Miss Debenham's Secret (The Husband Hunters Club 5.50)

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.