The Outrageous Debutante (29 page)

Lord Nicholas cursed fluently and long. He had known that there was some secret, some matter that had presented a barrier between them. But never this. What a stupid fool he had been, to give his heart into the keeping of a woman who, with cruel hindsight, was so clearly not what she seemed and bent on mischief. So much for love! When he married it would be for convenience, a wife to run his household, entertain his guests and carry his heirs. No emotions involved, nothing beyond a mild affection and tolerance. Henry was free to enjoy his grand passion with Eleanor. A cool calm friendship would do very well for him.

Lord Nicholas fervently hoped that he would never again have the misfortune to set eyes on Sophia Mary Baxendale.

T
hea was bowed into the entrance hall of the Great House in Whitchurch by an elderly servant who shuffled off to discover the whereabouts of Sir Edward Baxendale, leaving the lady to look about her. It was a lovely old house with mellow stone and graciously symmetrical lines of Jacobean origin. The main staircase and the wooden panelling was imposing enough, but gave the impression of faded grandeur. The house had seen better days. There was heavy dust on the table and settle beside her and the fireplace had not been swept of the debris of any number of fires. Curtains at the windows were worn and faded from an assault by the sun over the years. Outside the ornamental hedges were untidy and unclipped and the hinges of the wrought-iron gates were in need of repair. It spoke of a lack of servants. Thea suspected a lack of money.

But for her the most important, the most astounding, thought was that this was the house where she had been born and spent the first four weeks of her life. How strange it was to return here—and under such circumstances. How strange it would be to meet her brother for the first time in her life that she could recall. Nerves raised a shiver of disquiet along her arms. If her brother was prepared to discuss the Faringdon scandal with her, what would it reveal? And could she trust him to speak the truth?

‘I remember nothing of this.’

Agnes saw the nerves and touched her young mistress’s hand with light fingers. ‘You would not, of course. Don’t fret, Miss Thea. You must use your own judgement—whether what you will hear in this house is true or false.’

Which did nothing to ease Theodora’s anxieties.

The servant returned to show her into a room that looked out over a walled garden to the rear. She sat and waited, determined to retain her composure and her impartiality. Then the door opened and a gentleman entered with quiet dignity. The first impressions for Thea were undoubtedly pleasing. Not over tall, but compact and well muscled. Fair haired with clear, friendly blue eyes, he was clad in a double-breasted coat, breeches and boots suitable for any country gentlemen, of good quality but with no extremes of fashion. His figure was good, elegant even, as was his address.

Sir Edward Baxendale. Her brother.

Yes. An attractive man, but Thea kept her council, and her expression and greeting cool. She did not know him.

Sir Edward came to a halt before her and inclined his head in gracious welcome. So this was his sister. After all these years. He had almost forgotten her very existence. Lady Drusilla had seen to that!

‘Sir Edward.’

‘Miss Wooton-Devereux.’ With a smile as warm as the sunshine that flooded the room, he raised her hand to his lips. ‘Or may I call you Theodora? If I may say—you have the look of our mother. She, too, was acknowledged to be a beauty as a young girl.’

‘I did not know that.’ Thea allowed a light smile in response, but remained aloof and wary. There was much that she needed to learn about Sir Edward Baxendale.

‘Please sit.’ He motioned to the chair from which she had just risen. ‘Allow me to give you a glass of claret. I am sure that refreshment after your journey will be acceptable.’

He poured and handed her a glass, but after thanking him she placed it untouched on the table.

Edward eyed her with mild curiosity as he lowered himself to a chair beside her, close enough for easy conversation, but not so as to be an imposition. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure, Theodora? I had believed that our relationship was past mending and so have done nothing to make contact with you. My mother and Lady Drusilla had nothing to say to each other. I did not even know that you were aware of the connection between us. And now here you are in Whitchurch …’

‘I was ignorant of our relationship until some weeks ago. Lady Drusilla saw no necessity to tell me.’

‘Ah. But she did finally.’

‘Yes.’

‘May I be permitted to ask why?’ Sir Edward’s manner betrayed nothing but a mild interest—and perhaps a sensitivity for so difficult an occasion.

‘That is of no consequence.’

