Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

I know you may think my actions cruel, but you must believe that I did it only out of concern for you and the family’s good name.

For you to be allied to any gentleman is to risk revealing your wicked past.

You have not yet atoned for your sins, and you would not be happy with Mr Morley.

Please accept that I have done what is in your best interests and the interests of the family.”

Yours,

Aunt Annabelle Montrose

Rufus felt a chill as he folded the letter. He saw Eliza was very pale and wore a look of great shock. For some reason, he felt ridiculously jealous. “Who was Mr Morley?” he asked.

“A gentleman who admired me once.” She fiddled with the lace edge of her nightrail. “At least there’s some comfort in knowing the real reason he left. Aunt Montrose told me it was because he’d heard whispers I was a trollop.” She glanced up. “Her words.”

“Please don’t cry, Miss Montrose.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. It’s hard not to.”

Rufus wished he could comfort her, but he felt a great need for comfort, himself.

Miss Montrose’s past was casting as great a shadow upon himself as it was on her.

Still shaken by what the contents of the letters revealed, Rufus was pacing in the garden when Lady Fenton’s barouche drew up beside him on the gravel drive, and the two Brightwell sisters descended, helped out by the dashing liveried footmen they employed.

“Tell me she’s here!” begged Lady Fenton, cool and elegant in black-and-white stripes on this warm late summer’s afternoon.

“And that you’ve asked her to marry you!” added Lady Quamby, garbed, by contrast, in light muslin which left little to the imagination in the bright sunlight and looking very flirtatious as she gripped his arm, the feathers of her bonnet swaying in the breeze.

“She arrived on Devil in the middle of the night.” Rufus felt very sombre in the face of their delight.

“I was right!” Lady Quamby clapped her hands in glee, then forced herself to look serious. “We were very worried when we discovered her gone. But then we knew she was making her way right here, and that you’d greet her with open arms and beg her to say yes to your marriage offer!”

“I’m afraid that’s not quite how it is.” Rufus began to walk, and the young women fell into step on either side of him.

“Well, it must be made to be how it is,” Lady Quamby said with some severity.

Her sister directed a speaking look in her direction before asking Rufus, “Miss Montrose has refused you again? I’m surprised, for it was quite clear she’d lost her heart to you.”

Rufus stopped, turned to look at her, and sighed. “Miss Montrose lost her heart to Mr Perceval seven years ago. And another gentleman three years ago. I just re

ad her first love’s letter to her, which her aunt had withheld. If Miss Montrose had had possession of that communication, she’d be with Perceval now. And with Jack.”

“Well, she didn’t receive it, and more’s the tragedy,” said Lady Fenton matter-of-factly. “But she’s not in love with him all these seven years later. She saw he was a cad when he came here. She wondered how she could have allowed herself to be taken in by him, but then she was only seventeen, and some men will take advantage of a young girl’s innocence, only of course it’s the girl who pays the price. Please don’t make Miss Montrose continue to pay it when she’s quite mad about you.”

“Just as you are for her!” Lady Quamby cried.

Rufus clenched his fists. “I want to forgive her,” he muttered. “I know I should, and perhaps in time—”

“Good Lord, now is the time!” cried Lady Quamby, stopping on the gravel path to stare at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “When she’s still in bed, under your roof, and you’ve proved that once again you are here for her. You’re the only man who ever has been so there for her. She’ll love you for it for the rest of her life.”

“Really, Antoinette, you’re embarrassing Mr Patmore. He would never take advantage of Miss Montrose while she’s depending on his protection.”

“Well, he should!”

The way the ladies were talking made matters sound not nearly so dire as they were. But the fundamental problem remained. “Miss Montrose has an illegitimate child she would wish to put above all considerations—”

“Well, make him your ward and then ask her to marry you.” Lady Quamby smiled brightly as she patted him on the arm. “Go and show her how much you love her, and she’ll respond. You’ll very soon know if you can excite her passions as much as that good-for-nothing Mr Perceval did.”