Bramley shrugged. “The contract suits both of us. She showed unusual bravery for a woman, though I trust she won’t crow about being such a heroine.”
“I doubt she will.” Rufus reflected on her intriguing stillness; her serenity as the sun had burnished her crown of shining hair before she’d leapt out of her chair to save the children from the lake. Not to mention saving Rufus’s life. She’d been truly magnificent, and he didn’t care that his admiration was transparent. Bramley needed reminding of the extraordinary qualities of his future bride. So he added, “I should very much like to spend an afternoon in the company of the young lady, without whose quick thinking I probably wouldn’t be here, though, like any man, I like to think I’d have wrestled my way out from under Carnaby’s dead weight in time.”
“Hmph! And now Carnaby is no good to anyone. I can’t imagine why you didn’t just have the animal shot. Will your foot be mended enough to ride Devil back here in three days’ time?”
Rufus sent the bulk beneath the blanket a dubious look. “I might have to take a groom with me. Obviously, I can’t go before tomorrow. Still an invalid under your roof, as you know.” He grinned. He was enjoying the attention he’d lately garnered. Lady Quamby and Lady Fenton liked to look in on him regularly. And to take a seat and chat. Not only were they exquisitely beautiful in their very different ways, but they were vastly entertaining and each possessed of a wicked, or at least, playful, sense of humour.
And indeed, not an hour after Bramley had skulked out of the room, the two sisters swept in, each taking a seat on chairs which they arranged at the side of the bed so he could see them both.
“You’re going to visit Miss Montrose?” Lady Quamby clasped her hands, and her eyes shone as if she were soliciting the greatest, most secret information.
In a measured tone which belied the slight ratcheting up of his heartbeat, Rufus replied, “I’m going to ask her if she’d be so gracious as to allow her betrothed to race Devil’s Run in the East Anglia Cup which is what Mr Bramley has so set his heart on, apparently.”
Lady Fenton looked surprised. Lord but she was a beauty, Rufus reflected, her glossy dark hair and elegance in complete juxtaposition to her sister’s riot of blonde curls and impish smile. “Devil’s Run is not as fleet of foot as he looks. To be sure, he’s a sturdy mount, but I can hardly imagine Cousin George winning his fortune on him.”
Lady Fenton was a shrewd piece. And a fine horsewoman to boot. He wondered if he should allow a hint of his suspicions to pass his lips. Miss Montrose might also pry deeper than she ought to; the truth was, Rufus was in two minds as to whether he should even try to persuade her to return Devil’s Run.
At the moment, he had no confirmation of his suspicions regarding Bramley’s intentions, though he felt he knew Bramley well enough to confidently say he was up to something. Rufus could claim ignorance and possibly earn a great deal of money. But the morality—or lack of—troubled him. So did the fact he’d be lying to Miss Montrose though he couldn’t deny that the idea of visiting her, alone, was very tempting. Where did she live? How would she conduct herself on her own turf, so to speak? What kind of welcome would she extend him?
Deciding that the best course, for now, was to play ignorant, he adopted a look of mild curiosity and asked, “When did you last ride him?”
“About six months ago,” Lady Fenton replied after a considered pause.
Rufus thought quickly. All right, for the moment he’d play Devil’s Advocate and play George’s hand if only to see where that led. “Th
en you wouldn’t believe his form now,” he said. “Bramley has been training him with this one goal in mind. Miss Montrose certainly can’t be so churlish as to deny him the beast for this crucial week.”
“I don’t know why he kept all this such a secret from my husband,” Lady Quamby complained.
But already, Lady Fenton was saying hotly, “And how could you even suggest Miss Montrose would be churlish about this, much less anything else? Miss Montrose doesn’t have it in her to be churlish. I wonder why Cousin George isn’t champing at the bit to go west and persuade her? Isn’t that what lovers are supposed to do? Anyway, do you like Miss Montrose better now that you’ve not seen her for all these hours, and the gratitude you owe her for saving your life must still be fresh in your mind?” Lady Quamby’s question should hardly have surprised him, and yet he felt the heat beneath his skin. He hoped he didn’t give himself away when he said offhandedly, “As I said before, I’m very grateful. And I certainly admire her.”
“I won’t if she marries Cousin George.” Lady Quamby’s tone was uncompromising. “I don’t know why she’d marry Cousin George when she could marry someone like you—if you only asked her. Will you, Mr Patmore? Ask her to marry you if you find you like her even more than you’d expected?”
“And what if my affections are elsewhere engaged?”
To his surprise, Lady Fenton asked, quite seriously, “Are they?”
He had to be quite honest and admit they weren’t, but that he had only the briefest of acquaintance with Miss Montrose.
Lady Fenton nodded, equable for the first time. “And she is, by her own admission, distant and undesirous of making people warm to her.”
“A rather surprising admission.” Few young ladies, whatever their marital ambitions, surely confessed to such attributes. The thought made him feel better, for she’d been clearly disinterested in pursuing conversation between them when they’d been forced to keep one another company. He’d decided she found him unattractive and was surprisingly piqued by this, for he liked to think he could turn heads when he expended the effort.
Rufus sighed. “I’m not looking for a bride, and if I were, I can’t put matters of the heart entirely before pecuniary considerations.”
Lady Quamby shifted forward on her chair. “Mr Bramley is even more cheeseparing in his attitude than that, but he’s prepared to take a gamble on the fact that her aunt will make Miss Montrose her benefactor.”
“I hardly consider myself cheeseparing—”
“And you’ve probably never had your heart engaged to the extent you’ve had to weigh up the advantages of eternal domestic happiness over a meagre portion. I completely understand you. No need to justify anything to my sister, who is the first to consider financial gain above anything else. But you are to visit Miss Montrose, for which I’m glad, as you would be easing my concern for her greatly if you could only persuade her to renege on her marriage to Mr Bramley. For all that she would make a very agreeable cousin-in-marriage, I can’t help but feel her life would be one of complete misery.”
Lady Quamby, who’d not seemed at all offended by her sister’s assessment of her priorities, sighed. “I don’t believe you can change her mind though, Mr Patmore. Miss Montrose has had her heart broken, and that’s why she doesn’t care that she’s throwing herself away on Mr Bramley.”
“Throwing herself away on Mr Bramley?” Rufus repeated her words, asking with a wicked smile, “Please remind me as to why you have such an aversion to Mr Bramley, Lady Quamby, if I am to discharge your request?”
Lady Quamby, seated demurely on a Chippendale chair, looked the picture of feminine disapproval as she began to list his defects.
“His selfishness?” he countered, interrupting her after the third item on what he anticipated would be a very long list. “Why, Mr Bramley is noted for the great care he takes of the winning cockerels who’ve earned him a pretty penny. And you know his love of horses! I’ve not heard a whisper suggesting he stints on their good care.”