Rogue's Kiss (Scandalous Miss Brightwell Book 2)

by Beverley Oakley

  “Lady Quamby? Indeed?”

  Thea had little time to wonder at what sounded almost like heavy sarcasm before the shrill urgency in Aunt Minerva’s voice spoiled the moment.

  “Thea! Come this moment!”

  Reluctantly, Thea nodded at the young man. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Grayling.” Boldly, she held out her hand. “I hope business is good in the south.”

  “Thank you, Miss Brightwell. I hope so too.” He gripped her fingers just a little longer than was required, his eyes warm as he replied, “If it’s not, it won’t be too great a hardship to return early.” Relinquishing her hand after a quick kiss on the tips of her fingers, he nodded in farewell. “Enjoy your stay in Bath. I’m sure any time spent with Lady Quamby is guaranteed to be …diverting.”

  Thea returned to the carriage, her heart turning over like a waterwheel. She wished she’d had the courage to enquire further as to the nature of his business. That might have given her an indication of how soon or otherwise she’d see him again. Clearly her connection to Lady Quamby, her irrepressible cousin Antoinette, interested him.

  Thea didn’t know why, but her aunt had never spoken well of Thea’s two cousins, Antoinette and her older sister Fanny. She’d therefore been highly surprised when Aunt Minerva had accepted the invitation to attend the christening of Lord Quamby’s heir, baby George, whom Thea was simply dying to meet. In fact the invitation had been directed to Thea and had only included Aunt Minerva as an afterthought. Cousin Antoinette’s careless phraseology had put the old lady into high dudgeon and she’d let loose with a great many nasty things said pertaining to the respective ‘loose characters of those girls’, as she’d put it.

  Nevertheless, after initially roundly refusing to attend the event, Aunt Minerva had changed her mind just the day before and informed her niece, Lady Quamby, by return messenger that she would accept her invitation after all, and that she intended to stay three weeks. Thea, who loved her beautiful, bold and somewhat wild cousins, couldn’t wait to see them again.

  Though she’d have been even happier if her aunt had chosen to remain behind.

  As Thea settled back into her seat, she tried to attend to what her aunt was saying but an image of handsome Mr Grayling bending over her hand, his eyes locked on hers, kept intruding. She tried not to shiver or do anything else that might alert her aunt to her romantic daydreaming; therefore she began to coolly list an inventory based on his obvious attributes.

  Probably he was somewhere in his latter twenties. That was a very nice age, she decided. Not too old, like the widowers her aunt liked to suggest would be the only marital prospects a dowerless maiden such as herself could entertain.

  Like his name, his eyes had been a cool grey. She decided she very much liked the combination of cool grey eyes and slightly curling light-brown hair.

  “Devil’s spawn!”

  “What? Mr Grayling?” Startled, Thea spoke out loud before she could stop herself.

  “If that was the gentleman you were associating with after I ordered you back to the carriage, then I have not the slightest idea since I was not the recipient of his address.” Her aunt’s nostrils twitched. “I was in fact remarking upon the gathering we just stumbled upon. The devil has done his work and there will be no redemption for those creatures—mothers or babes—here on Earth.”

  “You can’t say that about a baby!” Thea gasped.

  “I can if it has the wickedness of both parents coursing through its veins. And as for that young man, Thea, let me tell you that a moonstruck girl is like a beacon advertising her availability.” Aunt Minerva’s small black eyes bored malevolently into Thea’s from beneath a wayward bunch of silk lily-of-the-valley that had come loose from her bonnet. “Your behaviour was most unbecoming. I overheard he was leaving town and not a bad thing, either, my girl. Let me tell you one thing. If he shows you the same flicker of interest once he learns your true situation, you had better beware. A man of good standing, as he clearly is, wants a dowry, Thea, and you have nothing.” She sucked on her gums and her nose twitched even more as if something very unsavoury were in the wind. “No, my girl, let me tell you that if he’s still interested, it’s because he’s ferreted out your vulnerability and intends to trade on it.’

  Thea pouted, then bravely muttered, “Not everyone is motivated by money or…bad intentions, Aunt.”

