Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

Only when she followed the direction of the woman’s gaze did she notice another veiled woman, older and stouter, on the other side of the road. This female’s large hands were placed uncompromisingly on her Pomona green upholstered hips, the bosom of her unfashionable velvet pelisse thrust forward. Thea thought she seemed undecided as to whether to approach from the copse of trees that partly concealed her but when it was clear she’d been observed, she marched across the dusty, rutted road and gripped the elbow of what was apparently her shocked and frightened charge.

“Leave be, Miss Eliza, for it’s too late to change your mind and you’ve only yersel’ to blame for all the trouble you’ve got yerself into.”

The young woman pulled away, her face contorted with distress. “I can’t leave him yet! He fell from my arms, did you not see? We must consult Dr Raine. Only he can satisfy me that Gideon was not injured.”

“Weren’t my fault,” John the coachman declared in the midst of all this, his serge greatcoat flapping around his legs in the stiff breeze. He looked as frightened as the girl as he pointed a stubby, accusing finger in her direction. “Ran right in front of me, she did, heading for them trees over there, though what she’d find other than footpads, I don’t know.”

The young woman seemed intent on hiding her identity, holding her shawl up to her face, covering all but her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she whispered, turning her back on the stout woman who’d made a move to wrest the child away from her. “I won’t give him away.”

“Are you ladies in distress?”

Thea hadn’t been aware of the approaching high-perch phaeton coming from the direction of the town that was their destination. Startled, she looked up at the driver who addressed them from his lofty perch, just as her aunt issued from the carriage and stomped around the front to demand what was going on.

Thea ignored her. If the equipage didn’t turn heads, the young man who spoke, peering down at them as he held the reins loosely in one hand, certainly did.

Thea’s skin felt suddenly warm and her throat constricted. For a moment she could only stare. The dying rays illuminated a face that was as aesthetically pleasing as it was supremely confident. Lightly curling brown hair was brushed back from a high forehead while a fashionable line of sideburns highlighted sharp cheekbones. The shape of his lips, slightly quirked, was decidedly arresting, Thea thought, as his light grey eyes regarded Thea with similar interest.

“I… I’m not sure.” It was rare for Thea to not know what to say. She was generally obedient to her aunt but she also knew her own mind. However, it was so extremely rare to come face-to-face with that almost mythical species, a handsome young man, that she was robbed of speech. Having been to no more than a couple of balls at the local Assembly Rooms near the hamlet where she lodged with her aunt, Thea was used only to being amidst neighbours where the mostly elderly gentlemen were obliged to ask her to dance in order to complete a set. It was quite another matter to address a gentleman—indeed, the most handsome one she’d ever set eyes on—that she was at a complete loss, though she made a valiant attempt to concentrate on the matter at hand.

“This young woman…” Thea glanced to her left and her hand flew to her mouth as she appealed to John. “Where did she go? Panicked, she contemplated the possibility the darling baby might be injured. “Why, she was afraid her child had suffered harm but now they’ve both gone!” Of the older woman there was also no sign.

John Coachman, still standing at Thea’s left, seemed more concerned with defending his driving than worrying about the young woman’s disappearance. He wrapped his muffler more tightly around his neck as he adopted a look of moral rectitude. “Ran right in front of me, she did,” he repeated, “dropping ’er baby on the ground after she’d ‘ad it out wiv that gypsy lass.” He stabbed his finger in the direction of the hill opposite the woods, which rose up, overlooking the town.

When Thea squinted into the sun, following the direction of John’s stubby finger, she saw a ragged figure on the summit of the hill. Tall and slender and dressed all in black, the young woman appeared to be focused on the gathering on the road below her. A stiff breeze gusted through the trees and the shawl that covered her head fell away, revealing a blaze of copper hair haloed in the rays of the sun just before it dipped below the horizon. The woman turned quickly and the magnificent hair was shrouded again in her black shawl as she slunk into the trees.

“Saw the pair of ’em fightin’ over who’d put their poor wee mite in the basket when there’s only room for one,” John muttered. “Sinners.” He sucked on his gums and shook his grizzled head. “Sinners, all of ’em.”

“Get back in that carriage, Thea!” Aunt Minerva’s command cut the air like a whip as she turned with a curt nod at the gentleman who was yet to introduce himself, and headed back towards the dark confines of her equipage, repeating her demand over her shoulder for Thea to join her.

“Sinners?” Thea repeated, not understanding John until, without stopping to think, she put her hands to her cheeks as she blurted out, “Of course! The new foundling home’s just opened and it has a bell to alert the authorities when a baby is placed in the basket.” Immediately the words were out, she realised this was not a subject to mention in company with a handsome young man, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. She blushed and muttered, “Well, that’s what Mary told me this morning, only she didn’t say why anyone would want to put a baby into a basket in the woods when surely it can get all the fresh air it needs in its mother’s arms.”

“Perhaps some babies just need more fresh air than others,” suggested the young man with a smile. Tossing aside the reigns, he leapt to the ground.

Thea, with strongly beating heart, was admiring his magnificence as he rose from a beautifully executed bow before being taken by surprise as she found her hand suddenly in possession of his.

“Mr Sylvester Grayling, at your service,” he murmured, his gaze travelling the length of Thea with patent admiration before adding the information that he, too, had witnessed the tussle over whose child would occupy the basket hanging from the post as he’d crested the hill. “I’d have placed bets on the gypsy woman in black. She was infinitely keener to be rid of her burden than the soft, blonde lass who turned tail and ran with her babe, right in front of your carriage.”

Thea bit her lip. “I think I’m going to cry,” she whispered. “How terribly sad to have to give up one’s child.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” the young man agreed with heavy irony. “Ah well, we all have difficult choices if we’re to make the best of the few short years we’re given, eh?” He grinned again before executing another flourishing bow. “And now I must leave, for it’s late and your companion is understandably anxious to get into town before the sun is well and truly set. Forgive me for casting a pall over the lively but far too short occasion of making of our mutual acquaintance. Nevertheless, it has been diverting to meet under such unusual circumstances.” He continued to eye Thea appreciatively before adding with a sigh, “Alas, I must continue my journey in the opposite direction though might I be permitted to know your name, Miss…?” He looked questioningly at Thea.

“Miss Brightwell.”

Unconsciously she licked her lips, her embarrassment compounded when her aunt bellowed from not three feet away, “Get inside the carriage this minute, Thea, and stop conversing like a common trollop in the street!”

Thea sent the young man an apologetic glance as she gathered her dark travelling pelisse about her and called back, “I was just thanking Mr Grayling for stopping to see if we required his assistance, Aunt Minerva.”

“The only assistance required by me is from a girl with her head glued on who knows her place. Now get back inside before it’s suddenly midnight and we’re overrun by highwaymen.”

“No highwaymen these days, let me assure you, Madam.” Mr Grayling spoke bolsteringly for Aunt Minerva’s benefit, his smile and tone causing a most odd and unprecedented mix of feelings surging through Thea. Her brothers had died young and she had only one male cousin. Conversing with anyone of the opposite sex, much less remotely eligible as Mr Grayling assuredly was, judging by his interest, was a breathtaking experience.

“I take it you’re headed for Bath?” he added with a nod in the direction they were travelling.

Thea tried to keep her voice steady beneath his steady gaze and hoped she didn’t blurt out something completely inappropriate—like what beautiful grey eyes he had. Instead she managed, “My cousin, Lady Quamby, has invite

d us to lodge with her for several weeks while we take the waters and…and enjoy something of the novelties Bath has to offer.”

“Lady Quamby? Indeed?”