Regency Innocents (48 page)

‘Of course,' the housekeeper remarked, running her eyes assessingly over Linney's burly frame, ‘we know things will not be run the same, not now you are here. You will want a man to see to your clothes, and so on.'

‘And to stock the wine cellar,' Captain Fawley said firmly. And my own horse will be arriving in the next day or so, with the rest of our things.'

The housekeeper nodded again. ‘Only natural, a
married man would want to run things different from a single lady, but I assure you that had we not all been prepared to work for you, we would not have stopped on, is that not so?' She turned to the other female staff, who all nodded, or spoke their affirmation.

‘Then perhaps you would show us to our rooms, Mrs Farrell?' he said, politely.

Mrs Farrell led them through the front doors, and into a room to the right. ‘Sitting room,' she said. ‘Miss Lampton would always receive callers here. Office,' she said, flinging open a door to the rear of the guest sitting room. An oak desk squatted with its back to the window, dominating the room. Around the walls stood glass-fronted bookcases, each containing ledgers of a different colour. ‘Travers, her factor, will be coming by tomorrow, to discuss Miss Lampton's affairs with you. Only male she had any time for, and that only because he did exactly as he was told.' The housekeeper grinned.

‘Kitchens and offices.' She pointed out the green baize door to the back of the hall, but seemed not to expect they would wish to pass through it. ‘Your private rooms are over here,' she said, crossing the hall. ‘Stairs got too much for her, in latter days, and knowing your particular requirements, we left things as she last had them.' They entered a small, cosy-looking sitting room, crossing through it to reach a bedroom. It contained a large double bed, of japanned pine, with floral chintz valance and curtains, topped by a snowy white quilt and pillows foaming with lace. Next to the door stood an old-fashioned clothes press, painted all over with flowers to match the bed hangings. It was all rather
ornate and fussy and so feminine Deborah was sure her husband would want to change it all at the earliest opportunity. To the rear of the bedroom was a door that led to a dressing room, containing a hipbath and towel rail, as well as a traditional marble-topped washstand with a floral china basin and pitcher.

‘Upstairs?' Mrs Farrell looked dubiously at Captain Fawley, but he elected to climb, albeit slowly, to the upper floors, where they found six guest bedrooms, two of which, the housekeeper cheerfully suggested, could be made into a nursery and schoolroom, when the time came.

Deborah's insides gave a peculiar lurch. What they had done last night was not unlike what the farm animals did during their mating seasons, which resulted in fresh batches of calves, and lambs and chicks. It was very lowering to think that such a sublimely pleasurable activity was no different, in the long run, from the very basic instinct of all God's creation to procreate.

‘The servants' attics are above,' said Mrs Farrell, startling her out of her reverie. ‘No need to examine those. I will show your man later, if he wishes?' she finished, darting a brief glance at Linney, who had been shadowing his master closely.

When the tour ended, the housekeeper said she would bring tea to the front parlour.

‘How do you like our new quarters, then?' Captain Fawley asked Linney as soon as the housekeeper had left them. ‘Think you could cope with promotion to the position of butler?'

Until that moment, Linney's face had stayed impassive, but he broke into a grin as he admitted, ‘Dare say I could.'

‘Good man. I don't want some stranger coming in, thinking he knows how to run my household. And you'd best cast your eye over the stables too,' Captain Fawley said, settling into a comfortable-looking wing-backed armchair before the fireplace.

Deborah slid into one that was angled so that whoever sat in it could look out of the front window, feeling utterly superfluous. He had not deigned to ask what she thought of the house, or its peculiar set-up, nor whether there were any changes she might wish to make.

When the maid brought the tea in, he dismissed Linney, and the maid, saying, ‘My wife can pour for me.'

Perversely, now that she was alone with him, she felt rather shy and very conscious of her limbs as she moved over to the table where the girl had deposited the tray. Her hands shook as she lifted the lid of the pot to see whether the beverage had brewed long enough to pour.

‘Do you take milk, or lemon?' she asked, in a rather high-pitched voice. ‘And sugar?'

