Miss Debenham's Secret: A Husband Hunters Club Book Read online

  “Not yet. Not immediately, anyway,” he said comfortably. “I considered going to London for a week or two, to see the sights, but now I think I will stay here in the cottage.”

  He let his eyes rest on her a moment, and she wondered if he meant that she was the reason he was staying. She’d opened her mouth to ask him, even though she knew she should not, when her bonnet was caught by a sudden gust of wind. Clarissa cried out, snatching at it, but the ribbons had pulled free and it was off. It began to bowl along the Cobb. Moving quickly Alistair stepped on it, to stop it. When he bent to retrieve it she could already see that the straw was broken.

  “Miss Debenham, my apologies,” he said, with a grimace. “You must let me replace it.”

  Clarissa shook her head and laughed and suddenly her fears and worries left her. “It was a very ugly bonnet,” she admitted, pulling a face at the misshapen thing. “I never liked it.”

  He stared at her a moment and then he threw the bonnet up into the wind; they both watched it sail away and land in the sea.

  He turned to face her and his fingers brushed her cold cheek. “That’s better,” he said.

  After that it seemed easier to talk and they spoke about many things, finding much that they agreed on and some that they didn’t.

  The hours flew past and Clarissa’s cheeks ached from smiling so much. By the time they parted she knew she was in danger of falling in love with this man who had come so suddenly into her life. Would that, she wondered, be a good thing?

  And she had asked him to afternoon tea at her home to meet her father. Already she was shaky at the thought because she knew that her father could be difficult. But she wanted them to meet; people had seen her with a stranger and word would get back to her father sooner or later. In this town, sooner was far more likely, so she must introduce them before one of the neighbours told him of his daughter’s scandalous activities. She wanted her father to know Alistair was her friend and, whatever restrictions her father might place upon her, that she intended to see more of him.

  ***

  Alistair walked back to his cottage. He was in high spirits from the time he’d spent with Clarissa, remembering her smiles and laughter and her shining blue eyes. Had he thought her not beautiful? He must have been mad. She was a glorious girl. Had he thought her not his type? Well, obviously his type had changed!

  He stepped inside, into the quiet of the cottage, and his mood sobered.

  Clarissa was a lovely girl, but she was rather lonely and certainly inexperienced when it came to men. He would be ungentlemanly indeed if he allowed her to fall in love with him. Not that he was a vain man, far from it, but Clarissa led a very sheltered life and, he supposed, he must seem to lead a far more exciting one. Such a young girl might easily be swept up in the romantic notion of a man who spent his life at sea, and Alistair was well aware it would end in heartbreak for her.

  He liked Clarissa Debenham. He enjoyed her company. He certainly did not want to hurt her, but neither did he want to leave the sea and live the life of a landlubber, not here or anywhere. For all the deprivations and trials it brought, the sea was his life.

  Perhaps a gentle warning? But what if she had no intention of attaching herself to him? She would be even more hurt, or insulted, and he would feel like a fool.

  Alistair flung himself down in the old shabby chair by the window and looked out. The tiny cottage, although comfortable and perfectly adequate, was rather neglected but the view made up for that. He could see the sea from here and now he fixed his eyes on it as if it would help him solve this puzzle.

  Perhaps it would be best if he simply mentioned his plans to return to the navy as soon as possible, that he had no idea of remaining here longer than necessary? Yes, that might do it. Then, if she was falling a little in love with him she would be forewarned, and if she wasn’t, then she wouldn’t be upset by his presumption.

  Pleased with this compromise, Alistair leaned back in the old chair, arms folded behind his head and stuck his feet up on the little table before him. The trouble was Alistair had never been able to settle down anywhere, not since he was a boy in Portobello. His home life had been unhappy to say the least and the thought of being in that sort of situation again kept him moving from place to place. The navy was ideal for him and when he was ashore there was never really time to put down roots, even had he wanted to. He would see his sister when he was able to, and he always enjoyed the visits, but they were very different people and he thought they would probably not get on as well if he were there more often. She had been quick to find herself a husband and a home and have children, whereas he . . .

