An Inescapable Match. Sylvia Andrew

wanton behaviour would shock him to the core. What was worse, he would be embarrassed and uncomfortable, too. She knew how he thought of her, and it was not as a man thinks of a possible wife. ‘Deborah would never be in the slightest danger from me!’ he had said to Aunt Elizabeth, laughing at the very idea. It had hurt, but it had not surprised her.

      ‘Good night, and thank you once again.’ She turned and went into the house.

      Hugo slowly walked back to the Hall. He was puzzled. The impulse to kiss Deborah Staunton had taken him by surprise, but he supposed it had been a natural one. She had looked so forlorn, and he had frequently comforted her in the past. But what astonished him was that once she was in his arms the simple desire to comfort had changed into something much more dangerous. The feel of her fragile bones beneath his hands, the look of helplessness in those dark, indigo eyes, had been unexpectedly seductive. He had been within a hair’s breadth of kissing her in real earnest. Kissing little, penniless, hopelessly disorganised Deborah Staunton! And then she had, quite understandably, stiffened and pulled away and the moment had passed… He shook his head. Midsummer madness! It would not be repeated.

      He firmly dismissed the incident and turned to contemplating his own future. Now that he was based more or less permanently in Northamptonshire, was he going to find the life of a country gentleman intolerably dull? For the last ten years he had lived in the fashionable world, and though he had never outrun his budget he had managed to enjoy most of the delights London had to offer. He was aware that he was known in society as a man of taste and judgement. He had always been a keen sportsman, and through practice and, yes, luck, he had achieved success in most of the activities admired by his London acquaintances. They had been good years…

      But he had promised his parents he would settle down when he reached thirty, and that time had now come. He had returned to Abbot Quincey with the fixed intention of marrying, and it seemed to him that either of his twin cousins would make a very suitable wife. The Percevals were a good sound stock—there could be no objection to marriage between cousins. The problem would be which one to choose! He was fond of them both, and they both seemed to like him. Yes, he could do a lot worse. Life with either one of them would be very pleasant…

      Might it be dull, perhaps? Possibly, but he would be kept fully occupied with the responsibilities to his family and to the estate he would one day inherit. He and Frederica—or Edwina—would have a sound relationship based on friendship, love for their children and their separate duties. That would be enough. Quite enough. Indeed, excessive feeling of any kind was in rather poor taste—he had usually managed to avoid it. Yes—marriage to someone like Edwina—or Frederica—would suit him very well. Either of them would make an excellent future Lady Perceval. Unlike poor Deborah Staunton… She would lead a man a pretty dance indeed! He would never know what she might do next!