Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

It had been moonlit earlier, but dark thunderclouds had obliterated all the light. The sound of rain made it difficult to hear, also, but Jack was sure that a horse had just found sanctuary in the stable. However, when he put his head over the edge of his bed in the loft and tried to adjust his vision to the gloom, he could see nothing.

Then he heard a strange muttering which nearly scared the daylights out of him until he realised it came from a woman.

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nbsp; A lady, he discovered, when he was brave enough to climb down the ladder to investigate.

A fine lady wearing a striped dress with lace he knew was expensive though she was dirty and bedraggled, with a nasty cut across her forehead.

Rufus was in the depths of slumber when he was woken by an insistent knocking at his bedchamber door, then heard his housekeeper’s muffled voice.

“Come!” he called to this highly irregular intrusion, realising the cause must be serious and reaching for his banyan as Mrs Dorley entered bearing aloft a candle.

“Young Jack says there’s a fine lady in the stables, and she appears to be injured. I wouldn’t have disturbed you however the boy is most insistent he wasn’t having nightmares. I think you should come, Mr Patmore, just in case there’s something in what he says.”

Good Lord, was this what he feared?

“Of course, Mrs Dorley. I’m ready.” He’d pulled on his boots, anticipating the mud, and now wrapped his banyan more closely around him. “Perhaps you should prepare a room. As you say, there might be something in what the boy says, strange though it sounds.”

Unfortunately, Rufus was quite prepared to discover Jack was telling the truth, though he wasn’t sure he was ready to receive Miss Montrose in such a manner. Her arrival—if indeed it was her—would confirm the worst, which wasn’t only that she was hiding a terrible sin, but that she’d failed to be forthcoming with him.

Today was the day she’d promised she’d notify him by letter of her answer to his marriage proposal. Now she was here but under far different circumstances to those under which he’d proposed to her. She surely couldn’t expect to fall into his arms in the belief his offer still stood?

For a moment he could not bring himself to rise. Despite the cheerful chatter of Jack in his carriage the previous day, he’d spent many hours brooding. Miss Montrose had treated him poorly.

But when he saw the sodden, mud-spattered young woman lying on a bed of straw, a bloody gash across her forehead, the assault on his senses was a confusing mix.

Foremost was fear that she was wounded beyond what he could see. He knelt at her side and took her hand. “Miss Montrose,” he whispered, putting his head close to her ear. Then again, when she made no response, “Miss Montrose, can you hear me?”

He stood up, his heart beating painfully in his chest as he stared down at her, though he counselled himself that the heart-pounding was from natural fear for her physical condition rather than anything else. What desperation must have compelled her to travel all the way here, alone, and on horseback with no saddle? She’d obviously fallen, and she’d had nothing warmer than the thin dress she was wearing. Had she fled Quamby House? Had George Bramley been the cause of this?

The embers of a slow-burning anger were stoked at the thought. George Bramley had a hold over this innocent young woman. All right, she wasn’t so innocent. Perhaps he was blackmailing her—

“Jack…Jack, are you there, Jack?”

She was rambling now, and the eyes in the little boy’s head understandably grew large as saucers as he looked at Rufus. “Why’s she callin’ me?” he asked.

Rufus deflected the question. “Did you cover her with dry straw?” Then, in response to the boy’s nod, “Good thinking. But now, we must get her to the house. Miss Montrose, can you hear me? I’m going to lift you up, and carry you. Jack, you hold the lantern and follow me.”

She made no indication she was aware of her surroundings as she tossed and turned on her bed of straw. By the soft light, he could see the sheen of moisture on her forehead, and when he touched her, she was ice cold. It sent a chill of fear through him, even though he was trying hard not to feel anything. Miss Montrose was only here because of the boy. She was only interested in a man if he were the means to her being reunited with her child. Rufus meant nothing to her, and if she tried to pretend otherwise, he’d not believe her.

He put his arms around her, and she twined her own round his neck and rested her head against his chest with a soft sigh.

When he got her to the cheerful, north-facing bedchamber Mrs Dorley had had made up for her, his housekeeper drew back the covers and Rufus gently laid her down.

“She’s going to develop a fever, sir, unless I get her out of her wet things. You wait here while I find a nightrail belonging to one of your sisters.” Rufus’s three sisters, now married, were often visitors, and it was quite likely a garment like that may be lying around. He tried not to imagine gazing upon Eliza wearing a transparent shift.

No! He was a gentleman, not a disappointed suitor seeking to alleviate his frustrated desires through voyeurism. Besides, Mrs Dorley would ensure the proprieties were attended to. He couldn’t imagine what she must be thinking of his nocturnal visitor right now, but as usual, she was the epitome of discretion.

She certainly made this clear as she put her hands on her hips and faced him from across the bed once Miss Montrose had been tended to. “Now, you get yourself some rest, Mr Patmore. I’ll send a lad to fetch the doctor at dawn, but there’s no point in you missing out on some much-needed sleep when there’s nothing more you can do here.”

He didn’t want to tear his eyes from the sleeping girl’s face. She looked so very vulnerable and alone; as if she existed in a sphere separate from the rest of the world. He’d thought her distance was a disdain for him and others, but those moments when she’d displayed desire revealed a raw earthiness that was disconcerting. It perhaps explained Jack’s existence but still, he couldn’t make her out.

Reluctantly, he did as his housekeeper all but directed, but he couldn’t sleep when he returned to his own quarters.

Miss Montrose had behaved with cavalier disregard for her reputation and the proprieties when she’d jumped astride Devil’s Run and made her way here. Lady Fenton had said she’d send her in her carriage, but the girl must have been desperate.

Yes, Miss Montrose might seem self-contained, but clearly, when her passions were aroused, she let nothing stand in her way.