Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

And he’d apologised. Apologised for setting up the wager that had given Freddy the enthusiasm and financial incentive for marrying Katherine, in particular, when his devastating losses at the gaming table had fuelled his urgency in allying himself with a monied bride before his losses became public.

“I know the moment you read this message, knowing that it is from me, you’ll doubt my motives, but this time I want to atone, Katherine,” he’d written.

“Please come to Derry House at the earliest. I know we parted badly when my jealousy reared its ugly head and you saw in me the spoiled boy you’ve always scorned.

“It’s true that my greatest happiness would be to learn you’d reconsidered; that you’d marry me even if you didn’t love me. But believe me when I tell you that in writing this message, I’m motivated by your greatest happiness. And your greatest happiness would be served by you being here, Katherine.

“I can make things right again for you. I promise I can. Just come!”

This time Katherine didn’t just crumple the message, she ripped it into tiny shreds and tossed each one in the grate. Of all the people in the world who wanted to see Katherine undone, George was at the front of the line-up.

George stared at the few words Katherine had written in such precise letters on the now soiled piece of parchment. The lad to whom he’d entrusted this mission held out his hand for payment. George stared at the grime on his fingers that had transferred to the paper and felt a surge of revulsion and anger. He’d sullied what was to have been the perfect overture to Katherine. He’d made grubby the pure and pristine nobility of George’s mission, which had been to secure Katherine’s happiness.

After rummaging for a coin to secure the lad’s departure, he rested the back of his head against the window and stared into the empty drawing room as a great pressure pulsed behind his eyes. Why couldn’t he even play the hero without having mud slung at him? Nobody wanted him about. Nobody believed him when he spoke the truth. Nobody thought…well, much of him at all.

Derry’s drawing room, when not hosting a crowd of people, appeared heavy and dismal; the mahogany sideboard and overstuffed sofas flanked by dead animals in glass domes more like a mausoleum than a place to gather for entertainment. And this was destined to be Katherine’s palace. She would replace the tawdry trappings Freddy had considered up to the mark when he’d fallen in the world, with the heavy, stately, suffocating majesty Derry had inherited from his own parents. There’d be no room to accommodate her brightness, her liveliness.

And did Derry even love her like he certainly once had? Was his desire merely based on the competitive need to acquire what he’d failed to acquire seven years before when he and Freddy had been such great rivals?

But George loved Katherine.

And Jack loved Katherine.

And Katherine deserved to be with someone who would appreciate her for her spirit, her personal qualities. Not as the prize she’d always represented to Derry.

“George, darling, you don’t seem to be feeling quite the thing. Are you all right?”

“I’m quite all right, Mama.” He kept his eyes closed, though he felt a tear breach its barrier and then roll down his cheek.

“My dear boy, you’re not thinking about what I said last night, are you?” She gripped his arm and gave it a little shake. “Look at me.” She seemed anxious this morning, which was out of character. For the first time he noticed the tiny crow’s feet beneath her eyes. “Last night, everyone drank far too much, and I’m sure we all said things we didn’t mean or that weren’t true.”

“Not all of us, Mama,” George said coldly, contemplating her with dispassion. Despite the slight puffiness beneath her eyes, the harsh sunlight did nothing to mute her beauty. No grey peppered her hair, and her skin was still like alabaster.

George, on the other hand, must have inherited his father’s looks. Whomever his father really was, that is. Not Lord Quamby—and yet he’d accepted George as his heir. George had been groomed for the role with no sign of ill will from the man who…wasn’t his father.

He felt lost.

It was midday, and the party was preparing to continue on to Patmore Farm. George hadn’t been invited, even though his mama and uncle had just now been happily speculating on the fine table Eliza Patmore promised. She was known for the expertise of her catering, and many times his mother had remarked on the superiority of the tasty fare from a humble farmhouse which arrived hot to the dining room, compared with the cold offerings that were so often served up at Quamby House.

“I meant everything I said, Mama. As I recall,” he added stiffly.

“Really, George. I’m sure you can’t remember half of what you said.”

“I remember telling Jack he was wrong to think he’d be making anyone happy if he married Miss Worthington—including Miss Worthington herself—if he was really in love with Katherine.”

His mother blinked, and the bland façade she so often adopted when she spoke to him fell away. “Why did you say that, George? Since you’re in love with Katherine…” Her voice faltered.

“She’s not in love with me. Oh, she made that very clear when I last spoke to her.” He raised his chin, wounded pride coursing through him once more. “Nor is she in love with Derry.”

“Why, George. That was a noble thing to do. To tell Jack the truth, I mean.” His mother squeezed his arm, and her face lit up as if she were about to impart some marvellous news. And perhaps it was. “I saw Lord Derry alone with Miss Worthington last night in a dark corridor.” She lowered her voice. “I passed by just when I think he was about to kiss her. I don’t know if she expected it or not, and I know that both of them had had too much to drink, but she didn’t claw his eyes out. It’s a beginning, don’t you think? If we’re to get Jack and Katherine together, I mean.”

Murmured voices in the hallway became louder before the door was opened and Jack and Odette entered, deep in conversation, unaware the room was occupied as they wandered to the other end towards the French doors.

Words indicating wedding preparations punctuated the stillness as if to debunk any of the hopeful possibilities George and his mama had just been discussing.

“It won’t work, Mama,” George said softly. The room was so large the others couldn’t hear. “I sent a message to Katherine asking her to come, but she refused. She hates me, you know.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, George. She probably just didn’t believe you’d b