Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

Indulgently, Mr Grayling waited, caging her hand on his arm as Mr Bramley went on, eyes bright and roving, voice fraught as if he were about to deliver the coup de grace, “And would you believe that the success of this ingenious plan revolved around telling this erstwhile suitor that the young lady in question had only six months to live! Can you believe it?”

Mr Bramley raised his voice to finish his story while Lord Quamby, scratching his scalp, appeared perplexed. However, Lord Quamby often looked perplexed. “But what purpose would that serve?”

“Why i

ndeed?” Thea nodded in agreement, disappointed by the ending before nearly losing her step as Mr Grayling, who had already started to move away from the table, swung round and dropped his arm and thus Thea’s means of support.”

Determined not to apportion blame, Thea regained her composure, murmuring as she navigated the chairs about the table, “Shall we go, Mr Grayling?”

When he didn’t answer she glanced up to find his expression dark with no trace of the affection she was expecting. Discomposed, she transferred her gaze to Antoinette where she observed with surprise a flare of what could only be considered horror while her cousin looked directly at Bertram who was running his finger round the inside of his stock and looking distinctly green around the gills.

“You ask why, Miss Brightwell?” Mr Bramley seemed the only one entirely at his ease as he looked directly at her. “Why would he do such a thing? Why would he tell such a lie?” he repeated, before answering his own questions. “Why, to encourage a suitor who’d never make an offer for a penniless girl. Well, not unless she had only a few months of good health left to her. And then, what do you suppose would happen? The interfering cousin would orchestrate a moment where the gallant gentleman would be caught in the act of making love to the lady, and voila, a marriage proposal is the poor trapped, would-be suitor’s only recourse. Except that of course the gentleman in question was never a suitor.” He spread his palms outward in a gesture of supplication. “Can you believe this story, and yet it is true as I live and breathe.”

Thea frowned. It was a silly story which Mr Bramley had surely made up. And if it were true, it was hardly a very edifying example of the kind of husband-hunting scheming that no doubt went on in more ambitious and calculated circles than those to which Thea belonged. Nevertheless, she was surprised at the tense silence that greeted Mr Bramley’s anecdote.

“Yes, clever indeed!” Mr Bramley chuckled. “The penniless orphan has snared the husband she set her sights on by ensuring she has witnesses to the impropriety orchestrated by her cunning cousin.”

With a flourish, Mr Bramley snapped both fingers, his grin almost parodying amusement.

And while Thea disliked the smug look on his face after such a silly story, she was more concerned by the change in Mr Grayling’s demeanour. The light had gone from his eye and the expression he levelled upon her for just a moment was very bleak as he gently disengaged her hand from his arm.

“Mr Grayling?” Uncertainty made her voice waver.

“Excuse me, Miss Brightwell.” He nodded abruptly to the assembled company. “I’m suddenly not feeling at all the thing.” And indeed, his complexion was distinctly pallid. Thea had the sudden panicked feeling she was responsible, though she had no idea how. Could it somehow be that as she’d been the one to experience all the pleasure he had suffered through being denied release? That was the word Antoinette had used, she seemed to remember.

“I’m so sorry to hear it, Mr Grayling,” she murmured, but he did not heed her. Certainly he did not acknowledge her as he rose from his bow then turned and navigated his way through the knots of guests towards the front of the house where the carriages were lined up.

She watched in an agony of indecision as to whether or not to follow him while he nodded to various personages on his journey towards his phaeton.

Self consciously Thea reseated herself at the table. All eyes seemed to be on her, as if they could read her thoughts. What a little innocent she must seem, wearing her heart on her sleeve. “I do hope Mr Grayling is not coming down with something.” Her voice sounded small and insubstantial to her own ears.

“No, no, I’m sure it’s just a touch of the sun on top of last night’s excesses.” Mr Bramley spoke robustly, his green eyes seeming to size her up. No, he was not a nice man, she decided.

Fanny reached across the table in a gesture of support and touched her fingertips. “I’m sure he’ll come round soon enough, you’ll see. He’ll be at the Assembly Rooms ready to dance a jig by tonight, I’m sure of it.”

“Yes, yes, quite sure of it.” Cousin Bertram cleared his throat and Thea thought suddenly that he looked even worse than Mr Grayling had.

***

Sylvester felt lightheaded as he climbed atop the box of his handsome equipage, picked up the reins and set off at a brisk trot. He and Miss Brightwell had covered quite a distance this morning, in more ways than one. He’d felt like the chosen, initiating the poor innocent young woman…dying young woman…into the realms of pleasure.

Dying?

“Dr Horne! A word, if I may!” He dropped the reins as he drew to a halt, leaning down and address the man. How fortuitous it was to see the doctor leaving the gathering, walking briskly down the elm-lined drive, his ginger hair bright in the morning sun as he scratched his thinning pate before replacing his hat. He glanced up at Sylvester in enquiry.

“Perhaps I could offer you a lift.”

The doctor’s eyes flared with surprise before he inclined his head, climbing with surprising nimbleness onto the box beside Sylvester.

Sylvester picked up the reins again and gave the horses their heads while his own was reeling with the new knowledge he’d recently acquired courtesy of Mr George Bramley. Well, here was the doctor himself, captive and about to explain matters to Sylvester’s satisfaction.

They galloped down the avenue and Sylvester allowed the doctor to wax lyrical on Sylvester’s prime horseflesh before Sylvester finally turned the conversation to the only matter of importance right now: Miss Brightwell’s health.

Health? Ha! He’d never seen a young woman in more robust health. He wondered if the doctor was in collusion. Well, now was the time he’d find out. He’d just have to rein in his anger sufficiently to get out the questions that needed to be asked.

“Indeed, I’m concerned that the young lady’s cousins seem to hold such grave fears for her health,” he said after he’d raised the matter. “When I left them just now they were in a flutter, no doubt afraid she’d catch a chill, which of course corroborates the fears of others—” he said this with a pointed look at the doctor— “that she’s in the grip of some fatal malady.”

Though Sylvester had to keep his eye on the road, he was also careful to gauge Dr Horne’s expression.