‘Very well.’ He accepted her reluctance with apparent equanimity. ‘So why
are
you here today?’ He watched her. Thinking rapidly, he noted the sheen of wealth, of the confidence of the rich and privileged, of high fashion. It immediately caught his interest. Here was a lady who could be of use to him. A very useful weapon, although in what manner he was not yet sure. Why had he not thought of this connection before? It would be wise to be open to any opportunity that might present itself from this unlooked-for conversation.

Equally, Theodora took a keen assessment of her brother. A gentleman, certainly. With, according to the little she had heard, a vast catalogue of unidentified sins. He looked pleasant and affable, with open features and a ready smile. Nothing sly or untrustworthy to prick her instincts. But whether he would tell her the truth, she had no idea.

‘I am given to understand, Sir Edward, that I also have a sister.’

‘Why, yes, indeed. Sarah.’

‘Does she live near? Can I meet her?’

‘Forgive me, my dear.’ He rose to refill his glass, looking back at her over his shoulder. There was true regret in his voice.
‘I no longer know where she resides. Sarah married a naval man against the family wishes. Not an advantageous marriage or, I believe, a happy one for my sister. Unfortunately he lacked good family and connections. Sarah, I am loathe to admit, has chosen no longer to communicate with us—despite encouragement from me. She has a child, I think. But more than that … ‘He shrugged as he returned to his chair and lifted his glass to his lips.

Leaving Thea with little choice but to broach the subject that had brought her to Whitchurch.

‘It has come to my knowledge, sir, that there was some … unpleasantness … between the Baxendales and the Marquis of Burford. I have come here hoping to discover the truth.’

‘Ah!’
The Faringdons. So that was the issue! Now, how was his sister possibly linked with the Faringdons? It would be well to have a care
. ‘So that old scandal has reared its head. I had hoped for Octavia’s sake that it had died a death.’ A tightening of the lips was the only emotion Sir Edward allowed himself to betray.

‘Octavia?’

‘My dear wife. You can meet her soon. She has gone into the village on an errand of mercy.’

‘I would like that.’ Thea could detect nothing but concern in her brother. ‘Will you tell me?’

‘What is it you wish to know?’

‘I would know what the issue is between you and the Faringdons.’

‘Very well. We never speak of it now, as you will soon understand—but I will tell you. As a close member of family, perhaps you should know the truth.’ Sir Edward leaned back, crossing one elegantly booted leg over the other. ‘Tell me, are you acquainted with any members of the Faringdon family? We rarely socialize, so I am not aware …’

‘Yes. A little.’

So there was something here. Perhaps something that he could use to their detriment—and his satisfaction
.

‘Lord Nicholas, perhaps? Or the Countess of Painscastle? If
you have moved in the first circles in London—as I am sure you have—I expect that you will have been introduced.’

‘We have been introduced.’ Thea watched her brother. Again, nothing in his manner to disturb her, to make her aware of the direction of her brother’s calculations, the sudden explosion of insight, the chance of a sharp thrust of revenge for past injuries. And if there happened to be an understanding between Lord Nicholas and his sister … well, it would please Sir Edward greatly to destroy any chance of happiness there. As for this sister who sat so confidingly before him, he had no feelings for her, did not know her. Envied her, of course. She had enjoyed an easy, wealthy life of luxury and comfort, whilst they at Whitchurch … He owed her nothing! It would not hurt him to apply a gentle twist to a knife buried to its hilt in her hopes and dreams of love. Miss Wooton-Devereux deserved nothing from him! He smiled at Thea, all warmth and brotherly concern. He would sow a few bitter seeds, then wait and see what the harvest would bring. All carefully masked behind those smiling blue eyes, guaranteed to ease Thea’s doubts. So he began his tissue of lies, as skilfully woven as cloth of the finest quality.

‘It is not a comfortable tale and I beg that you will not discuss it in the hearing of Octavia. You will soon appreciate why. But these are the bones of it. Thomas, Marquis of Burford, promised Octavia marriage in the year when she was presented for a Season in London. He courted her most assiduously. She was impressionable and young, overawed by his wealth and his title—and his handsome face, of course. He seduced her and left her carrying his child.’

Edward took a sip of claret as if to removed an unpleasant taste from his mouth.

