An Inescapable Match

The impulse to kiss Deborah Staunton had taken him by surprise. She had looked so forlorn, and he had frequently comforted her in the past. What astonished him most was that once she was in his arms the simple desire to comfort had changed into something much more dangerous. The feel of her beneath his hands, the look of helplessness in those dark, indigo eyes had been unexpectedly seductive. He had been within a hairbreadth of kissing her in real earnest. Kissing penniless hopelessly disorganized Deborah Staunton! And then she had pulled away, and the moment had passed. He shook his head. Midsummer madness! It would not be repeated, would it?

An Inescapable Match

Sylvia Andrew

SYLVIA ANDREW

taught modern languages for years, ending up as a vice principal of a sixth-form college. She lives in Somerset with two cats, a dog and a husband who has a very necessary sense of humor and a stern approach to punctuation. Sylvia has one daughter living in London, and they share a lively interest in the theater. She describes herself as an “unrepentant romantic.”

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

July 1812

The curricle hardly slowed down at all as it swept off the main London highway into the narrow road leading to Abbot Quincey. But the driver judged to a nicety the difficult angle of the turn, controlling his two spirited horses with confident hands. Though it was obvious that he knew the road well, it was nevertheless an impressive demonstration of skill and strength. It was an attractive picture, too—a pair of perfectly matched bays, the tall blond young driver, and behind him his groom sitting stiffly upright—all in a verdant countryside under a cobalt blue sky. Hugo Perceval, heir to Sir James Perceval of Perceval Hall, was on his way back to the village of Abbot Quincey after a morning visit to Northampton.

Timothy Potts, the groom, allowed himself a rare nod of approval at the expert negotiation of the turn. Then, as the road straightened out ahead, empty except for a tiny figure in the distance, he relaxed and allowed his thoughts to wander… He was very fortunate in his master. The guv’nor was a nonpareil, no doubt about that! Whether in the town or in the country he always seemed to know what he was about. Of course, some would say he had been luckier than most, Nature having been very generous in her gifts. A fine, strong, handsome young fellow, he was, and good at everything he did. A proper gentleman and a very fair master. No showy exhibitions, no excesses, no sudden starts or tantrums. Always reasonable, but he wouldn’t stand any nonsense, not from anyone! Though he seldom raised his voice, when the guv’nor spoke in a certain tone they all jumped to it…

Timothy Potts’s musings were brought to a sudden halt when Hugo gave an exclamation and drew the horses up level with the slight figure of a girl, who stood by the milestone on the verge waiting for them to pass. Her face was pale, and dominated by a pointed chin and huge, shadowed eyes. She wore a white muslin dress which was creased and dirty, and a straw hat one side of which was badly tattered. But what made the ensemble really remarkable was the presence of a tall cage covered in a duster on the ground at her side, and a large animal, something like a dog, which was at the end of a piece of rope she was holding in her hand.

With a quick command to the groom to go to the horses’ heads, Hugo jumped down from the curricle. ‘Deborah? Deborah Staunton? What the devil are you doing here?’ The dog, taking exception to Hugo’s tone, growled ominously. ‘And what in the name of heaven is that ill-tempered animal?’

Miss Staunton eyed him resentfully. Fate was really very unkind. She was tired, dirty and hot. The dog had chewed her best straw hat, and her arms and fingers were sore from carrying that wretched cage. The ill-luck that had dogged her for the past week didn’t seem to have changed. When she had last seen Hugo Perceval he had been expressing—forcibly—his desire never to have anything more to do with her, and he didn’t appear to have changed his mind. She had hoped to encounter some kindly soul, a farmer or one of the villagers, who would help her on the road to Abbot Quincey, but this was the first vehicle she had seen. Why did it have to belong to the last man in Northamptonshire she wanted to meet like this?

‘Well?’ said Hugo impatiently.

Miss Staunton straightened her shoulders and rallied. Four years had passed since Hugo’s harsh words to her—four years in which she had learned that life was seldom fair, and that the weak usually went to the wall. She was no longer a tender-hearted sixteen-year-old, and she wasn’t about to let Hugo Perceval treat her in his usual high-handed fashion!

