Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

Gad, she was lovely though, he thought as she flew towards him, he now walking to meet her, still uncertain how he could put the stoppers on what she might be about to ask him.

As she drew within a few feet of him, he saw that the wildness in her eyes was panic rather than ardour.

“Please, fetch the doctor, Mr Patmore. Quickly!” she cried, stumbling but righting herself before she drew level. “My aunt is having a seizure!”

Eliza hurried back into the cottage and, with shaking fingers, undid the fastening of Aunt Montrose’s gown and loosened her stays, which was difficult since the old woman was stronger than she looked and her flapping arms and strangled cries weren’t making Eliza’s job easier.

“Someone is fetching the doctor. He’ll see you’re soon well again,” Eliza soothed, unable to make out the slurred words her aunt was trying to articulate. She’d tried to lift her aunt out of her chair to get her to her bedchamber but the old woman was too heavy. That’s when Eliza had run outside in the hope of hailing a passerby, finding, to her surprise, that Mr Patmore was still within sight. He must have been loitering outside the cottage for some time before he’d started to wander off. Eliza certainly hoped he’d not formed the wrong idea. She shouldn’t have kissed him.

Maybe, though, he’d kissed her and she’d responded. Oh Lord, she thought with concern, whatever had happened, there was nothing to it, and she’d have to make that clear though, goodness, it had felt wonderful being in his arms for a few moments; as if her heart and soul had been transported to a different place.

And now he was still here and helping her. It wasn’t often she’d been able to call on help during the difficult times in her life, but Mr Patmore seemed not only a kind man but one who could be depended upon.

With a cloth she found in the scullery, Eliza wiped away the spittle dribbling down Aunt Montrose’s face as the old woman continued her efforts to speak.

“Hush now, Aunt, the doctor will be here soon. Don’t waste your strength.” She felt desperate and also annoyed at herself, the way she kept thinking of Mr Patmore when there were so many more matters of importance.

But her heart lurched as she heard him returning—and not only with hope on account of the gruff voice of the doctor who’d clearly conveyed them both in his carriage. No, it was more fearfully awkward than that since she couldn’t deny that Mr Patmore was the cause.

When that gentleman ducked beneath the lintel to step inside, his reassuring smile was just what Eliza needed, as was his briskness as he suggested he help Eliza put on the kettle while the doctor did what he could for her aunt.

She closed her eyes on a sigh of relief. Good! He wasn’t going to take advantage and allude to what had happened earlier then. He was perspicacious enough to understand how matters stood between them.

Setting a lamp upon the table, she said, feeling helpless, “I’m not sure what else I can do except offer food, Mr Patmore. “I’ve never seen my aunt suffer a day’s sickness. Perhaps she’ll be completely well after Dr Rutledge administers his medicine.”

Her voice faltered, and she dropped her eyes as Mr Patmore sent her a direct look, full of sympathy. He too

k a step forward and gently unclasped her hands from the handle of the kettle, setting it down upon the table. She’d forgotten she was still holding it.

“I hope so, too, Miss Montrose, but regardless, you have to eat. You’re shaking, so I suggest you sit down and tell me where to find things.” He opened the tea caddy, talking easily as he spooned out the precious leaves. “A warm cup now, eh, rather than after, and when the doctor has done what he can, I’ll help him take your aunt to her bedchamber. You’ll have to offer him refreshment for I found him as he was about to sit down to his evening meal.” He glanced about. “I see there is no maid in attendance, but she’s clearly made something.” He sniffed, appreciatively. “A pie, perhaps? Getting a meal onto the table will take your mind off what is beyond your control.”

Eliza was astonished by his capability. Most men of his station had never been in a scullery much less knew how to boil a kettle. They imagined food magically appeared whenever it was wanted. “There is gammon pie in the larder. Dora comes in from the village each day. She prepares the food and sets the table before she leaves. I’ll bring out everything.” Eliza rose with a smile, hesitating before she went to the larder. “Thank you, Mr Patmore. You’ve been very kind. Please, see if the doctor needs help with anything. I’ll do what I can here.”

The increasing warmth of his smile in response sent strange shivers through her. Quickly, she turned away.

While the men saw to Aunt Montrose, Eliza went through her evening ritual of bringing to the table the food that Dora had cooked. Her aunt was reputed to be wealthy—some said, fabulously so—but insisted on a simple existence and detested live-in servants. Eliza’s presence helped bridge the gap, for although Eliza didn’t do the hard work of scrubbing floors, polishing, washing pots and pans, and skinning rabbits, she did a great many chores that enabled her eccentric aunt to enjoy the reclusive life she preferred.

When Mr Patmore reappeared upon the threshold sometime later with the doctor, Eliza wasn’t sure if she was pleased or disappointed that Dr Rutledge had accepted the offer to join them for supper. Eliza had known the taciturn physician for as long as she’d been in the village. She’d found him a cold and formal man when he’d attended her through several mild maladies, and she wondered if he knew about, or at least suspected, Eliza’s sins, despite Aunt Montrose’s promise all those years ago to keep her secret.

But of course, she should be glad of his chaperonage, she thought with a spurt of uncomfortable moral righteousness. Eliza didn’t need any more slurs upon her name, and even her aunt’s illness wasn’t a reason to spend another moment alone with Mr Patmore, who made her heart do foolish things.

“Your aunt is resting peacefully, Miss Montrose, but you’ll need to check on her hourly,” Dr Rutledge said, as he prepared to cut into the thick pastry that encased the gammon pie on his plate. “I can’t say what will be the outcome. There have been occasions when the patient, after suffering a seizure like this, makes a complete recovery. However, it’s entirely possible she may be rendered incapable of movement and may live thus for years. Others linger and die after a few days.”

“My aunt is very strong,” Eliza said quickly, looking down at the congealed gravy on her plate, hoping her aunt’s case would be in the first category. The uncertainty of her marital status should her aunt expire was almost more than she could contemplate right now.

“So she is, but that means nothing in the case of a seizure like this I’m afraid, Miss Montrose.” The doctor’s voice was kinder now. Eliza saw that Mr Patmore too had ceased eating and that his expression was concerned. She felt a surge of gratitude and solidarity.

“Nevertheless…” the doctor cleared his throat before he picked up his knife and fork once more “…I suggest you contemplate tonight what might become of you if your aunt fails to make it through this difficult time.”

At his enquiring glance at Mr Patmore, Eliza said quickly, “I am to marry in ten days’ time. Quamby House will be my new home.”

“Good!” The doctor nodded, approvingly. “Being a practical man, might I then suggest you discuss with your groom the possibility of bringing forward your nuptials to mitigate the possibility of being placed in an awkward, unprotected situation.”

When he glanced meaningfully at Mr Patmore, Eliza burned with embarrassment and said quickly, “Mr Patmore isn’t the gentleman I’m to marry, Dr Rutledge. But I shall do as you say and discuss the matter with my intended.”

Her mind was reeling as she saw the doctor out a little later, after he’d again looked in on her aunt who was sleeping soundly.

It was only right that Mr Patmore leave at the same time, but when he asked, “Are you going to be all right on your own?” Eliza had the most tremendous desire that he sit with her in the dim drawing room just as a reassurance. Suddenly, the future was fraught with uncertainty.