  Alistair was a rolling stone. Or an ocean wave, perhaps.

  He always wondered if his father had been of a similar disposition and being forced on land to work and live had soured him. He was a miserable man, cruel in word and deed, but over the years that Alistair had been at sea himself he’d met many old sailors who’d known his father and they told stories of a man he hardly recognised. No longer in the navy of course, one old fellow had been a cabin boy on a ship with Alistair’s father and he told tales of a far different person to the bitter man Alistair had known. In his youth his father had apparently been happy, travelling up and down the coast, until a fall from the crow’s nest had injured his back so severely he was rendered unfit for life on board.

  He’d taken work with a cobbler and although the sitting didn’t help his back pain it paid enough to keep his family from want. But it didn’t sweeten his temper. Alistair had received many a backhander from the man, mainly when he tried to protect his sister from the same punishment. His mother had come from a far better life and ran off with his father for the sake of love. When that love was soured she grew more and more stooped and unhappy, withdrawing into her own thoughts. It was impossible to imagine them ever as a young couple with not a care in the world, believing that nothing mattered but their love.

  His parents were dead now and his sister had her own family and was living in Hampshire. His mother’s family, when they discovered she was dead, seemed keen to make amends and had started Alistair out in his career with the navy. He was content and he had no desire to test his luck by setting up house with a wife and bairns as his father had. Love was a fleeting emotion and not to be trusted.

  Was he lonely? He supposed he was, but he had his friends to keep him company and if he craved a child to dandle on his knee then there were plenty of his friends’ children. No, all in all, Alistair was very contented with his lot and despite his growing affection for Clarissa Debenham with her blue eyes and soft fair hair, he had no intention of changing it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Clarissa was alone in the schoolroom, cleaning the board and tidying up after the children. Mr Marly had already left and she was happy to have some time alone with her thoughts. It seemed she had so much more to think about these days. Her dream of one day having her own school was still there. But it was being pushed into the background by a vision of a tall Scot with dark eyes who she could not get out of her mind.

  A timid knock on the door surprised her and she thought she may have imagined it but she went to check. There was a young boy standing there with a rather large box.

  “Miss Debenham?”

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “A parcel for you, miss, from Mrs. Frobisher’s Drapery.”

  Now she knew where she’d seen the boy before; he was one of Mrs Frobisher’s many sons, who helped out at the store. But what on earth was he doing here?

  “I think there’s some mistake. I didn’t order anything.”

  She started to close the door but he pushed the box at her. “No, miss. A gentleman paid for it—it’s a gift, like.”

  She blushed and took the box without another word except a muttered thank you. Putting the box on her desk she cautiously removed the lid and the tissue wrapping. There was a note in an envelope and she opened it with trembling fingers.

  Dear Clarissa,

 
Please accept this to replace the bonnet I so carelessly ruined. I’ll be waiting outside after school and I hope to see you wearing it.

  Alistair.

  For a moment her heart sank and she thought it must be the preposterous bonnet in the window, with the cherries, but when she took it out she saw it was a much more elegant concoction, with blue ribbon almost the exact shade of her eyes and a tasteful selection of dried flowers. Of course Mrs. Frobisher hadn’t been able to resist embellishing her creation with a feather that curled over the brim.

  Of course Clarissa couldn’t possibly accept it; it must be returned at once. Still, since no-one else was here it couldn’t hurt to try it on.

  She carefully placed the bonnet on her head, tucking her hair under it at the sides, and then tied the blue ribbons in a neat bow under her chin. She smiled at her reflection in the glass of the window; she looked like one of those confident girls who came to holiday in Lyme, always dressed very elegantly, who charmed all the locals. Even the feather seemed to flatter her.

