The Honourable Fortune Hunter (Scandalous Miss Brightwells 5)

“I find it…refreshing.” Susan stroked the muff that encased both her hands. “And I daresay I would look grown up since I’m long married now, and my husband spares no expense when I go forth and represent him in public.”

Lizzy managed an awkward smile for she didn’t know how to respond to this. Susan had never spoken much to Lizzy when Lizzy herself was finding her feet in the household. Susan had seemed to her a timid, cowed creature whom Lizzy had dismissed for never standing up to her mother.

“And how is my mother?” Strangely, Susan obviously felt the need to continue the conversation for Lizzy was definitely not in a talkative mood, and Susan was hardly a bosom friend. She’d probably carry every tidbit Lizzy divulged back to her mother, if Mrs Hodge only asked it of her.

“She is exactly the same as when you lived with her.” Lizzy sent a quick glance over her shoulder in case Mr McAlister was still by the lake.

Susan gave a small laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me. And she has arranged a fine match for you, I hear?”

Lizzy nodded.

“Mr Dalgleish is very handsome. Do you like him?”

“Well enough.” Lord, such persistent quizzing was unlike Susan, thought Lizzy, unaware she was frowning until Susan said, “Forgive me for prying. It’s just that I should hate to think Mama is pushing you into something that your heart rebels against.” Impulsively, she put out her hand and her manner was almost urgent suddenly. “You may think it will solve your problems, simply to be away from her. Away from my mother, that is. You may think it’s a step towards…freedom. But Lizzy, think carefully.” She bit her lip. “Your husband will be your master far more effectively—and possibly unkindly—than my mother. It is a union that will last a lifetime.” There was a rosy hue to her cheeks that was not on account of the cold, and her eyes were very bright. For the first time, Lizzy actually thought her pretty, even as she grappled with what Susan was telling her.

“Um…I know that,” she whispered.

Susan’s urgency did not abate. “Do not accept any man to be your husband unless you are very sure he is a good man,” she went on. “You may not love him, and you may know he does not love you, but love doesn’t matter. Mama was right about that. But you must know that he is a good man.” She paused. “Will you think long and hard about that?”

Lizzy pressed her lips together and nodded. What else could she do? What else could she say?

“Good.” Susan’s usual slightly anxious expression replaced her earlier fervour. And when Lizzy volunteered nothing further, the other young woman inclined her head. “It was nice to see you again, Lizzy. I hope you enjoy your few days here and that whatever decision my mother presses you to take will make you happy. Good day.”

Finally, Lizzy was on her own, and the freedom was liberating. With as much decorum as she could manage, she hurried up the front stone steps and into Quamby House, up the carpeted stairs to her bedchamber—along one of the myriad of corridors that would forever confuse her—and then finally was able to fling herself upon the rich gold and scarlet counterpane of her massive four-poster, trying not to cry as she wondered why her breast was so full of conflicting, turbulent thoughts and why her earlier pleasure had quite evaporated.

Chapter 10

Lord and Lady Quamby’s house party was for the duration of five days with dinner followed by a ball each evening, culminating in the grand and lavish Christmas Ball on the final night.

Lizzy had missed the first evening’s festivities, so was quite mesmerised by the festive atmosphere achieved by their hostess as she waited in the withdrawing room between the saloon and the card room, both of which were empty now since most guests were dressing for dinner

.

Mabel had helped Lizzy into her gown of silver net over a white underdress, arranging her curls somewhat hastily since Mrs Hodge had woken from a late-afternoon nap and immediately demanded Mabel’s services. She’d sent Lizzy downstairs and instructed her to wait for her in the withdrawing room.

So, Lizzy, with no choice but to be obedient, did as she was told, enjoying the silence and the crackle of the yule log that burned brightly in the saloon’s enormous fireplace, and the cheerfulness of the mistletoe’s merry red berries that nestled cheerfully amongst the green foliage that was strung along the mantelpiece and over the doorway separating the two rooms.

She was deep in thought, staring up at a large portrait of beautiful Lady Quamby that hung above the mantelpiece, when a young lady in pale blue sarcenet crossed her line of vision. The girl, who appeared only several years older than Lizzy, was wearing full evening dress, her brown hair arranged in a surprisingly untidy high topknot; and Lizzy would have said nothing had it not been for the fact that three of the tiny pearl buttons at the back of the young lady’s dress were unfastened, causing Lizzy to clear her throat to attract her attention.

“Bother,” was all the girl muttered, turning with a scowl when Lizzy alerted her to the wardrobe misadventure. “My companion has taken ill with a megrim. I knew I should have asked Lady Quamby if I might borrow the services of one of her staff, but everyone is so busy.” She gave a tight smile. “I’m Miss Amelia Harcourt. Thank you for telling me.”

“And I’m Miss Lizzy Scott, and I’d be happy to let you have my maid for half an hour before the ball tomorrow if your companion is still not feeling chipper.”

The girl pondered this a moment, but instead of brightening, she sighed. “I daresay I should accept since I may have no one to help me, otherwise.”

Though Lizzy thought her response somewhat ungrateful, she kept up the note of enthusiasm. “Then I shall tell my maid, Mabel, to ask where to find you when she’s in the servant’s hall having her dinner. But now, shall I fasten your buttons since there is no one about?”

“You’re very kind,” said Miss Harcourt, presenting her back to Lizzy, before nodding her thanks and excusing herself.

She’d just left the room when Lizzy was disturbed by a noise behind her and turned to see Mr McAlister quietly backing from the saloon.

“So, you do not wish to speak with me…alone, Mr McAlister?” Lizzy asked, staring pointedly around at the empty chairs. “Or were you in fact seeking me out to atone for your harsh words earlier?”

“I was and then lost courage, but now you’ve saved me the trouble of a wrong-footed approach to doing just that,” he said, a smile erasing the momentary awkwardness as he crossed the room to stand beside her in front of the fire.

“Does that mean you don’t really think me childish? And what was the other word you used?”

“Unladylike,” he supplied, turning his hands to warm the backs of them in front of the flames.