Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

She nodded. He could hardly stay. And there would be no reason for him to remain in the village, either. No, that would be decidedly too dangerous.

So she said, with a wave and a half smile as she turned, “I’m perfectly all right here on my own, and you need to get Devil’s Run back to Mr Bramley before my future bridegroom starts champing at the bit. He’s not a man who likes to be kept waiting, and I don’t want to start my marriage on the wrong foot.”

Eliza hardly slept. Each hour, she went in to check on her aunt who continued to sleep soundly, though one side of her face seemed to have sagged even more, and her mouth drooled a steady run of spittle which had collected on the floor beside her bed.

Eliza fetched a cloth.

When dawn broke, she felt as haggard as her aunt looked in the morning light. Eliza reached over to pull the covers up to the old woman’s chin before turning to stare out of the window.

So that was it. Without warning, Aunt Montrose had gone from a harping termagant who looked like she might have years of spite to unleash upon her niece, to an invalid whose life hung in the balance.

And so did Eliza’s. Within days, Eliza might be penniless. The old woman had threatened just that only the night before. Oh, she’d said it so many times Eliza usually remained unaffected, but the memory of the words over an afternoon cup of tea returned to Eliza with terrifying portent. “You care nothing for me, unlike Susana, who visits me with sweet words and comfits to please an old woman.” She’d leaned forward and said with her usual peevishness, “But then, who knows what I might choose to do once I know the end is nearly nigh. Mr Cuthbert (who was her solicitor) has my will, and don’t you know, but that I’ve changed it three times in the seven years since you’ve lived with me. All I can say, Eliza, is that you’d do well to continue to humour your old aunt. Yes, indeed.”

Fortunately, she’d not harped on about the cousin who always looked so pristine and fresh, a circumstance that was hardly surprising since Susana lived a life of comfort, and only visited her moneyed relative when it seemed timely, no doubt, to remind her of her competing claim with Eliza.

Eliza cast her gaze around the room. For seven years, she’d plumped the pillow in her aunt’s favourite chair before helping the old lady into her seat. Daily, she’d read to her, sewed in silence with her, jumped up to assist her when the whim for something just out of reach took the able-bodied woman.

Eliza knew she was paying for her sins. Aunt Montrose would never forgive her, just as Miss Montrose’s brother—Eliza’s father—never had. And any softness Eliza’s mother felt towards her remaining child had disappeared the night her husband died within hours of Eliza giving birth to the bastard who was quickly spirited away.

Mrs Montrose had not factored in her daughter’s talent for cunning, or Eliza’s determination to be a mother. Eliza had snatched Gideon from the foundling home one night and, for three months, had survived on charity, sleeping in barns, even working as a farmhand so that she could keep Gideon, her precious, blue-eyed, six-fingered cherub.

Then she’d been found by a man sent by her father. Not long afterwards her child had,

once again, been torn from her arms, and Eliza had been sent to live with her aunt.

The joyful song of a nightingale made her smile suddenly. She should concentrate on shoring up her future, regardless of how gravely ill her aunt was. Yes, her impending liberation was terrifying. Mr Bramley wouldn’t marry her if her aunt left her penniless.

But Eliza had cunning and determination. She’d demonstrated that. She’d find a way to be near Jack.

She took a seat at her aunt’s side and gently stroked her hand. It was as frail as a bird’s; the skin thin and papery. Not at all did she resemble the sharp, brusque, controlling woman who’d ruled Eliza’s life.

Yet even in this state, she ruled it as much as she ever had.

She took a deep breath, hoping her aunt could hear her as she whispered, “Please understand, Aunt, that I don’t want a large bequest. And whatever I wish for, it’s not for myself.” She had no idea what her aunt was worth or what Mr Bramley’s expectations were. She only hoped there was some way to navigate between the two to Mr Bramley’s satisfaction. “No, it’s not for myself, but for an innocent child. My child, Aunt. Your nephew, and your late brother’s grandson. Surely a child born out of wedlock is not born in sin if its parents felt a truly great love for one another. Surely it’s only the parents’ sin rather than the child’s burden to carry through life. Your fortune was inherited from my father, whose disgust at my shame was so great that he changed his will to favour you, and he left me nothing. Would you do the same? Is that not to condemn me twice?”

She rose and again went to the window where she saw a figure on horseback silhouetted against the morning sun. Shocked, she realised it was Mr Patmore, and that he was leading another horse on a long lead—Devil’s Run. She wasn’t sure who she was more glad to see, though she knew her pleasure was wrong on both counts. Devil’s Run should at this moment be on his way back to Mr Bramley if she weren’t to incur his displeasure…which she certainly did not want to do at this delicate juncture. And as for Mr Patmore, she’d expected she’d not see him again after last night. She’d steeled herself not to want to see him, and yet, here he was, and her heart was skittering in her chest like it belonged to a foolish schoolroom girl.

“Good morning, Mr Patmore,” she greeted him, careful to show nothing of what she was feeling as she opened the door while he dismounted at the gate and tethered the two horses.

“Good morning, Miss Montrose.” He grinned, as if he were exceedingly pleased with himself for having brought her such a gift.

“And what will Mr Bramley say when he’s without his horse another day? He’ll assume I displayed intransigence.” She couldn’t let him see how much she liked seeing him again.

“I’ll be entirely truthful, Miss Montrose,” he responded, doffing his hat with a gallant bow before issuing up the path. “I’ll say you were in such desperate spirits at the precarious health of your aunt, that I took it upon myself to delay my return with Devil’s Run so you should enjoy one more breathtaking gallop.” His expression became grave. “You know I couldn’t leave you after what’s happened. I saw Dr Rutledge this morning, and he said the most useful I could be was to help take your mind off your cares, and off any other assistance you can think of.”

“My aunt hasn’t woken, but I can’t leave her.”

“Of course you can. Your servant is five minutes away on the road, and she tells me the doctor is following. I’ve said she must pass on the message to the doctor—and your aunt, should she wake—that you’ll be gone but an hour, but that you’ll be back to resume your place at your aunt’s bedside shortly. Now, go and change. I’ll wait here.”

“I can’t leave for an hour! What reason did you give her?”

“None. Why should you have to account to your servant? Now, fetch your bonnet or modish feathered riding hat, or whatever it is you wear to deport yourself on horseback and come with me.”

She couldn’t resist, though she knew she should. The desire to be out and about on horseback, and the desire to spend some time with Mr Patmore, alone, was too irresistible.

“You are too smooth, Mr Patmore,” she said, allowing the tiniest smile as she took his arm. “A dutiful niece should offer at least another five minutes’ worth of objections, but then if Dora caught up, I’d let her disapproval and then Dr Rutledge’s dire pronouncements weigh too heavily upon me, and of course I’d not go at all, so thank you.”

It was worth it. The crisp air that slapped against her body, and tore her hair back from her face once she was mounted and galloping over the paddocks, invigorated her. She had a new appreciation of the beauty of the early-morning countryside and a strengthened hope for her future, and when she finally dismounted at the gate to her aunt’s cottage only twenty minutes later, she couldn’t help laughing with pure pleasure.