‘Really, Hugo! It’s a dog, of course! And Autolycus isn’t at all ill-tempered—he just didn’t like the way you spoke to me. To tell the truth, nor did I!’

The groom turned and regarded her with astonishment. Not many people—least of all little dabs of females—spoke to the guv’nor in this manner!

Hugo took a breath, then said carefully, ‘I’m sorry. It was a surprise. I didn’t know you were in the district.’

‘I haven’t been. I’m just arriving.’

‘And this is your luggage?’ Hugo said with an expressive glance at the cage and the dog. ‘All of it?’

Miss Staunton bit her lip. ‘N…not all of it. I had to leave the rest in the inn at the crossroads. Nanny Humble stayed with it. I was hoping that Aunt Elizabeth would send someone to collect her.’

A look of foreboding crossed Hugo’s face. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘I… I’m not sure I want to tell you, Hugo. You’ll only lose patience with me. But if you would take a message to the Vicarage I would be very obliged to you.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re out of luck. There’s no one there. Except for me, the whole family is spending the day with the Vernons at Stoke Park.’

Miss Staunton sat down rather suddenly on the milestone. ‘Oh dear!’ she said.

‘Weren’t they expecting you?’

‘Well…not exactly. Not today. I’ve come two days early, you see.’

Hugo took a deep breath. ‘You’d better tell me,’ he said with resignation. ‘Just the bare bones.’

Miss Staunton swallowed her resentment and said with dignity, ‘I had to come early for reasons which I won’t go into here. But Mr Hobson refused to take us further than the crossroads.’

‘Who is Mr Hobson?’

‘The owner of the dogcart. I paid him to bring us from Maids Moreton.’

‘The dogcart? You mean to tell me that you’ve come twenty miles in a dogcart? You must be mad!’

‘No, Hugo. Just…just not very rich. But I think I must have miscalculated the distance when making the arrangement with Mr Hobson. When we reached Yardley Gobion he said he’d done the distance we agreed. He wanted more money before he would go any further. It was most unreasonable of him, for what could I have done in Yardley Gobion?’

‘What indeed?’

‘I finally managed to persuade him to come as far as the crossroads at the end of the road here, but he wouldn’t come a yard further unless I paid him some more. And…and I couldn’t do that.’

‘You didn’t have the means?’

Miss Staunton nodded. ‘Because of Mrs Dearborne’s hat.’

Hugo regarded her with fascination. He said after a pause, ‘I’m not going to ask about Mrs Dearborne’s hat. It will have to wait. But the situation, as I understand it, is that Mr Hobson and his dogcart have gone off back to Maids Moreton…’

‘Buckingham. He comes from Buckingham.’

‘Buckingham, leaving your servant and all your worldly goods at the Travellers’ Rest. And there they will stay until you can find some way of conveying them to the Vicarage. Meanwhile, you have been forced to walk the three miles to Abbot Quincey in the heat of the day, accompanied by a large dog and…what is in the cage, anyway?’ He twitched the cover away. A sleepy green parrot with a bright blue and yellow head looked at him with irritation and swore picturesquely. Hugo took a step back.

‘Good God!’

‘Hugo! Look what you’ve done! He was asleep and now you’ve woken him up!’ Deborah snatched the cloth from Hugo’s grasp and rearranged it over the cage. The parrot muttered for a moment then grew silent.

‘Deborah Staunton, do you mean to tell me that you’re taking that—’ Hugo pointed an accusing finger at the cage—‘that parrot to Aunt Elizabeth? At the Vicarage?’ His finger shifted to the dog, now sitting scratching his fleas. ‘And the dog, too? What on earth were you thinking of?’

‘I couldn’t very well leave them behind in Maids Moreton, could I?’

‘I don’t know. But you must have windmills in your head if you expect Aunt Elizabeth to take them in—especially if the parrot often says the sort of thing I’ve just heard. And do you mind telling me why you found it necessary to drag them with you along this road? Why on earth didn’t you leave them with Nanny Humble at the inn?’

‘Er… It wasn’t possible.’

Hugo looked at Miss Staunton’s companions and nodded. ‘I suppose the landlord refused to have them?’

Miss Staunton hung her head. ‘The landlord’s wife took great offence at something the parrot said to her. And she caught Autolycus stealing… Well, he was very hungry, Hugo! I must say I think it was very foolish of her to leave a whole leg of mutton out on the table.’

