Free Deborah Goes to Dover by MC Beaton

Abigail and then her mother, who was only interested in getting to the earl’s home. Hannah demurred for a bit but was overcome by the twins’ protestations that they would be careful.
    ‘Now what was that all about?’ asked Deborah as she and her brother made their way home.
    ‘Don’t you see? It’ll be a prime lark.’ William’s eyes glowed in the light from the carriage lamps. ‘You dress in something plain and spinsterish and I will borrow a livery from one of our footmen. Lady Carsey’ll think we’re Miss Pym and Benjamin. We’ll give her such a fright.’
    ‘But the general opinion appears to be that Lady Carsey will not attack the coach in person,’ said Deborah doubtfully.
    ‘So?’ demanded William. ‘Two villains? Three? And with us both armed?’
    For the first time in her life Deborah began to feel weak and womanly. She had followed William over hill and style and hedge since she could toddle. She had ridden with him on the hunting field, shot with him and shared his every exploit. And yet something in her quailed at the thought of confronting two, possibly three, armed men. But she could not bring herself to say so, for here was the ideal opportunity to help William forget that odious Clarissa. Clarissa would never dream of having adventures. Clarissawould scream and faint. So she fought down her misgivings and joined in the plans William was making.
     
    The earl’s guests had all retired for the night, but not one of them was asleep. Captain Beltravers stretched out in his comfortable bed and looked idly round at the rich if antique furnishings of the room. The bed in which he lay was a Jacobean one, ornately carved. The fireplace had a huge stone overmantel and pillars of knights in armour. The sheets were of the finest linen and scented with lavender. A brisk fire was setting shadows dancing around the room and sparking golden light from the brass-bound jugs of water which stood on a toilet-table, also laden with the finest pomades and soaps. The great house was hushed. Only the rich could afford that pleasant and tranquil quiet.
    The captain reflected bitterly that he himself could have purchased a small but neat manor and could have lived in relative comfort if he had chosen to do so. His notoriously tight-fisted father had died shortly after the death of the captain’s wife and child. The captain had promptly sold his childhood home, where he had never been happy, and the lands that went with it. He found himself possessed of a small fortune, but with no will to do anything with it. The death of his wife and beloved child had left him a shell of a man. But he had cried at last over their passing and with those tears had come calm relief. He was deeply grateful to Abigail Conningham.
    He thought of her with affection. She should not be forced into a marriage with a man twice her age, a man she had never even met. She would make a good wife. He stared up at the embroidered canopy above his head, seeing not it, but a vision of a trim, shining house, and coming home in the evening and finding someone like Abigail waiting.
    He was sure he could easily persuade that wretched uncle of hers to forget his plans for her. But he was rushing too far ahead. He would need to get to know her better. No one could replace his Mary in his heart, but Abigail had been right – he was sick to death of a military life and ready to begin a new one.
    Abigail lay awake as well, wondering feverishly if Miss Pym had thought of anything. After all, it was so easy to say ‘I will help,’ and not do anything.
    She thought of the captain rather dismally. He would never think of her other than as a friend. He was still wrapped up in the memory of his wife. But this stay at the earl’s was a blessing. She would walk with him and talk with him and store up each precious memory to succour her in the bleak days and years that lay ahead. She shifted restlessly. The glory of Ashton Park could not make up for the prospect