  She looked once more in the window and it was as if she saw a different girl there—the sort of girl who would wear such a bonnet—the sort of girl who was cheerful, who hadn’t a care in the world. She sighed and carefully removed the pretty bit of nonsense and put it back in its box. She would tell Alistair he must return it in the morning.

  He was waiting outside and smiled when he saw her awkwardly carrying the large box.

  “Let me take that. But why aren’t you wearing it?”

  “I can’t possibly accept it, Alistair. Surely you can see that? People would think . . . My father would be horrified!”

  He nodded solemnly. “I see. But could you not tell him you purchased the bonnet yourself? After all, you just lost one and you needed another, did you not?”

  “Yes, but he wouldn’t approve of such a . . . frivolous . . . it’s just not suitable, Alistair.”

  “Well, if you will just wear it for me today I’ll take it back tomorrow then.”

  Clarissa pretended to consider his request but she already knew she would agree. With a smile she put the bonnet on and tucked her hair in as best she could.

  “Let me,” he said quietly, as he took the blue ribbons and tied a ship-shape bow. “You look . . . you look lovely, Clarissa.” He stood back. “Very becoming.” He held out his arm and, blushing, she took it and walked beside him.

  She felt daring in the bonnet—like the girl she’d seen in her reflection. If people saw her—if the villagers all gossiped, she didn’t care. For now she was a different girl, one who was happy and knew how to enjoy life.

  They spent an hour or so walking along the Cobb and she nodded to two or three acquaintances, who looked somewhat surprised, but then nodded back. One elderly gentleman tipped his hat and said cheerfully, “Good to see you out and about, Miss Debenham. And looking so debonair,” and she found herself blushing in return.

  Their time together was all too short and she knew she must go home and the bonnet must be returned. She took it off and handed it to Alistair.

  “Tomorrow you’re coming to meet my father so I mustn’t be late now. He’ll be waiting for me to get his supper ready.”

  “I look forward to it.” He took her hand and held it gently. “Till tomorrow.”

  ***

  “Clarissa?”

  Her father sounded querulous, an old man. He had never been the sort of father who complimented her or told her how well she had done, but these days he seemed even more glum. Or perhaps that was because of Lieutenant McKay. With his smiling face and laughing eyes he made everyone else seem gloomy. Even Mr. Marly had lost some of the shine he used to have, in her eyes anyway, and she found herself wishing he would not be so serious or pedantic all of the time.

  Her father’s voice came again. “Clarissa? Where are you, girl?”

  “Here, Father. I’m in the parlour.”

  He came and stood at the door. Her father had been a tall man in his youth but with the passing years he’d grown stooped, until now he was not much taller than Clarissa.

  “Who is this fellow you have invited to afternoon tea? Do I know him?”

  Clarissa sighed inwardly. She just knew her father would be difficult.

  “Lieutenant McKay, Father. He is in the navy and staying here while his ship is being repaired.”

  “Where is his ship then? Is it here in Lyme?”

  “No, it isn’t—”

  “Shouldn’t he be with his ship then? And is Mr. Marly coming? At least then I would have someone sensible to talk to.”

  “Lieutenant McKay is sensible, father. He knows all about the navy and the war against Napoleon. You know how you like to read the newspapers and discuss the war news. You can talk about it all with Lieutenant McKay, who has actually been there. And his ship is in dry dock being repaired so he cannot stay aboard; he has to wait until he is called up again and can go to sea. The Admiralty has to issue orders.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You seem very well informed as to this fellow’s business, miss.”

  Clarissa felt herself blushing and wished she was not so prone to it. “Lieutenant McKay sometimes walks with me to school in the mornings,” she said airily.

  And we meet afterwards and walk again, or we meet on the Cobb, and next week he is going to take me for a ride in a hired carriage to see the fossils in the cliffs west along the coast. Not that she was going to tell her father any of those things. It occurred to her that once upon a time she told him everything; she felt it was her duty to do so, and because she told him everything he never allowed her to do anything. Well nothing exciting, anyway. Now that she told him as little as possible her life was so much more interesting.

