Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

It didn’t matter that she’d be considered rude, that everyone would assume she was upset because she’d been overlooked by her aunt. Well, it was true, wasn’t it? And why should it be any surprise or indeed make her any less the person she was when she was suddenly destitute? She owned a house, yes, but unless she sold it and moved into something far more humble, she had not a feather to fly with. And she could just imagine her meddling Aunt Catherine invoking the Rules of the Montroses to ensure that a ‘flighty’ twenty-five-year-old miss did not run her own life.

Her black satin shoes were hardly made for walking, but she took the muddy track through the fields; climbing the stiles and splashing into puddles on the other side so that her newly dyed mourning gown was damp and filthy by the time she reached the paddock where Devil’s Run cantered over to greet her.

She twined her hands about his neck and pressed her cheek to his muzzle when he drew close. His warmth and companionship were balm to her lonely soul as she wept into his shaggy coat.

“You’re so far from a fiend or a champion I don’t know what to make of you, but then what does anyone make of me?” she wondered aloud. “And what does it matter? I am destitute. A charity case. Who’ll want me now?”

“I still want you, Miss Montrose.”

She turned into Mr Patmore’s strong, firm chest, pressing her hands against his shoulders only for a second before she yielded to his embrace. It was gentle and unpressured. A simple exchange of comfort, and she rested her cheek upon his breastbone for a moment and breathed in the wonderful, familiar scent of him as if it might sustain her forever.

“I suppose everyone thinks I’m most ungrateful. I didn’t mean to be rude, running away like that.”

“Lady Fenton has put all to rights, diplomat that she is. There was no mention of your exchange with Miss Susana.”

“So you know of that, then?”

“Miss Susana was gloating. You had every reason to turn down her offer of so-called charity. She’s a little fiend, I think, dressed up as a china doll.”

Eliza was enjoying the feel of rough wool beneath her cheek and the familiar lines and angles of his body. It brought back last night together.

Though everything in her life was so uncertain, the way he was looking at her almost gave her the courage to blurt out the truth, right there and then. She took a deep breath, but he spoke first, “Your cousin seems to know how to turn a situation to her advantage.”

She gripped his lapels and squeezed shut her eyes. She didn’t want to look at him or anything else. It was as much as she could wish for, feeling for a moment a sympathetic embrace. “I should have known Aunt Montrose would favour her above me. I just didn’t expect she’d be so discriminating in apportioning her largesse. She must truly have disliked me to have ensured I didn’t rise above being a pauper, yet elevating Susana so greatly.”

“Elevating her into the sights of a toady like Mr Bramley. I hope my words won’t occasion you too much pain. I don’t think so, for I know you don’t love the gentleman.”

Eliza sighed as she stepped out of his embrace. “He offered me what I wanted,” she said softly.

“And I do not?”

She jerked her head back to look at him. “What are you saying, Mr Patmore?”

He put his head on one side and smiled as she stepped back. “I think you know very well. I’ve tried to ask you a question which you don’t seem to want me to ask.”

Dusk was gathering, and the path home was growing dim. She shouldn’t be seen alone with a gentleman she wasn’t going to marry.

But if she were going to marry him? She nibbled at her lower lip. Ultimately, she’d been nothing in Aunt Montrose’s eyes. Perhaps that’s what the general opinion was. She was less than nothing. She’d been made to feel it for seven long years. Jack would be conscious of such a feeling yet Eliza had the power to change that.

He leaned back against the fence, watching her closely, Devil’s Run beside him. Two fine creatures, she thought unexpectedly, remembering with stirring consciousness the feel of his body against hers.

Cheeks flaming, she turned her head away. How grand if she could say yes, and then she’d have two male creatures in her life she admired on their merits. But not the one she wanted most. Not her son, for how could she now acknowledge the truth about Jack after all that had been said this afternoon?

“I…I will let you ask it,” she floundered. She put her hands to her face. “Forgive me, Mr Patmore; my wits are disordered. I feel unhappy and, yes, cheated and…unloved. By my aunt, I mean. I do wish to let you speak, but not now. I need to be in a better position to receive you. It is very hard to accept that I’ve been passed over. I know I should be grateful I’ve been given the cottage, but with no maintenance, I have nothing. Please, don’t say what you came here to say. Not when I feel such a charity case and will always associate your offer with when I was at my lowest ebb.”

“I believe it’s pride.” Rufus didn’t care if George Bramley would no doubt have liked to see the back of him earlier rather than later. Certainly, there was little charm forthcoming from that quarter and, in fact, Bramley had sloped off to pay some attention for the first time to his horse. It had been Ladies Quamby and Fenton who had urged him to stay the night after he’d delivered Devil’s Run back to Lord Quamby’s stables, and now they were seeing to his comfort in the drawing room of Quamby House, offering him Madeira and biscuits in the blue drawing room.

He clenched his fists and considered whether to say more of his suspicions. As they were looking expectantly at him, he went on, “This is an outrageous charge, and I’m sure I don’t mean to slight Miss Hilcrest, but I’d swear that when I returned to the cottage with Miss Montrose just hours before her aunt died, I saw Miss Hilcrest, who was sitting at her aunt’s bedside, slip a paper into her reticule. A most…crafty look crossed her face as she said goodbye.”

“Heavens, Mr Patmore!” exclaimed Lady Fenton, looking more excited than horrified as she rearranged her crimson velvet skirts on the Chippendale sofa. “This is quite an allegation.”

He nodded, pleased his audience was sympathetic and relieved that Bramley wasn’t in attendance. “During the funeral tea, I gathered that the late Miss Montrose’s regular solicitor happened to be taking the waters in Bath and that the matter of her will had passed to the junior solicitor, so not the man she usually deals with. Now, despite fearing it is way out of jurisdiction, I’ve made enquiries—”

“Enquiries, Mr Patmore?” Lady Quamby began fanning herself vigorously. “Surely you can’t mean to accuse Miss Hilcrest of forging her aunt’s will?”

“Good Lord, no!” Rufus expostulated. “What I wish to ascertain is if she induced her aunt to make an amendment just hours before she died, and to ensure that the will which was read out to all and sundry yesterday is in fact her legal will.”

“Oh, my dear Mr Patmore; you are Miss Montrose’s champion!” Lady Quamby gushed to his embarrassment.