Hugo surveyed her grimly. ‘You haven’t lost your talent for getting into trouble, have you?’

‘I do try not to, Hugo.’ Miss Staunton sighed. ‘Things just seem to happen. And I’ve had so much to deal with…’

‘And now there’s no one at the Vicarage today to help you…’ Hugo eyed her for a moment, then, with the air of a man facing the inevitable, he said reluctantly, ‘Very well, I shall have to take you to the Hall. I haven’t room in the curricle for the animals, but we’ll tie the dog to that tree over there—he’ll be all right in the shade. And the parrot can stay with him. As soon as we get to the Hall we’ll send someone to fetch Nanny Humble and the rest of your things. They can pick up these two, as well.’

‘Hugo! I wouldn’t dream of tying Autolycus to a tree and leaving him behind. Nor will I leave the parrot. Autolycus and the parrot both stay with me.’

‘Don’t be such a simpleton, Deborah! I can’t take you all. There isn’t nearly enough room in the curricle.’

‘I won’t leave them behind!’ said Miss Staunton stubbornly. Autolycus, hearing further sounds of disagreement, left his fleas to their own devices, got up bristling, and growled again. He advanced on Hugo.

‘Down, sir!’

The authority in Hugo’s voice stopped the dog in his tracks. He looked uncertainly at Miss Staunton, who took a firmer hold of the rope and said gently, ‘Sit, Autolycus dear.’ The dog looked again at Hugo.

‘Sit!’

Autolycus sat. Hugo nodded in satisfaction and then turned to Miss Staunton. ‘You will leave the dog and the bird here,’ he said, quite pleasantly, ‘and I promise that they will be collected within the hour. Come, no more nonsense! Get in, there’s a good girl. My horses won’t tolerate this heat much longer. Get into the curricle, Deborah.’

‘I will not!’

Timothy Potts peered round to gaze again at the creature who had dared to oppose his master’s will with such determination. She looked as if a breath of wind would blow her away, but the pointed chin was raised in defiance, and her voice was firm.

‘It’s no use your trying to bully me, Hugo. My mind is quite made up. The animals and I stay together. So pray continue on your way, and let me continue on mine.’ With this she picked up the cage, gave the rope a slight tug and set off towards Abbot Quincey.

‘Stop!’ She paused without turning round. Hugo ran his hand through his hair and said in exasperation, ‘I can’t leave you to walk the rest of the way in this heat. Be reasonable, Deborah. Look—the animals would do perfectly well in the shade over there, and it wouldn’t be long before they were collected.’

Miss Staunton hesitated, and Hugo pressed his advantage. ‘I’ll come for them myself, if you insist,’ he added with a persuasively charming smile.

‘Very well. I’ll see if they will stay,’ she said, as she coaxed Autolycus over to the tree. Hugo shook his head at such soft-heartedness.

But the animals refused to stay for even two seconds. When Miss Staunton moved away, Autolycus sat down and howled long and mournfully as soon as he found he could not follow. The parrot took exception to this powerful lament and danced on his perch with loud squawks and raucously vulgar cries. It was an impressive duet and the sound echoed far and wide across the peaceful countryside.

‘For God’s sake!’ said Hugo disgustedly. ‘I can’t bear it. You’ve won, the three of you. Deborah, you can take that parrot on your knee, and the dog can run alongside. Hold the horses, Potts, while I release that misbegotten hearthrug.’ Autolycus who had apparently regarded this last remark as a compliment of no mean order, stood wagging his tail and very ready to oblige. ‘Right!’ Hugo released the dog and walked to the curricle. ‘Now, sir! Come here!’ This command was obeyed with such enthusiasm that Hugo staggered under the onslaught. ‘Down, sir!’ he roared, brushing his previously immaculate coat. It was evident that cattle had recently sought shade under the tree. Autolycus grovelled with an anxious look up at his new friend. Hugo took the rope and tied it to the side of the curricle. ‘That dog needs a few lessons in manners, I don’t trust him to behave properly. Let’s hope that somewhere in the general medley there’s carriage-dog ancestry.’

