comments about the excellence of the food or the charming decoration of the dining room. He responded in kind, although his voice was indulgent rather than chastened. He was playing with her.
Avoiding looking at him meant she also had too much time to observe other people. Christopher seemed quite engrossed in his conversation with Mrs. Ireton and laughed frequently. The fascinating smile Deborah had grown used to was suddenly annoying when she saw it directed at another woman.
“What is it?” Ireton murmured. “You didn’t expect him to be faithful, did you?”
“I have no idea who or what you are talking about.”
“My dear lady, we all know yours is a match made in heaven. And what is sauce for the goose…”
“You must excuse me, sir.” With relief, she rose to follow Lady Letchworth and the other ladies from the room. Mrs. Ireton lingered just a little too long, bending over Christopher to speak in familiar, bantering tones.
“I’m so glad you are here, Deb,” Lucy said beside her, linking arms as they left the dining room. “You must know Sir Edmund is going to announce…oh hush, here comes his sister.”
Deborah gave Lucy’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Good,” she murmured. She was glad for her sister’s happiness, but also, practically speaking, once the betrothal was announced, whatever scandal Mr. Ireton had heard could no longer hurt Lucy. At least, not to the same extent.
After visiting the cloakroom set aside for their comfort, the ladies repaired to the drawing room where, on Lucy’s inquiry, she retold the story of the capsizing boat on the lake.
“You must have got soaking wet!” exclaimed her mother.
“Were you very frightened?” Mrs. Ireton asked, smiling sympathetically.
“Actually, no, I probably should have been, but at the time, it just seemed funny.”
“Funny!” her mother repeated in outrage. “Christopher must take better care of you, and so I shall tell him!”
“He took perfect care. It was he who was wet to the waist while I suffered little more than a damp hem. And water-stained boots. And in any case, we were never in any real danger. Is that a new headdress, Mama?”
Her mother allowed herself to be distracted, and a few moments later, Deborah noticed she and Lady Letchworth sat together in quiet conversation, no doubt on the subject of the betrothal about to be announced.
Before very long, Sir Edmund led the gentlemen into the drawing room, and while his mother rang for tea, he suggested a walk for the younger people. Since this was clearly a thinly veiled invitation to Lucy, Deborah rose at once to play chaperone.
“What an excellent notion,” Mrs. Ireton agreed. “Christopher, you and Lord Bilston must come, too.”
“Will your shawl be warm enough?” Mr. Ireton’s voice sounded too close to Deborah’s ear, startling her. At the same time, he adjusted the folds around her shoulders, and she drew away from him under the pretense of hurrying after Lucy. Inevitably, as they crossed the front hall to the door, Lucy held Sir Edmund’s arm, while behind her, she knew Mrs. Ireton had claimed Christopher’s. To avoid Ireton, Deborah attached herself to Dudley, but to her annoyance, a footman accosted them with a note on a silver tray.
“My lord, this was brought from Gosmere Hall.”
“For me?” Dudley said in surprise, picking it up. Almost at once, his face lit, and then fell ludicrously into something very like despair. “It’s from my wife… Go on, cousin, I’ll join in a moment.”
There was nothing for her to do but walk on to Mr. Ireton, who was civilly holding the door for her. Outside, it seemed uncivil not to accept his arm, especially since he was ushering her in the same direction as the others, into a pleasant garden. The light was fading, but a few lanterns had been lit to avoid any gloom.
“You are much more beautiful than I expected,” he said.
“You are very kind to say so,” she replied somewhat mechanically, for her attention was on Christopher and Mrs. Ireton in front of them. She clung to his arm, turning up her lovely face to his. Jealousy clawed at Deborah’s stomach, the sharp pain taking her by surprise.
“Not kind. There is a certain glowing quality to innocence that draws one. I suppose I am impressed that you radiate such a glow.”
She blinked. “There is no need to be impressed. There is no cleverness. I always look the same.”
“If that is what your husband tells you, he has lost his touch. I am quite a connoisseur of the female sex, you