  Her aunt was unimpressed. “In my experience they are, girl, and you’re an innocent if you think otherwise.”

  With a huff, Thea retrieved her tatting from her reticule and set to work grimly correcting her last mistakes in the cuffs she was hand working. She would not give her aunt the satisfaction of, an answer. So Mr Grayling would not have offered her the time of day if he’d known her true station in life? Well, that was probably true enough but she could dream a little, couldn’t she?

  As for those babes, their pitiful plight tugged at her heartstrings. How could her aunt speak so about them?

  Thea loved babies. She didn’t care whether they were the dirty little creatures she sometimes saw in the arms of the working women in town, or the pristine-clad, sweet-smelling infants of her distant relatives. Babies were adorable, regardless.

  Aunt Minerva regarded her through beady brown eyes. “No girl is ever too young to understand the dangers to society of the devil’s spawn,” she muttered. “A child born out of wedlock will forever writhe in the fiery furnace of hell.”

  ‘Born out of wedlock?’ Thea looked at her aunt steadily. She wasn’t exactly sure what being ‘born out of wedlock’ entailed but she’d heard Aunt Minerva spouting sentiments like this for the seeming eternity she’d been her unpaid companion. “Then it’s a harsh world we live in, Aunt, if we are judged on transgressions beyond our control, rather than by our own actions.”

  Aunt Minerva raised her eyes heavenward. “Perhaps it’s a good thing you know so little, though you’re unlikely to ever be educated in the dubious joys of marriage. Spinsters forever, you and me both, and you’d best get used to it.”

  Thea felt her mouth drop open and disappointment wash through her veins. “I’m twenty years old, Aunt Minerva. I mightn’t have a dowry but that doesn’t mean I must reconcile myself to remaining a spinster for the rest of my days. Why, Mr Grayling—”

  She bit her tongue as her aunt rounded on her. “When that Mr Grayling returns to Bath he won’t offer you the time of day, I can promise you that! Not when he learns you’re a charity case because your impecunious father was more interested in keeping his peagoose of a wife happy with her fripperies and indulging her with a growing brood of children they could not afford to keep.”

  “Aunt!”

  “That was perhaps harsh, and I shall apologise for the reference to your brothers and sisters, struck down through no fault of their own by misfortune.”

  Through tear-filled eyes, Thea could see her aunt looked a touch remorseful though not nearly enough. How could she say such shocking things about her family?

  “But as for being a spinster, I’d say it was a decent enough state of affairs to be in control of one’s own fortune, for let me tell you, I’ve been preyed upon by fortune hunters all my life.”

  Thea looked at her aunt askance before ducking her head to concentrate once more on her handiwork. She swallowed as she summoned the courage to respond for she was not prepared to let this pass. “So when did you receive your first marriage offer, Aunt?” she murmured.

  The older woman shifted in her seat. “I was eighteen when I was courted by a certain gentleman to whom I made clear I had no interest. In the twenty-seven years since I couldn’t tell you, there’ve been so many.”

  “So you’ve never wanted to marry, then?”

  Aunt Minerva’s sudden stillness was telling and it looked as though she was going to take advantage of the reprieve offered by John Coachman, who shouted down from the box at that moment, telling them that Lord Quamby’s estate was just beyond the rise.

  In the dimness of the carriage i
nterior, Thea saw her aunt’s chin wobble as she dabbed at her eyes with a piece of embroidered linen and sniffed. “There was one gentleman, but that was a long time ago. Twenty years ago, in fact.”

  Thea’s heart was easily engaged. She leaned over to pat her aunt’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s never stopped thinking of the chance that slipped away, Aunt Minerva,” she whispered.

  “He ought to be tormented by regret after the dishonourable way he treated me!” her aunt snapped, flicking away her niece’s hand. “Now shoulders back, Thea, and sit up straight. You already know how little I think of your cousin and her husband but they’re nobility. An earl and his countess can do whatever they like. You, however, need to mind every move you make.”

  Chapter 2

  WHAT a relief it was to step beyond the heavy atmosphere of the carriage and be welcomed by first Antoinette’s cheerful greeting, and then her sister’s, as the cousins gracefully descended the front steps of Lord Quamby’s townhouse.

