Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

“Antoinette, I think you are still making Mr Patmore uncomfortable,” said her sister. “As I said, he is not that kind of gentleman.”

“But he thinks Miss Montrose is that kind of lady, and that’s what makes me so cross. The moral inequities that so damn a woman’s reputation unless she’s married!” grumbled Lady Quamby. “I’m sure Mr Patmore has made mad passionate love to many a widow or married lady for whom he retains the utmost respect, but just because Miss Montrose happened to be a seventeen-year-old ninnyhammer when the man she thought was going to marry her instead took advantage of her, he puts her into the forever unredeemable category. Am I right, Mr Patmore?”

He felt the sting of heat in his cheeks, and Lady Quamby said with a gurgle of irritation, “I rest my case.”

They’d reached the steps and were now nearly at the house, when Lady Fenton stopped him again with a hand on his sleeve and said in sombre tones, “Do think on what we’ve said, Mr Patmore. What is more important? Happiness, or clinging to your ideals? So, what does it truly signify, if she’s sinned? Antoinette and I were both with child when we married. We were just fortunate enough to get a ring on our fingers in time. I think the true state of one’s heart is more important than getting the timing right. And I believe in second chances for all.”

Eliza was sure she was well enough to get out of bed. Only, what was the point? She’d been abandoned to this pretty bedroom by the man she loved, just as she’d been abandoned in the tower room by the man she’d loved seven years before, following the vicious brawling between him and her brother.

She’d not seen Orlando again. She’d waited for some communication, begged her parents to let her find him. She’d been passionate and hysterical with love and frustrated hope, until they’d sent her away.

And then they’d withheld all communication. That hurt, deeply. She felt more bitter towards her parents and her aunt than anyone.

She longed for Mr Patmore, and more than just his forgiveness. But without his forgiveness, what hope had she of happiness?

When Ladies Fenton and Quamby entered her bedroom chattering and bearing chocolates, she felt a little cheered by their robust admiration for fleeing their cousin in such a dramatic manner. But only marginally.

“And now we must get you up and dressed, my dear! Yes, no lying abed, languishing like a half-drugged princess!” declared Lady Quamby. “I do believe you thought you could just stare at the ceiling until it was time to be sent home.”

“But happiness is within your grasp, my dear, if you just show once more the courage you’ve shown so many times before.” Lady Fenton’s look was very knowing as she sat beside her and took her hand.

“Mr Patmore has no respect for me. Whatever plans you might have are futile.” A large tear rolled down her cheek.

“Nonsense, my dear.” Lady Fenton shook her head. “Mr Patmore cannot trust his own heart, which has been severely bruised since he realises you had so many more important things to pursue than him. Gentlemen can be very trying when their pride is dented, as his is.”

“What about this one?” Lady Quamby had suddenly appeared beside her sister bearing aloft a very translucent gown, which must surely need two robust petticoats beneath to be decent.

“No, that’s not Miss Montrose’s style at all, Antoinette. I’ve already found just the thing. You don’t want to confirm Mr Patmore’s sad and very mistaken conclusions.”

“That I’m a fallen woman and beyond redemption? Certainly not fit to be his wife,” Eliza said sadly.

“Now, just you get dressed in this tonight and do everything we tell you, and you can rest assured all will turn out for the best,” said Lady Quamby.

“Or, at least not as badly as it will if you do nothing,” her sister added.

So, now Eliza found herself dressed in a Pomona green satin evening gown with a very low and wide décolletage decorated with appliqued flowers, and a skirt in the latest fuller style falling from a slightly lower bodice.

It was Lady Fenton’s, and a few stitches had it fitting as if it were made for her. Once her hair had been arranged on top of her head and threaded through with pearls, she looked a true princess, even if she didn’t feel like one.

A few judicious cosmetics: Olympian Dew, tincture of roses in her cheeks, and a light dusting of powder across her bosom, and she was ready for dinner—and very conscious of the furtive looks the two ladies directed at both her and Mr Patmore, who seemed very stiff and barely looked at her.

In fact, he’d barely glanced in her direction until Lady Quamby said gushingly as the syllabub was being served, “I do love those roses edging your gown, Miss Montrose. Mr Patmore, look at the handiwork adorning Miss Montrose’s neckline. I’m sure you’d not imagine how many hours of stitching went into them.”

Eliza saw his eyes drawn to her décolletage, before he blinked rapidly. “I couldn’t imagine,” he muttered, studiously returning his attention to his food, which was soon finished and cleared away, leaving Eliza eaten up with mortification.

She had to get away. Mr Patmore would never forgive her, and she was an unwanted imposter in his house. She would leave with Ladies Quamby and Fenton in the morning.

“I do hope you’ll let us stay an extra day, Mr Patmore. Apparently, some work needs to be done on the right carriage axle, according to John Coachman.” Lady Fenton looked enquiringly at their host. “Miss Montrose will come with us, of course. That’s unless she wishes to ride Devil all the way to her home.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Montrose, I just can’t bear to think of how you will sustain yourself,” wailed Lady Quamby. “All alone in that little cottage, and now that you’ve decided to charitably adopt an orphan boy and keep a horse, I fear you may have to start selling your worldly assets. Mr Patmore, we must find a nice farmer for Miss Montrose to marry.” She put down her napkin after delicately wiping her rosebud lips and stood up. “In fact, I think it would be an excellent idea if you took Miss Montrose out for a walk right now as the light is still good. It’ll be an excellent opportunity for you to help her decide her future. Two heads are always better than one.”

If Eliza had been eaten up with mortification before, it was ten-fold worse now.

For some minutes, they walked in silence until, by the edge of a small stream that ran through the grounds, they stopped, turned, and both started talking at once.

Mr Patmore inclined his head. “Please, go ahead, Miss Montrose.”

“I apologise for the inconvenience I’ve caused you by arriving like this. And the embarrassment.” Trembling, she looked at the ground and then up at his face, fine-featured, handsome, crowned with curling brown hair, his eyes grey-blue in this light, and hard to read. “I daresay you’ll be glad to see the back of me, and I only wish I were leaving tomorrow.”