Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

Fanny made a noise of irritation. “Really, Antoinette, I don’t believe Mr Patmore would succumb to your lures, even if you jumped on him. Oh, my! Look! Miss Montrose has suddenly come over all purposeful. Where’s she going?”

“Good lord! Straight to Mr Bramley!” squeaked Antoinette, rushing to the window to push aside the curtain to stand beside Fanny. “I do hope she gives him a piece of her mind. Imagine the gall! That he should call off the betrothal not even a day after it was revealed she was penniless. He didn’t even care what people thought of him.”

Indeed, Eliza would have liked to have given Mr Bramley a piece of her mind except that she’d readily agreed to the terms of the wager which he’d proposed.

All morning she’d pondered her alternatives. It would take only a little encouragement for Mr Patmore to repeat his proposal, if his longing looks in her direction were a true indication of his feelings.

But therein lay the problem that would not go away. Marriage to Mr Patmore, wonderful though that would be, meant Eliza would live in perpetual fear he’d discover her sordid past. It was too dangerous to risk confessing. Undoubtedly, he was a kind and good man, but what man, in this day and age, would happily welcome his new wife’s bastard son into his household? Possibly he’d forgive her past transgressions. He might well forgive the fact she’d borne a child out of wedlock. But would he agree to have that child living under his roof? Of course not.

Whereas if Eliza married Mr Bramley, and moved into the apartment that had been redecorated for that purpose, she would see Jack almost every day.

She slowed her pace towards Mr Patmore to watch her son playing a game of blind man’s bluff with Young George, Katherine, and Nanny Brown. His clothes were torn, and his hair needed cutting, and to the casual observer, there was no doubt that he came from humble stock. Yet he was the quickest and cleverest of the three children—certainly to Eliza—as even with his eyes bandaged he seemed to sense where his adversaries were.

Katherine, dressed in white with a blue sash skipped around him, just a hair’s breadth away, giggling, while Jack slowly circled on the spot, hands outstretched, a broad grin on his face. What a difference it must be to the lad to spend time and play as a child. Eliza daren’t think too much about the cold and unloving environment he must return to each night.

“Oi! That ain’t part o’ the game!”

Eliza felt a mother’s quick rage as Young George delivered the blindfolded Jack a second hefty kick on the back of the legs, this one felling him.

Before she’d reached the pair, Jack’s blindfold was off, and he was now engaged in a serious bout of fisticuffs.

“Stop that this moment, children!” Her imperious demand as she grabbed them by their collars and hauled them to their feet, had Jack hanging his head and Young George raising a disdainful nose in the air as she jostled them to attention to deliver a warning.

“That was not fair play, George. I saw you kick Jack, and that’s not part of the game.”

“It’s the way George plays,” said Katherine. “Jack knows it too, only h

e didn’t get out of the way in time. You’ll have to be quicker next time, won’t you, Jack?”

Eliza was about to castigate Lady Fenton’s daughter but thought better of it when she saw the cheeky grin Katherine and Jack shared. Her heart rate eased a little. So Jack had an ally in Katherine. Good. She and Jack knew what playing with Young George entailed.

Jack grinned up at her. “No need to worry about me, m’lady. I know how to look after meself.”

Her boy looked so supremely confident about this, his perky smile never wavering. Indeed, he had the character of the undaunted. He’d survive, but his voice and his lack of education or social backing would damn his chances to rise in the world.

She squared her shoulders. Quick, nimble, and clever Jack could achieve great things if he had the support he needed.

Surely no sacrifice was too great to ensure that happened?

Reluctantly she left the children to their game and when Jack sped out of view, she intercepted her former betrothed en route to the stables. “Good afternoon, Mr Bramley.”

He had the good grace to look embarrassed after his initial surprise. “Good afternoon, Miss Montrose. I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I daresay most young ladies in my unfortunate situation would have been gone by dawn so as not to have to face the man who has just dissolved their betrothal. Yes, I understood the conditions of our arrangement, but surely it was most discourteous that you should reappraise me of it by letter.”

He grunted and looked away. “Thought you’d prefer it that way, to tell the truth. Besides, like you said, you were happy to gamble on the outcome, and had your aunt died a week after we were shackled, you’d have won the wager.”

She nodded. Was this a man she could possibly consider taking as her husband when Mr Patmore had offered for her? Another happy cry from the children playing on the lawns not far away made them both turn, and her resolve hardened. She took a deep breath. “I own a horse you want. Is it enough to make you reconsider your offer of marriage?”

“Good Lord, Miss Montrose; what a question?”

My, she had discomposed him. She was surprised and delighted and pressed her point. “I think Devil’s Run is worth more to you for reasons I cannot fathom. I know you are a betting man, but as fond of the animal as I am, I can’t imagine he’ll win you any races. However, your motivations aren’t something I’m interested in right now. I just have one counter proposal for you. A wager if you will.”

“Heavens, Miss Montrose; you and your wagers! They’ve not been in your favour to date.” He looked as if he might dismiss her altogether since she clearly would bring him no material gain. However, he went on, “No, my motivations have nothing to do with you, though it’s true, I do want to race Devil’s Run. My uncle, however, will ensure I have access to the horse when I need him.”

“I’ve already ensured that will not happen.”

She was caught out by the active delight she felt in his anger, so inexpertly hidden, though quietly expressed in the flare of his thick nose and flash of his dark eyes.