  “And you’re already here too, Fanny. I’d not expected you!” Thea had always admired Fanny’s dark looks and the feisty temperament her cousin hid beneath a veneer of polished sophistication. Now she gazed at her with undisguised admiration as Fanny directed them to a comfortable cluster of seats, as if she were just as much the hostess as her sister, whose home this was.

  Antoinette, the younger, could not have been more different from Fanny, with her golden hair and her pink and white complexion. Antoinette exuded innocence. Thea was still trying to decide if her younger cousin was incredibly intelligent but went to great pains to hide the fact, or whether she really was the beautiful little peagoose the family painted, who, despite being a penniless debutante with a dubious reputation, had managed to snare an earl.

  Either way, Thea reflected with a pang as refreshments were ordered, the two cousins were shining beacons advertising life’s possibilities, compared with dull and dutiful Thea.

  “Thought I’d still be lying-in?” Fanny put her hand to her now flat belly while her lips curved into the wicked smile for which she was famed. “I didn’t need to spend a whole month staring at the ceiling when I was ready to dance a jig the moment the little monkey was out in the world.”

  Thea glanced at her aunt and wasn’t surprised by her pursed mouth. Aunt Minerva, however, managed to hold her tongue though Thea knew she’d not have hesitated to rebuke her niece when Fanny was unmarried. Now Fanny was a viscountess and she had precedence over Aunt Minerva, who was now just the spinster daughter of a lowly baron, though one would never guess it given her airs. Aunt Minerva had inherited a fortune, though, and that stood for something. Something she did not hesitate to use over Thea as both threat and inducement.

  Still, Fanny and Antoinette had managed to acquire both title and fortune. Thea never got tired of hearing the astonishing stories of how Fanny had won the heart of rakish Lord Fenton, and how Antoinette had later happily accepted the hand of the aging Earl of Quamby, who had originally been betrothed to Fanny. She’d learned not to bring up the subject in her aunt’s hearing.

  “And when can I see the new heir?” Thea asked. “Both of them,” she added, for Antoinette’s child had been born six weeks earlier than Fanny’s.

  Antoinette raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Why, Thea, you’ve only just arrived and already you’re talking babies. I hope you won’t become a bore, but then you always were fond of the dirty, squalling little things, weren’t you? And to be sure, little George has his sweet moments, but he’s a tiresome child for the most part who does nothing terribly interesting, unless you consider sleeping, feeding and crying worthy of note.”

  “Unlike my Katherine, who is as agreeable as her dear father,” Fanny interjected with a smile as she smoothed down her skirts. “Antoinette has never been the maternal kind, but fortunately she did recognise the importance of producing a lusty heir for Quamby who, but for her, might have died childless.” She pressed her lips together, clearly mindful of not breaking into an unseemly laugh in Aunt Minerva’s hearing, causing Thea, who’d heard whispers of some unmentionable scandal, to blush.

  “Well, I saved Quamby from having to hand over everything to his awful nephew, George Bramley, didn’t I?” Antoinette, reaching across to offer Thea a plate of sugar biscuits, looked smug before she sobered. “A word of warning, though, Thea. I hear Bramley is in town.” She nibbled at her biscuit but her expression remained serious. “Once he learns there’s another Brightwell on the lookout for a husband, you can be assured he’ll do his best to blight your prospects with all sorts of awful rumours. He tried to spoil our chances but Fanny and I were too clever for him. We had the last laugh, didn’t we, Fanny?”

  Thea noticed that Fanny sent a rather quelling look at her younger sister, whose irrepressible gaiety certainly was at odds with what Thea would have expected of a new mother, and a countess, to boot.

  Fanny, for once, appeared to choose her words carefully. “Antoinette is right that you should beware of George Bramley, but that is all I wish to say on the subject. Yes, Thea, you shall visit the nursery in good time, but first you must tell us all your news before you become distracted with our divinely angelic infants. I’m sure you’ve endless stories with which to divert us of the past six months you’ve been living with Aunt Minerva, for that is when we last saw you. Six months ago.”