  She determined to explain that to Alistair. It would make him laugh and she’d discovered that she liked to make him laugh. There was a sadness in Alistair, something in his past, and although she wondered what it was she was far too polite to ask.

  “Are you sure Mr. Marly isn’t coming?” her father grumbled. “He is a fine young man, you know, with a promising future. I had hoped . . .” He saw her surprise and shrugged. “Oh well, I suppose he would hardly marry you anyway.”

  Clarissa felt tears sting her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She waited as he left the parlour and then she took a deep breath. Did he mean to be so unpleasant to her, she wondered? Or was it just a habit after a lifetime—her lifetime—of speaking his thoughts without thinking, without considering her feelings at all? And the awful thing was that at one time she might have agreed with him; after all why would a man like Marly, so handsome, and with such a bright future ahead of him, want to marry a plain little nobody like her?

  But lately she had begun to believe she had more to offer than she’d realised, that she could be quite amusing and interesting in her own right. At least she was if Alistair was to be believed. Alistair made her feel amusing and interesting. She liked the version of herself she was with him, so much better, she realised suddenly, than the little mouse she was around Mr Marly.

  I won’t let Father spoil this, she told herself determinedly. Who knows how long Alistair will be here? And I want to enjoy every moment that he is, and I refuse to allow anyone to spoil it. I deserve a little bit of happiness and I am going to have it. Even if it is fleeting and doesn’t last it will be something to remember for the rest of my life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Alistair had not been to Clarissa’s home but it was much as he expected. A neat, well-kept, rather forbidding two storey cottage with little to show that Clarissa, with her blue eyes and sweet smile, lived here. It was her father’s domain and he was not looking forward to meeting Mr. Debenham.

  From the things Clarissa had said and what he had worked out for himself, reading between the lines, he did not think he was going to like him. And yet it was important that Mr. Debenham liked him if he was to continue his gentle friendship with his daughter. He did not ask himself why it was so important to him to keep mee
ting with Clarissa but he had no illusions that if Mr. Debenham determined he was not to see Clarissa again, then it would be so. She would not disobey him. He had the impression that all her life she had lived under his thumb and it was hardly likely she would wriggle out from under it now, was it?

  All Alistair knew was that it would be a pity if he could not walk with her again, or make her smile. He was making such good progress. Her smile was so much more natural now and her laughter had an unforced sound. She was happier altogether and he did not want her to slip back into her former gloomy ways.

  Of course when he went back to sea she would be alone again. Well, he corrected himself, she would be without him! But Alistair was determined to write to her; to find amusing little anecdotes to tell her and then when he wrote them he could imagine her smiling.

  Clarissa opened the door to him. She had already told him they did not have a maid, only a man who came to chop the wood and do some gardening. Clarissa did everything else. Alistair could imagine her waiting on her father hand and foot and being criticised constantly by him for doing nothing properly—not like her saintly mother.

  She looked anxious, a little pale, and he knew she’d been worrying about his visit. Impulsively he took her hand and squeezed it gently.

  “You didn’t have to do this you know.”

  “I did,” she said determinedly. “I wanted to.”

  “Well, let’s get it over with then.”

  Clarissa nodded and led the way into the house. The little parlour was rather shabby but he could see she had picked some flowers from the garden and arranged them in a tiny vase. The table was set with a lacy cloth and her best china. There were sandwiches, cake and some scones with jam and clotted cream, as well as a teapot steaming with tea.

  “Father,” she said with false cheer, “here is Lieutenant McKay.”

  The man’s face was deeply lined and they were not laugh lines, Alistair thought with a mental grimace. Clearly he had been unhappy for a long time, probably since his wife died. But surely any father would have made an effort to shake off his depression for his daughter’s sake? Not this man, Alistair decided. It was as he feared—he could not like him—but he made an effort to please.