‘Forgive me. It still brings me pain. The Marquis then reneged on his promise, refused to recognise the child as his own and cast her off. He married Eleanor Stamford instead.’ His lips sneered.

‘I see. But why?’ Thea felt her heart soften towards the unknown Octavia. ‘Why did he not marry Octavia?’

‘Simple enough. Because although she was gently born, he
claimed that her birth was not good enough, not
appropriate
for a Marchioness of Burford. She was good enough for him to seduce!’ His bitterness on behalf of the lady won Thea’s acceptance.

‘So what happened to Octavia?’

‘I knew Octavia—had known her from her girlhood.’ His lips now curled a little in a smile at the memory. ‘I married her to protect her name and give the child a home and a father. When the child was born I applied to the Marquis for financial recompense for Octavia’s sufferings—and for the child, of course. We were refused and threatened with a court case against us if we persisted. I did persist.’ Sir Edward shook his head in apparent disbelief. ‘It seemed so wrong that the Faringdons should be able to reject so innocent a lady as Octavia. I took her to Burford Hall, with the child, to beg for restitution. By then the Marquis had died and matters were in the hands of his brother, Lord Henry. We were faced by the united Faringdons. Can you imagine the humiliation? Yes, they listened to what I had to say—and then promptly turned us from the door. Denied any involvement or proof of the child’s paternity. Accused me of being a charlatan and Octavia—well, there is no need to explain what the implications were of her. It would be too shaming to resurrect such words as we heard that day from the lips of Lord Henry Faringdon. Enough to say, they would have destroyed our credibility in society if we had pursued the matter further.’

‘I did not realise …’ Theodora found her thoughts almost paralysed with shock at this appalling situation, concerning a lady who was, after all, her sister-in-law.

‘It is not a flattering picture, I am afraid.’ Edward’s gaze was sharp and bright on his sister’s face, but full of compassion.

‘No, indeed. It is … it is a disaster!’

‘I am sorry if it distresses you—’
now, how will she react!
‘—if perhaps you had a … an understanding with Lord Nicholas?’

‘No. I …’

Thea fought to bring her thoughts into some form of order. This dreadful tale of deliberate, wilful cruelty to an innocent young girl. Could Henry and Nicholas Faringdon have behaved
with such callous insensitivity and selfishness? Surely she could not have been so mistaken in the man to whom she had so willingly and joyfully given her heart.

‘Could I ask,’ Sir Edward broke into her despair, ‘what have the Faringdons said about the affair?’

She does not know the truth. She will accept anything I say!

‘I could not discover the truth,’ Thea confirmed to Edward’s satisfaction. ‘Neither Judith—nor Lord Nicholas—was willing to discuss it. I believed it was to shield the name and reputation of Eleanor, but perhaps …’

‘What could they say that would not be shaming to themselves?’ Edward gently increased the pain. ‘They acted with complete ignominy. Octavia was better off out of their clutches.’

Thea drew in a deep breath. It all seemed so horribly possible. ‘And the baby?’

‘A son.’ Edward acknowledged. ‘Unfortunately it died. We—Octavia and I—have never had the felicity to have more children.’ His lowered lashes hid any grief.

‘I am very sorry, sir …’

‘I, too, am sorry if it brings you pain, Theodora, but it is better that you know the truth. The Faringdons were arrogant and unfeeling, with no thought for a poor wronged girl who was preyed upon, who was robbed of her youth and innocence. I fear that Octavia has never recovered her spirit or her pure enjoyment of life. She lives in shadows, fearful and suspicious of all—other than myself

So there it was. Or Edward Baxendale’s version of it. As Thea sat and studied her brother’s face, the sorrow and concern that she could read there, it came to her that there was no reason for her not to believe the wretched tale she had just heard. But it was a terrible indictment of Nicholas and the whole Faringdon family. Anger simmered. If it were true, how humiliating it was that she had failed so completely in her judgement of human nature, had fallen in love with someone who in effect did not exist. The Nicholas she knew—caring, careful and concerned for the feelings and welfare of others—did not match
this terrible portrait painted by her brother. How could she have been so wrong, have misjudged him so completely? How could she have given herself to a man who could treat a defenceless and needy woman with so little respect?
But was it all true?