  “And then tomorrow night we shall go to the Assembly Rooms.” Antoinette clapped her hands together, her eyes shining like a child’s. “You’ve never been, have you, Thea? No, Aunt Minerva never takes you anywhere, does she? No offence intended, Aunt Minerva, but you’re not one for high revels and that’s understandable at your age, but tomorrow we shan’t let you sit out an evening when there’ll be such wonderful entertainment on hand.” She smiled ingenuously at her relative. “You shall enjoy the food and cards, and the rest of us can enjoy the dancing.”

  “I doubt if we shall have recovered from our journey so soon,” Aunt Minerva responded in quelling tones with a sharp look at Thea.

  Antoinette looked disappointed before she brightened. “Oh well, but we shall wait and see how you are feeling in the morning, shall we? I know Quamby was looking forward to escorting you, Aunt.”

  Thea looked sharply between the two. Perhaps Antionette was well aware, contrary to her apparent ingenuousness, that Aunt Minerva would find the idea of being escorted anywhere by an earl—regardless of his reputation—far too great an enticement to resist.

  Her aunt, however, was not about to give any of them reason to hope. “Time will tell, Antoinette. If my gouty foot is playing up, Thea will have to remain behind to soothe it with unguents, for though she’s a drain on the purse she is the best nurse I’ve had.”

  Thea studied the pattern on the teacup she was handed while pretending not to notice the horrified looks her cousins exchanged. A pang of misery completely quelled the excitement she’d allowed to build. So this was how it was to be? The much lauded visit to Bath was only so Aunt Minerva could claim she’d been housed by an earl, while she eschewed every other diversion on offer—and kept her niece in proverbial leg irons, attending to her multitude of imaginary ailments.

  “Oh, but Aunt, you simply can’t stay here. You must go out with us so…we can boast to society we’re entertaining a diamond of the first water, knowing how many disappointed suitors you’ve discarded at your feet.” Antoinette’s concern was replaced by pleasure at having come up with something so convincing, Thea could tell. She managed to hide her amusement as she noticed the way her aunt puffed up her chest.

  “I am in no position to say, today, how I shall feel tomorrow,” her aunt nevertheless said crisply. “I am frequently beset by the most debilitating ailments, which visit me entirely without warning.”

  Or that coincide with when I have an invitation or an opportunity to enjoy some diversion, Thea thought dolefully.

  “Besides, Thea might not wish to be in company so much when her wardrobe is so sparse.” Aunt Minerva patted the squirrel’s ta
il hairpiece that protruded from her lace cap. “I’ve not the money to spend on her when her father left her so pitifully unprovided for, and it appears she shuns those clothes of mine which I have so generously sent her way.”

  This was a painful topic for Thea. The simple muslin and velvet pelisse she wore now had been a generous present from Fanny some months previously, but if they were to attend any social events beyond the christening, she’d be sadly lacking in comparison with not just her own stylishly and expensively garbed cousins, but even the lowliest parson’s daughter.

  An image of handsome Mr Grayling, whom she’d been dreaming she might meet at some entertainment in Bath once he returned from his business, was replaced by relief that it was just as well she’d not be part of the social whirl, since he’d see from just a glance what she was: a hanger-on. A poor relation. Aunt Minerva had done a fine job the past year in tempering any hopes Thea had ever harboured of entering into holy matrimony. The thought nearly made her weep. Babies. Oh, how she longed to have babies with a loving husband by her side. Her own parents had been so terribly fond of each other and their many children, and Thea had always known that she wanted that same felicity of mutual feeling and a large family, too.

  Admittedly, there was some merit in her aunt’s criticism of Father’s dealings with money, she owned sadly, for he’d taken considerably less care of his somewhat meagre fortune than he had of the beautiful wife upon whom he loved to lavish expensive presents, and who had no idea of the fast-decreasing limits to his funds. Not that Thea would have minded about having no money as long as she could have had her family. But the terrible fever that had swept through the village two years ago had put paid to that.

  “You certainly are known for your generosity, Aunt Minerva,” Fanny said without a trace of irony, Thea was impressed to note. “Thea wrote to tell me of the fine brown and green velvet round gown you so kindly passed on to her.”