Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

Thea hoped the glances she and her cousins sent in her aunt’s direction did not indicate their astonishment that the gentleman in question might ever have been in danger of responding to Aunt Minerva’s lures.

Bravely, Bertram persisted in his self-appointed role of peacemaker. “I’m sure the gentleman must have been distraught to have lost his opportunity with you, Aunt,” he murmured.

“Perhaps you were not direct enough,” suggested Fanny, and Thea had to stifle her snigger. Her cousin’s sense of irony was acute.

“Oh, Mr Granville had every opportunity. I smiled at him, I wore my most becoming gowns, I engaged him in diverting chatter…but he returned my interest only after I inherited my fortune.”

“Mr Granville asked you to marry him?” Fanny sounded intrigued while Thea glanced at her aunt’s goblet and wondered if the Madeira had gone to her relative’s head.

Aunt Minerva sniffed. “He did and I refused him,” she said self-righteously. “I wanted to give him the set-down he deserved.”

There was an awkward silence in the face of her clearly profound agitation. It was Fanny who bravely ventured, “And…what happened?”

Aunt Minerva cleared her throat. “Of course, he was supposed to repeat his offer the next day.”

“And he didn’t?” Thea glanced from her aunt to the silver-haired scion of sophistication who, she noticed, was sending very interested looks in their direction. He was handsome, she decided, if one liked older men; though not nearly as handsome as the young man who’d asked her to dance earlier.

Resigned to her fate, now, she tried to persuade herself that her lovely Mr Grayling was no doubt just as her aunt painted him: a designing rogue who’d lose interest the moment he learned she had not a penny to her name.

Chapter 4

SYLVESTER Grayling rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he listened to everything his new acquaintance, George Bramley, was telling him about the illustrious throng which pulsed around them.

He’d left Bath several days previously on the business of negotiating a fine piece of horseflesh but that had been expedited faster than he’d anticipated and now he was enjoying an evening at the Assembly Rooms, even though he’d promised to drive to London to see his friend, Starky Willis. But the possibility that he might see the charming chit he’d met on the road amidst all that baby palaver was more enticing.

He thought she’d melt into his arms after he’d honoured her with a dance offer but that gorgon of a relative had proved an effective gate-keeper. His pride was still smarting that an old woman in oyster velvet should have the power to make him feel like a schoolboy again.

Nevertheless, there was some pleasure in the shy smiles the young lady sent him each time he caught her eye from across the room. Sylvester was determined that, if for no other reason than he would not endure a repeat of the four years his own horrendous Great-Aunt Phillida had taken his rearing in hand, he would contrive to dance with Miss Brightwell.

Again he noticed the girl’s bright eyes on him. He flashed a smile at her, delighted by the coy blush that spread across her cheeks, before he turned back to George Bramley who chuckled. “Ah, behold, yet another bold and beautiful Brightwell. But take care. They’re all penniless. Nevertheless, they’re exceedingly clever at drawing you into their orbit before singeing your wings on their flames.” Bramley patted Sylvester on the back and turned him to face another cluster of chattering young ladies. “Miss Amelia Huntingdon is far easier prey. She is pretty, with a sizeable portion, and I’ve noticed the glances she’s been sending you. Engage her for this dance and see if I’m right.”

So Sylvester did and although it was pleasurable to hold her slender form against his during the daring waltz, his mind continued to be diverted by thoughts of Miss Brightwell’s curves moulding his own.

Meanwhile, Thea was following his movements like a love-crazed schoolroom chit, her dismay at seeing him in the arms of the pale and insipid Miss Huntingdon as dampening as being caught in sleet.

Bertram and Cousin Antoinette found her standing disconsolately at the depleted food table in the anteroom.

“Why so low, cuz?” Bertram pinched her cheek. “You’re free for the next five minutes at any rate. Aunt Minerva has captured an audience, and anyone to whom she can give an earful on the subject of Prinny’s shameful treatment of his rightful queen is unlikely to escape quickly or lightly.” The previous week the former Prince Regent, now George IV, had divided public opinion by refusing his consort, Queen Caroline of Brunswick’s admission to his Coronation at Westminster Abbey, a matter on which Aunt Minerva had decided views not very flattering to the new king.

Thea tried to take comfort from Bertram’s cousinly bolstering but it was hard to feel anything but hopeless despair at a lot she was sure held no pleasure for her ever again. Thanks to the generosity of Cousin Fanny, who was her size, she had clothes to wear that Aunt Minerva would never have paid for, but it was heart-breaking to know that while she might have access to public events while looking like a lady, every potential suitor was going to be fobbed off by Aunt Minerva.

“I’m doomed to be an old maid,” she replied, knowing her lip trembled and that she was being overly dramatic, for there were others far worse off than she. “I shall know no joy, and my happiness will be confined to the amusements I can provide myself.”

“That sounds no fun at all,” Antoinette sympathised. “I’d hate to be responsible for my own pleasure.” She gave a wicked smile. “If it’s as dire as all that, I might have to give you a lesson in what I think you know nothing about. Ah, speak of the devil, here is your handsome Mr Grayling. Good evening sir, I believe you have already met my cousin, Miss Thea Brightwell.”

Mr Grayling bowed low over her hand, and when he rose, Thea could barely draw in a breath, she was so thrilled by the flattery and intensity in her erstwhile admirer’s lingering gaze.

“An absolute pleasure, Miss Brightwell,” he murmured, and Thea had barely time to choke out a reply before her aunt’s stentorian demands to know where her niece was echoed throughout the room.

Thea had sworn to remain sentinel at the gilt sofa her aunt had abandoned but she was torn. This might be her only chance to speak to Mr Grayling but if she crossed her aunt so publicly, tonight might also be her only evening of entertainment during the entire time she was a guest of her cousin.

She hesitated, her gaze riveted on the handsome man before her. He had the most exquisite, noble nose, she thought. And his lips… oh, but how she longed to tenderly contour them with her fingers. Warmth surged through her and she blinked rapidly, shocked. No, not her fingers, her lips. Unconsciously, she ran the tip of her tongue over them, as if priming them, before realizing with embarrassment how transparent she was. How wicked to even entertain thoughts like that!

“Thea Brightwell!”

With weary acquiescence Thea inclined her head. “A pleasure to meet you, too, Mr Grayling.” It would be counter-productive to push for aunt too far. She’d pay for her rebellion with interest. She had to obey. “Pray excuse me, sir.”

Sylvester stared after her in genuine bemusement and, to avoid looking like a fool, half-heartedly speared a slice of nearly transparent ham from the sad looking display before him and deposited it on his plate. This was not the way he’d expected matters to proceed.