‘He’s half Dalmatian,’ Deborah informed him. ‘And half Irish wolfhound. I think.’

‘I suppose that might account for his…unusual appearance,’ said Hugo.

Deborah fired up in defence of her pet. ‘He’s lovely!’ she said fiercely. ‘And he’s been out quite often with Mrs Dearborne’s gig.’

‘Good! Potts, if the dog starts pulling away, let him loose—understand? He could pull the lot of us over.’ Hugo got into his seat. ‘Let them go, Potts!’ The curricle moved slowly off, the horses, impatient at the delay, kept to a moderate pace under Hugo’s iron hand.

All went well, though the sight was now curious, rather than stylish. The driver was, as before, blond, tall, handsome and still reasonably immaculate. But the pace was considerably less dashing. Other than a tattered straw hat leaning out to the side, nothing could be seen of his passenger, hidden as she was behind a large, duster-covered cage. The groom’s upright posture in the rumble seat was somewhat spoilt by his nervous hold on a rope knotted round the rail. And at the end of the rope was a dog, clearly having the time of its life, as it loped alongside the curricle, waving its tail like a banner. It was hard to say what colour it was, for its coat was half plain, half a patchwork of white, brindle and fawn with touches of black. But though so large, it looked amiable enough, a large black patch over one eye giving it a comically rakish air.

As the combination approached Abbot Quincey, the duster slipped off the parrot’s cage and the bird woke up again. It mistook the motion of the carriage for the movement of a ship and began to cry raucously, ‘Belay, there! Avast, you lubbers!’ with other comments of a similar but less polite character. Miss Staunton had some difficulty in covering the cage again, and long before she did so half the population of Abbot Quincey was grinning at Hugo and his load. It was a relief when they reached the drive up to the Hall on other side of the village.

‘You’ve done it again, Deborah,’ said Hugo grimly as they came to a halt in the courtyard.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve made a laughing stock of me. Just as you did in London.’

‘Oh no, Hugo! That wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened in London. I thought those people in the village were enjoying it in a…a friendly kind of way. They like you.’ Miss Staunton shuddered. ‘That was nothing like what happened in London.’ Then after a pause she said wistfully, ‘I so hoped you had forgotten that episode. That we could begin again, and be friendly as we were in the old days, when we were children. You didn’t seem to mind so much when I got into scrapes then. But you’re still angry, aren’t you? Even after four years.’ When he frowned, she added, ‘I was very young, Hugo…’

He looked down at her with a reluctant twinkle in his eye. ‘It took me a long time to regain credibility with my friends after wading out of that lake.’

‘But I didn’t mean to upset the boat, Hugo!’

‘Oh, I know you never mean to. But you never seem to learn, either! I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been the victim of your not meaning to! You were only in London for a month, but I spent a small fortune getting you out of trouble one way or another. And in the process you managed to get me bitten by a dog, set upon by footpads, accused of abduction… I can’t remember the rest. Falling into the lake was the last straw. And it was all brought about without your meaning to!’

‘That last time you were so angry. You said you never wanted to see me again.’

‘Did I? Well, if I did, it was probably prompted by an instinct of self-preservation. I didn’t like to imagine what you might do next!’ He looked at her crestfallen expression. ‘But you’re right. That’s all in the past and should be forgotten. I’m not angry any more, Deborah.’

‘I’ve grown up a lot since then, Hugo.’

Hugo cast an eye over the dog and the parrot. ‘Have you? I’m relieved to hear it.’

‘I swear I’ll be more careful in the future! Are we…are we friends?’

He got down, untied Autolycus, then came round to take the cage from her. ‘I suppose so.’ He smiled at her. ‘I can’t be at odds with my little cousin, can I?’ His face was on a level with hers.

‘I…I’m not your cousin,’ she stammered. ‘I’m a cousin of your cousins, remember?’

‘I’ve always thought of you as a cousin of mine, too. And now you’ll be living with them at the Vicarage, won’t you? Come, we must arrange for one of the men to pick Nanny Humble up. Will he need to take some money with him? Have you any other debts?’

Miss Staunton, somewhat out of breath, got down and followed her rescuer through the courtyard, hurrying to keep up with Hugo’s long strides.