He shrugged. ‘Surprise me.'

When she shot him a bewildered look, he explained, ‘I don't drink the stuff at all, to tell you the truth. Would much rather have a tankard of ale, but I daren't offend the sensibilities of Mrs Farrell within the first five minutes I am here. Linney knows my tastes. He will arrange it all how I like it, without me having to make a fuss. We'll need to get supplies in, but for the first day or so, we must both just make do with things as they are,' he ended quite sternly, as though daring her to make any complaints.

Linney knew his tastes. Linney would arrange things,
she thought angrily, heaping an extra spoonful of sugar into her cup.

‘You did not seem all that surprised to learn that, had we not married, Percy Lampton would have inherited The Dovecote,' he said, an irritable edge to his voice.

Though what had he to feel irritable about? He was the lord and master of this domain, while she was like some slave girl, brought in solely for the purpose of satisfying his animal urges. She felt so brittle, she feared one more unkind word would snap her in two like a twig.

She poured tea into both their cups, adding a splash of milk to hers, and leaving his black and unsweetened. She hoped he found it as unpalatable as she would have done.

‘I wondered if he might be the other legatee the lawyers mentioned, yes,' she admitted. ‘Having observed your aversion to each other,' she said, carefully placing his cup within reach of his right hand, ‘I then wondered if you were attempting to deprive him of something he took for granted belonged to him.'

‘And it did not bother you?' he sneered.

‘It was only a vague suspicion,' she defended herself, suddenly loathe to admit how comforting it had been to hear Mrs Farrell confirming her hope that the former owner really had wanted her husband to inherit. ‘And anyway, why should it bother me, if it did not bother you?'

‘My motives were nothing like yours!' he flared. How like a woman to lay the blame for her mercenary actions upon another! She had not cared that she was pushing another claimant out of the way. She just wanted to get her hands on his inheritance. ‘Lampton deliberately attempted to prevent me from inheriting when he
thought I was about to make a match with Miss Hullworthy. If he had not acted so despicably, I would not have felt the need to retaliate!'

Deborah flinched, as though from a blow. It was bad enough that she knew he did not care for her, but to have him fling it in her face, the moment they had set foot in their marital home, was the act of a callous beast!

‘You married me to get revenge on Mr Lampton …' Because he had stolen the woman Captain Fawley loved.

‘And why not? He deserved some punishment. He will drop Miss Hullworthy, now she can be of no further use to him. Do you think he should get away with such cruelty to a woman—your friend, might I add?'

She swallowed down her hurt, clenching her fists in her lap as she reminded herself he did not know how cruel he was being. He did not know she loved him. He firmly believed she had agreed to the marriage for purely financial reasons.

She wondered what he would do if she bawled out, ‘I love you, you idiot! That is why I married you!' before flailing out at him with those clenched fists.

She took a deep calming breath. Letting it out, she rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘If you will excuse me, I should like to go and lie down for a while.'

He frowned at her. ‘You do look pale. Are you ill? Should I ask Mrs Farrell to fetch a doctor?' He lurched to his feet, and tugged on the bell pull. ‘Mrs Farrell!' he bellowed, going to the door, and flinging it open, ‘My wife is unwell … Ah, you, girl, what is your name?' he snapped at the young maid who had come running in answer to his summons.

‘Cherry, sir.' She bobbed a curtsy.

‘Help my wife to our room, and get her whatever she needs. She is not well ….'

‘I am only tired, that is all,' said Deborah. ‘If I might just lie down quietly for a space, I am sure I shall recover.'

‘If you are sure?' He watched her with a troubled frown as she crossed the hall to their rooms.

‘Quite sure,' she said, head lowered so that he would not see the effort it was costing her not to cry. She felt quite disgusted with herself for being so feeble as to want to weep, simply because he had shouted at her. She was pathetic. Quite pathetic.

