Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

The doctor suddenly appeared tongue-tied, as well he might. No doubt under the orders of Bertram Brightwell he’d confirmed in Sylvester’s mind the lie that Miss Brightwell was all but on her deathbed. No doubt Dr Horne would be wondering what Sylvester truly knew and was being cagey in his answers.

Sylvester tried to keep the acid out of his voice as he went on, “With the few months remaining to her, they are keen to ensure she enjoy all the entertainments available this summer before her declining health prevents her from even venturing outdoors.”

“Good Lord, is she so ill?”

The suspicion manifesting itself in Sylvester’s breast hardened to anger. “You certainly made clear your concerns to me, doctor?”

Dr Horne looked confused but another sharp turn had him clinging to the seat before he replied, querulously, “You say that her cousins endorse the poor woman’s precarious health?”

“They, too, were most insistent that Miss Brightwell had but months, Dr Horne.” Sylvester slanted him another glance, his suspicion hardening that the doctor was trying to detract blame from his own conduct. All of a sudden Dr Horne seemed very eager to put a different slant on matters. As if he hadn’t enthusiastically endorsed Miss Brightwell’s impending mortality! “What do you say to that, Dr Horne?”

“Eh, what?” Dr Horne seemed suddenly rather agitated; though of course Sylvester was driving very fast. “Oh, well, I think the young lady is bearing up very well, all things considered, wouldn’t you say?”

Bearing up very well. Sylvester nearly choked. Oh, she’d borne up remarkably well in their bower of love. No sign of the wilting virgin—though she was one, he was sure—or violet there. No doubt she’d meant to entice him to go all the way with her, whereupon she’d make some sign that would bring everyone running. Thus discovered, his honour would be called to account and he’d be forced there and then to make her a marriage offer.

“To my mind, there appears nothing wrong with her,” Sylvester said, challengingly as he narrowed his eyes at the doctor. His lip curled as he added under his breath but loud enough for the doctor to hear, “Though that is not what I was led to believe. In fact, I believe she may be for this world a lot longer than anyone could have hoped for.”

He brought himself up short. Had he really hoped she was only destined to live a few months, during which he could enjoy the pleasure of her, supposedly to further hers? Shocked at himself, he tried to justify such thoughts.

He’d nearly been tricked by the basest of lies. Of course he would be angry…though not to the extent of wishing harm to Miss Brightwell.

Perhaps Miss Brightwell had initially resisted being used to further the pecuniary ambitions of the Brightwells. Lady Quamby and Lady Fenton had been avaricious social climbers. Sylvester might not fully concur with George Bramley’s scathing assessment, but the facts spoke for themselves. Though it was true that a year later each young lady appeared to have retained the regard of her respective consort and to enjoy a situation of great mutual felicity, the fact was that they were avaricious and ambitious and they had used him.

Well, Sylvester couldn’t afford to marry a penniless chit, no matter how charming he found her.

And indeed, he’d never come across anyone as charming as Miss Thea Brightwell.

A surge of frustrated desire and pained fury at being the object of their collective trick found their outlet in a burst of energy as he managed the horses, and Dr Horne cried out, “Dear me, sir, they are frisky beasts, indeed!” as he once again grabbed the edge of his seat in the midst of another of Sylvester’s sharp but skilful turns. “You can put me down here, sir! Please!”

They were now in the town and the traffic brought Sylvester to a halt. He’d not nearly finished quizzing the doctor but he was satisfied

that Dr Horne’s agitation was sufficient proof that he was in on the subterfuge.

Obligingly Sylvester set him down, with little indication of the fury within his breast, then continued to where his beasts were stabled a short walk from his own townhouse. But his painful thoughts were far away, centred on images of the tumble he’d enjoyed earlier that afternoon with a sweet and willing young miss of good breeding who had not a penny to her name and who was willing to trade everything on the hope that she could trick him into matrimony.

Chapter 16

“THE moment George Bramley had left their gathering, Fanny rose and, extending her arm, suggested Antoinette might accompany her for a short stroll to the lake.

“A fine idea,” said Fenton, rising to take her hand, but she shook her head.

“No, Fenton, you must stay with Cousin Thea. I’m afraid I require only Antoinette and Bertram’s company. When I’m back you and I can take a short turn about the rose bushes.”

She gave him an ameliorating smile before he murmured, putting his head close to hers. “A Brightwell family meeting, eh? And what wickedness are you cooking up?” He chuckled, adding in an undertone, “I take it there are matters to arrange concerning Cousin Thea’s and your matchmaking efforts. Not all going to plan, either—not that I’m surprised. Mr Grayling is not as plump in the pocket as either Quamby or me. Nor, perhaps, as easy to manage.”

“You were not at all easy to manage, my Lord,” Fanny reminded him, archly. “And might I add that it was only when your pride was piqued after I secured a marriage offer from an earl—” she smiled meaningfully at Lord Quamby—“that you chose to act.”

“And I shall be forever reminded of the fact.” Fenton shook his head and sighed theatrically. “Ah, but how well you managed me, and how well you know me, dearest wife.” He turned back to Thea who was staring vacantly towards the Oriental Pavilion. She jerked into awareness as he addressed her, to find his expression both earnest and also sympathetic as he leant across the table. “I know you harbor hopes, Cousin Thea, but it would be wrong of me not to remind you that Miss Huntingdon is by far the strongest contender for Mr Grayling’s attentions—his honourable ones, that is. Indeed, it would be wrong of me not to tell you that I’ve heard rumours he intends to offer for her before she leaves Bath at the end of next week.”

This was so contrary to what Thea had been imagining was her likely future until barely seconds ago that she could not speak for the dismay and horror that swept through her.

“But he can’t!” Antoinette, who’d already risen in anticipation of their Brightwell turn about the gardens, gripped Bertram by the shoulder. “How could such a thing even be in the wind after—?” She stopped abruptly. “Come, Bertram! Fanny!” Her expression was full of steely resolve as she tightened her grip, causing her brother to protest mildly as he did her bidding.

Fenton rose and offered the siblings an ironic bow while Thea looked on, mute with confusion as her brother-in-law went on, “What a fearsome trio you make. Poor Mr Grayling ought to be quaking in his boots, and I wish you good luck, but the truth is that I don’t hold high hopes, though I’m sorry to say it, Cousin Thea.” He turned and shook his head. “I don’t know how much he has led you on to believe otherwise, but Mr Grayling has no conveniently rich and elderly relatives languishing in the wings from whom a sudden fortune will shower him with the freedom to choose a penniless wife.”

This earned him nothing more than a baleful glare from both Fanny and Antoinette while Thea gave a little sob.

She wanted to refute this with a proud exhortation of what had happened in the Oriental Pavilion but the experience seemed cheapened by Fenton’s suggestion that Mr Grayling was merely toying with her affections.