyalty to Deborah. Despite what you may think, it gives me comfort to know that she has you for a confidante and friend. Now, since fate has thrown us together this evening, I would like to speak to Deborah. Where is she?”

“I-I don’t know,” stammered Miss Tonbridge, glancing unwittingly towards the conservatory.

Observing this, a muscle twitched at the corner of Sir Benedict’s mouth. “You always were a terrible liar, Charley.”

He moved towards the door, but Miss Tonbridge reached it first and planted her small frame in his path.

“Deb doesn’t want to see you ever again, Sir Benedict.” Putting up her chin, she concluded with a dramatic flourish, “You’ll reach her over my dead body!”