‘It would be a good idea to pay the landlady at the Traveller’s Rest something… She was quite upset about Autolycus and the meat. But you must keep a careful account of what you spend. I shall pay it all back.’

Hugo looked down at her with a certain amount of sympathy. The sum was insignificant. But how was Deborah Staunton, who was as near destitute as made no difference, planning to pay back anything at all?

‘We’ll sort all that out later,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile I shall put you into the hands of the housekeeper, while I see to things. I propose to put your canine friend in an empty stable. He must be tired and thirsty after that run. He’ll probably sleep. Will he want more to eat?’

‘Autolycus always wants more to eat. It would help him to settle down if you gave him something.’

Hugo handed Miss Staunton and the parrot over to the housekeeper, then disappeared. Mrs Banks, who had been with the Perceval family since before Hugo was born, accepted without comment the advent of an exotic new pet, saw it settled on a table in the small parlour, then turned her attention to Miss Deborah.

By the time Hugo came into the parlour Miss Staunton was looking a lot more respectable—she had had a wash, her dress had been shaken and pressed and her hair had been brushed and tied up again.

‘That’s all settled. Autolycus has had a good meal, and is now snoring off his exertions of the day. I’ve despatched a carriage to collect your nurse and possessions. They should be back within the hour, and we can all go over to the Vicarage when they arrive. Meanwhile I think we would both like some refreshment. It’s very hot—would you like to sit outside under the cedar?’

Deborah nodded silently, and Hugo went to give the necessary orders. She wandered into the garden and sat down in the shade. It was four years since she had last seen Hugo, but he was the same as ever—autocratic, decisive, efficient. And underneath it all, very kind. The Vicarage girls all adored him, though they were very much in awe of him. As the eldest of the young generation of Percevals, Hugo had always taken his responsibilities towards them all very seriously. Deborah knew that he had counted her among those responsibilities, even though their actual connection was remote. Her mother’s sister, Elizabeth, was married to Hugo’s Uncle William, his father’s brother, and the vicar of Abbot Quincey.

Deborah’s parents’ marriage had been a difficult one, and as a child she had often spent months at Abbot Quincey, joining the games and pastimes of her Vicarage cousins and the three Perceval children from the Hall. Herself an only child, at home she had often been lonely, left to her own devices. Those months at the Vicarage had been the happiest times of her young life, and Hugo, who was quite a few years older than the rest of them, had been her hero and chief confidant.

And now Hugo still seemed to regard her as one of his flock. Apparently, even though he had just returned home himself after ten years spent among the very highest London society, the old habit refused to die. It might have wavered four years before after the disasters she had brought about during her short visit to the capital, but the old feeling seemed to have survived, after all.

Deborah was not sure whether she was glad of this or not. It had certainly helped today. She would have been at her wits’ end without Hugo’s intervention. But though she seldom allowed herself to dwell on the true state of her feelings towards Hugo Perceval, she had never regarded him with the same awe as her cousins did. They were gentle, affectionate, biddable girls and she loved them all dearly. But they would never dream of disagreeing with anything Hugo said. Deborah was by nature more critical, and recent events had forced her to be more independent. Life had not dealt as kindly with her as it had with the young Percevals. Ever since her father’s death she had had to be strong enough to make decisions for herself and her mother. She had grown used to it. And she wondered whether she might find Hugo’s calm assumption of authority a touch overbearing…

They were so different, too, she and Hugo. He set himself and everyone else a high standard of perfection in dress, conversation, manners…in anything he undertook. Nothing was left to chance in Hugo’s scheme of things. In contrast, Deborah’s own life had always been chaotic. She had always been inclined to act first and ponder on the consequences afterwards, and, obliged though she was for the many times he had rescued her, she had often found Hugo’s calm forethought and assurance irritating… She had frequently had to battle with a desire to shake that complacency.

But when he met her in London, she had been feeling very lost. She had been so grateful for his attempts to ease her passage into society, but what had she done in return? She had turned his perfect life upside down, and made him an object of ridicule to his acquaintances. No wonder he had been so angry with her…

‘That’s fixed. Now, Deborah Staunton, I want to hear your explanation!’ Hugo had come back while she had been dreaming and was sitting on the other side of the small teatable.