He crossed the hall and slammed into the suite of rooms Lord Walton had set aside for him in his London residence. Linney, his manservant, who had been with him since his days in the army, was sitting at a table covered with newspaper, a tankard at his elbow and a pair of boots across his knees.
When Captain Fawley slumped into the chair opposite him, Linney reached under the table for a stone bottle, wiped round the rim of a rather smeared glass tumbler with the sleeve of his shirt and poured his master a full measure.
Captain Fawley drank the bumper off in one go, and pushed it across the table for a refill. He could not let Lampton get away with this! Apart from the fact he hated all the Lamptons on principle, the way he was falsely raising Susannah’s expectations was downright dishonourable. Was there nothing that family would not stoop to, to increase their already substantial personal wealth?
It was not even as though Percy Lampton needed the money as much as he did. Lampton lived a comfortable, independent bachelor lifestyle, whereas he was completely dependent on his brother. His half-brother, he corrected himself.
He leaned his forehead on his hand, struggling against the sense of resentment that thoughts of his half-brother still roused, even after all the man had done for him.
Too much! That was half the trouble. Walton always claimed he was acting in his best interests, but he was effectively robbing him of any choice. Smothering him!
If only there was some way out. Or, at least, some way he could prevent the blackguard getting his hands on his Aunt Euphemia’s fortune.
He damned the Lamptons volubly, and comprehensively, before addressing his second glass of brandy.
He had hated the name of Lampton for as long as he could remember. They had destroyed his mother, blighted his childhood with their insinuations of his illegitimacy and made no secret of the fact they had hoped he would die in some foreign country while he was on active service. The French had done their damnedest, but he was not an easy man to kill. He had survived an explosion, two amputations, a fever and gruelling months of rehabilitation.
Even in his darkest hour, when he had felt he had nothing left to live for, he had refused to let them beat him.
And he was not going to let them beat him now.
If Percy Lampton thought he was going to sit back while he waltzed off with his inheritance, then he was very much mistaken.
He would find a way to best all the Lamptons.
His face twisted into a mask of hatred.
And he didn’t much care how low he might have to stoop to do so.
Deborah started at the sound of someone knocking at the front door. Susannah had gone out for a drive in the park with Mr Lampton, and she had been looking forward to spending a peaceful afternoon reading. She had already become engrossed in her book, and was a little annoyed that she would be obliged to put it aside, and entertain some dull man who would be crushingly disappointed to find his quarry flown. Her mother, who was sitting on a chair by the window to get the best light for her embroidery, let out a sigh.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said, having evidently caught sight of the visitor as he waited on the front steps. ‘He will be so disappointed to have missed Susannah.’ Turning to Deborah, she said, ‘Ring for some tea. We must make the poor boy especially welcome, must we not?’
It was only when Captain Fawley walked through the door that Deborah understood what had prompted her mother’s sympathy. She had not approved of many of Susannah’s suitors, before Mr Lampton had come on the scene, but she had a soft spot for the Captain. It was the way he looked at Susannah, she had confided to Deborah one evening not long after they had first made Mr Lampton’s acquaintance. So wounded, so bitter, so tragically certain he had no chance against a man who was everything he was not. For not only was Mr Lampton staggeringly handsome, he had expectations. It was common knowledge that he stood to inherit a substantial fortune upon reaching the age of thirty. So he could not be pursuing Susannah for her money. He would make a better match for Susannah, Mrs Gillies had decided, than an ageing earl, or a spotty young baron. Nor would her parents look askance at him, even though he had no title, since Susannah herself seemed to have her heart set on him. And he was being so particular in his attentions, it was surely only a matter of time before he proposed.
Deborah laid her book to one side, as her mother said, ‘Oh, Captain Fawley, how good it is of you to call on us this afternoon. We are all alone, as you see, and so dull! Please, do sit down. We have ordered some tea. I am sure you will stay and drink a cup with us, even though Miss Hullworthy is not here…’ She faltered, looking a little self-conscious as she alluded to the Captain’s disappointment.
‘Thank you, Mrs Gillies,’ he replied, though he remained standing stiffly by the door, rather than advancing towards the seat she had indicated he should take. ‘I was aware that Miss Hullworthy was out. In point of fact, I waited until I was certain she would be. It is your daughter I have come to see. Miss Gillies,’ he said, his cheeks flushing as he turned towards her, ‘I know this is a little unorthodox, but might I have a few words with you in private?’
Deborah did not know how to answer him, nor to even begin to guess what on earth he might wish to say to her that would require privacy. Besides, it was completely improper! She was sure her mother would not allow any such thing.
‘Why don’t you two take a turn about the garden?’ her mother stunned her by saying. ‘But stay in sight of the windows. I am sure if Captain Fawley feels he needs to speak to you privately, he has a very good reason,’ she said, in answer to Deborah’s puzzled look. ‘I will take a seat in the back parlour, from where I will have a good view of the lawn. Will that be acceptable, Captain?’
‘Most acceptable. Thank you for your generosity, madam,’ he said, opening the door and indicating that Deborah should accompany him.
One of the reasons for hiring this particular house was that it had a good-sized garden, by London standards. There was a narrow strip of lawn, bordered by low, shrubby sage plants, interspersed with clumps of sweet-william. Against one of the walls that separated their garden from the neighbouring property, some chairs had been set out around a wrought-iron table in a position to catch the early-morning sun. The area could still be used for sitting out later, too, since a pergola had been placed to provide some shade at the height of the day. And the roses and honeysuckle clambering over the structure in a marvellously scented tangle made it a pleasant place to sit well into the evening.
Captain Fawley headed unerringly towards the flowered arbour, making sure Deborah was sitting down before glancing back towards the house. When Mrs Gillies waved to him from the window, he bowed in her direction, before turning to address Deborah.
‘Before I broach the matter I have come here to discuss, may I have your assurance that you will hold everything that passes between us in the strictest confidence?’
He returned her mystified gaze with a scowl so ferocious, Deborah began to feel a little nervous.
‘If it means so much to you,’ she answered, touched by his intention to confide in her, ‘of course I will. Though I should not like to keep anything from my mother….’
‘There will be no need to keep her in the dark for long,’ he assured her. ‘But I must insist that you do not reveal anything, not even to her, until I give you leave.’
‘That sounds a little high-handed.’
‘If I cannot trust you, then say so now, and that will be an end to it!’
Deborah scarcely paused to think. It would be quite impossible to let him leave without discovering why he had thought it imperative to breach etiquette by seeking an interview with her alone and then swearing her