Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,12
squire’s wife, who sailed into the room. She was a stout, well-meaning woman, who took a kind of innocent pride in her rank within local society, a rank only trumped by the rare visits of titled people to Coggleton House or Gosmere Hall. Slightly less appealing was her assumption that this gave her the right to know everything about everyone and to deliver her opinion unchallenged. She had been unquestionably kind to the Shelbys since their arrival in the village, and she had, apparently, promoted the match between Sir Edmund and Lucy.
“Mabel!” Deborah’s mother greeted her in clear surprise. “How good to see you. Do sit! Bertha, tea, if you please. Will you join us for luncheon, Mabel?”
“Oh, no, I can’t stop,” Mrs. Copsley said. “But thank you for asking. No, I just came to make sure all was well with dear Deborah.”
Deborah’s mother bridled, no doubt, with the trouble in mind. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Merely, I saw her yesterday with Mr. Halland—Mr. Christopher Halland—who was clearly making himself agreeable.” She turned to Deborah with a kind smile. “And I know you have been in London and are used to dealing with all sorts of rogues who must have visited Her Highness, but in the country, with a man of Mr. Halland’s reputation, one really needs to be more careful.”
“Mr. Halland was extremely kind and behaved with the utmost propriety.”
“That time, my dear, but perhaps not in the future. He has been wild to a fault since his youth and shows no signs of calming down.” She put her hand to the side of her mouth as though to shield Deborah and her siblings from hearing. “Lady Belham, you know. And actresses.”
“Before you go any further, Mabel,” Mrs. Shelby said firmly, “you should know that we have received an offer of marriage for Deborah from Mr. Halland.”
Mrs. Copsley’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my dear,” she said in appalled tones. “I do hope you have not accepted him.”
Deborah tilted her chin. “In fact, I have.”
“You know how things are with us, Mabel,” her mother said nervously. “And he is, you know, Hawfield’s grandson.”
“Yes, but the Hallands are just not safe, Emily,” Mrs. Copsley declared. “I beg you will not repeat it, but I have always found something sinister about Hawfield. His wife died quite suddenly, you know, as did his heir. Then there is young Rupert who had to flee the country to avoid standing trial for murder.”
“If there is a taint there, I am sure our Mr. Halland has avoided it. No one ever said a word against his father.”
“No, but the daughter—Christopher’s sister—also died in mysterious circumstances. And as for Christopher’s politics! Well, he might as well declare himself a Jacobin and cut off all our heads!”
“Really?” Giles demanded, showing his first interest in the conversation.
“No, not really,” his mother said crossly. “Mrs. Copsley is making a point that Mr. Halland has some radical ideas, but he is no revolutionary.”
“He believes in education,” Deborah put in.
Mrs. Copsley sniffed. “And the house, Deborah! I would hate to be mistress of such a great, gloomy place, and while I don’t believe in ghosts, Gosmere Hall is the one place that might just change my mind. Ghostly lights swirl about the place on some nights, and such strange, unworldly sounds…”
“Ooh,” Stephen marveled. “I told you, Deb!”
“Keep your mind on the hide-and-seek,” Giles advised.
“At any rate, take your time and think about it, Deborah,” Mrs. Copsley pleaded. “And you know there will be no need if Lucy marries Sir Edmund,”
“Goodness,” Deborah’s mother said in awe. “I would then have two very creditably married daughters.”
“You will not rush into this marriage, will you?” Mrs. Copsley asked anxiously.
“Oh, no,” Deborah assured her. “Tomorrow is time enough.”
*
With no sign of Mr. Halland during the day, Deborah began to doubt the agreement she thought they had reached. Perhaps her mother was correct, and it had all been a jest. And she was going to look rather silly when Mrs. Copsley reminded her she had thought to be married the following day.
Then, just as they were about to sit down to dinner, Bertha brought in a hand-delivered note, directed to “Miss Shelby”. Lucy reached for it eagerly before her mother slapped her hand away.
“Miss Shelby is Deborah. At least until she is married.”
Deborah took it with a murmur of thanks. Aware of Lucy’s resentful gaze, she broke the seal and glanced hastily at the signature at the bottom scrawl. Christopher Halland.