Once she had recovered her strength, she decided, splashing her face with cold water, she would be much better able to control those ridiculous feelings she had been experiencing around Captain Fawley. And the uncharitable ones she had been harbouring towards Susannah.

She rang the bell for the maid, deciding that she would have her breakfast in bed for once, just like a lady of fashion. While the Hullworthys were paying the bills, she might as well make the best of it. This would very likely be the last time she would have the opportunity to experience such luxury.

After a hearty breakfast of ham and eggs, washed down with liberal amounts of coffee, she fell asleep again, not waking until the day was far spent.

This time, when she rang for her maid, she decided she must get up and get dressed.

‘I’ll put out the long-sleeved morning gown, the one with the green sash, shall I, miss?’ said Jones. ‘There are several gentlemen callers downstairs, and you will be wanting to look your best.’

‘Will I?’ she said bitterly, causing Jones to frown at her. It would hardly matter what she looked like, she reflected, raising her arms for Jones to drop the delicate muslin over her head. They would all be there for Susannah.

‘Perhaps I am not well enough to leave my room, after all,’ she muttered darkly, settling on her dressing table stool so that Jones could arrange her hair. She had thought she had recovered her equanimity, yet the minute she was out of bed, she was beginning to feel jealous of Susannah again.

‘Oh, no, miss, I think it would do you good to go and drink a cup of tea and eat a little something.’

There was that, she agreed, as her stomach rumbled loudly. After brushing her hair briskly, Jones took a length of green ribbon in her hand.

‘No sense in heating the curling tongs, if you are only going to be out of bed for an hour or so,’ Jones said, deftly securing her hair off her face with the ribbon. Deborah wondered if she had infected the woman with her own pessimism, or whether Jones had come to the conclusion that, since her charge would never match up to the pretty Miss Susannah, there was no point in making much effort.

Funnily enough, Deborah approved of the new style Jones had created out of sheer laziness. She had not tried to torture her hair into the fussy mass of curls that had only ever made her face look even more pinched. It simply cascaded down her back. She looked far more like herself than she had felt since she had come to town.

‘Let’s not bother with the tongs again, Jones,’ she said, making for the door. If the London bucks did not find her attractive enough to propose, she was no longer prepared to exhaust herself trying to get them to notice her.

As she descended the stairs to the first floor, she felt more cheerful than she had for some time. The result of all that extra sleep, or her decision to stop hankering after the unobtainable? She did not know. She only knew that she wanted a cup of tea. And some sandwiches. And maybe a few of the delicious little macaroons the cook always put out for afternoon callers.

She was not going to bother attempting to engage any of Susannah’s suitors in conversation. She was tired of trying to discover some speck of intelligence in the fops and fribbles who were crowding her drawing room lately. No wonder she had begun to think so highly of Captain Fawley. He stood out from the herd whose minds were full of the cut of their coat, or the latest way of tying a cravat. Nor was his conversation peppered with tales of his exploits on the hunting field.

Oh, Lord, she thought, setting her hand to the doorknob with a self-deprecating smile, here I go again!

Susannah saw her the moment she entered the drawing room, and leapt to her feet, squealing ‘Deborah!’ in a most unladylike display of pleasure. ‘I had begun to think you were going to sleep the clock round. Are you feeling better? Do come and sit by me.’ She gestured towards the sofa seat next to her, causing the swain sitting there to scowl. ‘Mr Jay will not mind making room for you.’ She turned her sweetly smiling face to his, and the scowl miraculously disappeared. ‘You can fetch Miss Gillies a plate of sandwiches from the sideboard, while I pour her a cup of tea.’

Deborah bit her lip to prevent herself from giggling. The last thing Mr Jay wanted to do was fetch and carry for a pasty-faced girl he would not have passed the time of day with, given the choice. But to win favour with Susannah, his pained look seemed to convey, he would walk across hot coals.

As she followed his progress across the room, her eyes snagged on the figure of Captain Fawley, lounging against the mantelpiece. He had been looking distinctly surly, but, on seeing her, the expression on his face softened somewhat.

In spite of her resolution not to allow herself to be affected by him again, her unruly heart began to thump as he picked his way through the throng to reach her side.

‘I am glad to have had the opportunity to see you before I take my leave, Miss Gillies,’ he said. ‘Miss Hullworthy gave me to understand that it was unlikely.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Deborah saw Susannah blush and look a little uncomfortable. She wondered if her friend had tried, at long last, to make her dislike of this particular one of her suitors somewhat clearer.

‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Yes, much, thank you,’ she replied.

‘I did peep in once or twice,’ said Susannah, handing her a cup of tea, ‘in case you were just resting and in want of company…’

‘Never tell me you stayed in all morning! I thought you meant to go to Hatchard’s, for some new books!’

‘Oh, well, I could not go out and leave you until I was sure you were not really ill. If your mother had needed to send for the doctor—’ Susannah broke off, chewing at her lower lip.

Deborah could not help noticing how the Captain’s eyes fixed intently on that little gesture, his own lips parting slightly.

‘Your concern for Miss Gillies’s well-being is most commendable,’ he said. ‘Not many young ladies would forgo their pleasure, to sit at home and tend an invalid.’

‘Nonsense!’ Susannah replied robustly. ‘I do not think of Deborah as an invalid. She is my dearest friend,’ she said, taking Deborah’s hand and squeezing it. ‘She has been kindness itself to me, when I needed her, and if she was not here with me in London now, I should consider myself most unfortunate.’

Deborah returned the squeeze, remembering some of the grim times the Hullworthys had endured when they had first moved into Lower Wakering. The local gentry had closed ranks against the common upstarts, excluding them from their select gatherings. It was presumptuous, they all agreed, of the Hullworthys to buy the bankrupt Lord Wakering’s estate, shocking of them to demolish the ramshackle mansion that had been his ancestral home and downright vulgar to replace it with a purpose-built colossus equipped with every luxury and new-fangled convenience. For some time, the only locals who had not been hostile had been the vicar and his family. And it was entirely due to their influence that the Hullworthys had gradually found a measure of acceptance.

Once more, Captain Fawley’s eyes glowed with admiration. He appeared to think that Susannah was just being gracious, thought Deborah with a spurt of annoyance, when she had only spoken the literal truth. If her mother had not agreed to sponsor Susannah, she would not have the entrée to the circles in which she was now moving. Especially not if either of her parents had come with her. They would have ruined Susannah’s chances, as Mrs Gillies had wasted no time in pointing out to them. Dearly though she loved them, there was no getting round the fact that Mr and Mrs Hullworthy were not at all genteel.

‘I hope…’ He checked himself, then went on, ‘That is, I shall be asking the dowager Lady Lensborough to call on you soon, to extend an invitation to Lord Lensborough’s engagement ball. I hope you will be able to attend. And that you will save me at least one dance.’