The maid, however, took one look at her, before huffing, ‘Men! Don't know why Miss Lampton thought that one would be any different just because he had a rough start in life.' She hustled Deborah to an upholstered chair by the window and bent to loosen her boots. ‘Tyrants, the lot of ‘em! Shouting at you like that, and you only just wed! That man of his is no better, either, looking us up and down while he tramps round the place in his noisy boots.'

‘Captain Fawley is not a tyrant,' Deborah hastily intervened. ‘He was not shouting at me.'

‘If you say so, madam,' Cherry said, looking totally unconvinced.

‘No, really, he shouted for help because he was concerned for me,' she explained. Though why she should be defending him, she did not know. ‘I know he has a loud voice, but he was in the army, and used to giving orders to men. I am sure, after a period of adjustment, he will get used to ordering female staff, just as you will get used to having him about.'

‘And was that great lummox of a serving man of his in the army too?' Cherry huffed, going round the back of her chair to loosen Deborah's laces.

It pained her that she did not know. So she said, ‘I really would feel better for a lie down. I am not ill, but I was ill, and I seem to get tired very quickly.'

‘Country air, that's what you need,' Cherry said firmly. ‘Plenty of walks, and good plain cooking and lots of sleep. You'll be right as a trivet in no time. London …' she pulled a face ‘… that's what you need to recover from. Never went up to town, but what Miss Lampton came back with a white face and a need to sleep for a week,' she said.

‘Miss Lampton visited London often?'

‘At least three times a year, though we was never to let on.' Cherry went a bit red in the face. ‘I don't suppose it will do any harm to tell you, though, especially not now she's gone. It was only her brother that would have put a stop to her doing her business, if he had known about it. But he never found out. Lor!' Her face lit up. ‘You should have seen his face when the will was read out, and he found out how much money she had made. And that it weren't to go to his precious son! Madder than a wet hen, he was!'

Deborah was prevented from learning anything more about the previous owner of The Dovecote, when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the housekeeper, with the tea tray.

‘Your husband said as to be sure you drank your tea, and had a morsel to eat.' She beamed. And I was to ask if there was anything else you needed. Does a body
good,' she said, depositing the tray on a low table next to the chair, ‘to see a man actually taking care of his wife. Out you go, Cherry,' she addressed the maid, who bobbed a curtsy and scuttled out. ‘I had thought Cherry could serve as your personal maid, if you have no objection. Miss Lampton's woman left after she died, and went to live in Ramsgate on the nice little pension she got for her troubles. Cherry is not exactly trained, but the most suitable for now, since you have not brought your own maid.'

‘Everything was rather rushed,' Deborah said weakly, as the woman handed her the same cup of tea she had poured herself earlier. She decided she could not fathom her husband out at all. He would shout at her one minute, then send a servant to see to her welfare the next.

‘Well, no need for rush and hurry as though you was in London now. Nice and steady we take things here at The Dovecote. I'll just pull the curtains across, and you can take forty winks. I'll send Cherry to wake you in time to change for dinner.'

Rather overwhelmed by the woman's determined helpfulness, Deborah went to the bed, climbed up and lay down on top of the silky counterpane. She closed her eyes as the woman bustled round the room, needing, more than anything, to be left alone to think. She did not open her eyes after she heard the door close behind the housekeeper. She might as well try to doze. She had not slept properly for the two nights before that dreadful, hastily arranged wedding. That probably explained why she was finding it so hard to cope with her new station in life. In time, she would get used to her husband's
abrupt manner, and learn to read his moods to the extent she would not provoke him to anger.

He
was
trying to be kind to her in spite of the fact that she annoyed him. He had sent both the housekeeper and a maid to look after her.

It wasn't his fault that she would rather be in the parlour, discussing the peculiar woman who had arranged the household in such an eccentric manner, or laughing together over Linney's face when he realised he was the only male servant in a house full of women.

That was not the sort of relationship he wanted with her. He had not offered her friendship. Only financial security and children.

Somehow she had to find the strength to bear the limits he set on their relationship. Nor must she yield to the temptation to feel sorry for herself. It would only make him dislike her even more.

Wearily, she turned on to her side, laying her cheek upon her open palm. And before she knew it, she had fallen asleep.