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He opened his eyes at that and turned his head on the pillows. ‘What, never? You really are an extraordinary young lady, Miss Carlton.’
‘Oh, no,’ Hebe corrected. ‘A very ordinary one.’ But his eyes were closed, the sweep of dark lashes feathering the skin. Alex Beresford was asleep.
Chapter Two
Hebe’s prediction of the amount of time she and Major Beresford would be left alone together proved accurate. She had noticed the hall clock standing at five past the hour as they passed it: when it chimed the half-hour she climbed carefully out of her hammock, filled up the major’s glass with lemonade and shook out his uniform jacket.
It seemed a pity to wake him. He had fallen at once into a deep, still sleep. His long body lay with the utter relaxation she had noticed in cats, only the slight movement of his lids suggested that perhaps he was dreaming. Hebe had found him very relaxing to watch as she swung gently to and fro in her hammock, thinking of nothing very much except how pleasant it was in the warm shade with the sound of water and the scent of flowers.
Hebe stretched out a tentative hand, hesitating about how to wake the Major. A lock of black hair had fallen across his forehead and her fingers hovered, almost stroked it back, then were snatched away. What was she thinking of? She touched his shoulder, only lightly, but instantly he was awake, his body tensed under her flattened fingers.
Meeting the Major’s eyes, she realised that he truly was totally and immediately awake. Despite his strange surroundings he knew where he was without having to think about it, swinging his legs down and getting to his feet in one swift movement. Hebe handed him his jacket and he shrugged it on as the sound of voices from the hall reached them.
‘Here, take this.’ Hebe thrust the glass of lemonade into his hand, then propelled him firmly along one of the paths between the troughs of plants before taking her seat demurely on the stool. She picked up the piece of embroidery which she had carried out there that morning and began to ply her needle.
‘Hebe, dearest!’ Mrs Carlton emerged into the garden with just the slightest expression of anxiety on her pretty face. She had not realised how the time had sped by as she had sat chatting to the Commodore in the dining room. Had she perhaps been unwise to leave Hebe alone with a total stranger? It had seemed such a good idea on the spur of the moment… Her face relaxed at the sight of her stepdaughter, perfectly composed and, by some miracle, carrying on a charming, ladylike activity.
‘Are you feeling better, Hebe dearest?’ she cooed, fluttering over and allowing the Commodore a delightful picture of pretty maternal attention. ‘Where is the Major?’
‘Here, ma’am,’ Major Beresford rounded the corner, ducking under a bamboo. ‘I have been admiring your lovely garden: what a peaceful haven. Might I guess that yours is the designing hand here?’
Behind his back Hebe raised her eyebrows. Unless flattery was second nature to him, Alex Beresford certainly appeared to have recovered from any fatigue he had been suffering. She waited in silent amusement to hear whether Mrs Carlton was going to accept his praise for the garden, which was already beautifully laid out and planted when they took the house.
Her stepmother dodged the question with a pretty laugh. ‘You are flattering me, Major! Now, tell me: do you stay long on the island?’
‘Possibly two or three weeks, ma’am. I am bound for Gibraltar and must wait for a convenient ship.’
‘So you are not with your regiment then?’ Sara Carlton persisted.
‘No, ma’am. I have been in the Ionian islands, delivering dispatches.’
Mrs Carlton was too busy calculating whether two or three weeks would allow her enough time to squeeze in at least one supper party and a small soirée to notice that it was most unusual for an army officer to be wandering around the Mediterranean detached from his regiment and delivering dispatches, a task normally fulfilled by the smaller vessels from the fleet. The fact that he was by himself she merely noted as being helpful: how much more likely it was that he would rely on others to entertain him if he was separated from his brother officers.
Hebe, however, did mark the evasion, as, she could tell from the Commodore’s expressionless face, did he. Then she realised he must know exactly what Alex Beresford was about. Hebe would never speculate aloud about such matters, but her brain was busy with the puzzle. A detached officer, newly arrived from the Ionian islands and bone weary—the most likely explanation was that the Major was an intelligence officer. She regarded him with even more interest: what a fascinating role…
‘I must thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,’ the major was saying, bowing over Sara Carlton’s hand. ‘Miss Carlton.’ Hebe put down her embroidery and came to shake hands. ‘I do hope you will feel much more yourself soon.’
‘I feel better already; doubtless it was a little too much sun earlier,’ she replied composedly. ‘Thank you for your company just now.’
Major Beresford regarded her quizzically, then smiled. ‘No, thank you, Miss Carlton.’
Hebe felt warm inside. When he smiled like that, directly into her eyes, she could see neither the monk nor the hunting falcon, simply
a very attractive man who appeared to enjoy her company. And suddenly she felt a deep concern that he should continue to feel like that about her.
The front door had no sooner closed behind the two officers before Sara Carlton turned a look of glowing approval on her stepdaughter. ‘My dear Hebe! I had not thought you could be so adroit in attaching the Major. Why, I declare the man is already half in love with you.’
Hebe flushed. ‘I beg you will not talk so nonsensically, Mama. Major Beresford was merely acting as any gentleman would under the circumstances, and I most certainly was not trying to attach him in any way. No doubt he has already put out of his mind a rather ordinary young lady whom he was obliged to assist for a few minutes. Why should such a man pay me any attention?’
This realistic appraisal was certainly enough to dampen Hebe’s own spirits, even as she spoke the words, but Mrs Carlton merely smiled indulgently and pushed her towards the stairs. ‘Have more confidence in yourself, Hebe. You are unused to having a success with gentlemen—largely as a result of your own attitude, I might say—but we have an excellent beginning to build upon here. Now, where is Maria?’ She continued to urge Hebe up the stairs. ‘We must review your wardrobe this minute while I consider the best way to approach this. Bother the girl—Maria!’
Hebe perched on the edge of her bed, allowing the bustle created by Mrs Carlton and Maria turning out every gown she possessed to pass over her head. Mama had obviously decided, on the flimsiest of evidence, that Major Beresford was not only an eligible suitor—which he most certainly was—but was inclined by some miracle to favour her stepdaughter.
Hebe, on the other hand, had a very realistic understanding of what sort of young lady was likely to attract extremely handsome, aristocratic, military officers. She thought that he might have been amused by her unconventional behaviour and grateful for the opportunity she had afforded him to rest, but could not believe that he would harbour any of the feelings that Mrs Carlton was intent on attributing to him. Which was a pity, but she was not going to delude herself. Men, in her experience, were quite likely to pour out their troubles of the heart to her as a good friend, but she had no expectation that she was going to cause anyone’s heart to ache in her own right.
‘Yes, of course, Mama,’ she said, suddenly aware that Mrs Carlton had been speaking to her for several minutes. Agreement was usually the wisest course.
‘Hebe, really! I declare you have not been listening to a word I have said.’ However, this familiar scold did not continue as usual. ‘It is a little early to be indulging in too many fond daydreams, my dear. The time to do that is when the gentleman concerned has been securely attached. No, this is the moment in our campaign for planning, then action. You will need three new gowns…’
