“That sounds an excellent idea!” Fanny looked at Bertram. “You must go with Thea, just to make sure she gets there safely.”
“Of course I’ll get there safely. I know exactly where the nursery is.”
Fanny hesitated, unsure whether to say more. “I’m just a little worried about George Bramley,” she finally confessed. “He likes his revenge and I believe you slapped his face the other night?” When Thea, shamefaced, nodded, Fanny went on, “In that case, he will definitely be seeking retribution. Promise me you’ll not venture anywhere near him.”
Thea shook her head vehemently. “Of course not! But I think I saw him on his way to the Oriental Pavilion not far from where the balloon is going to take off. As I’m off to the nursery to play with the babies, I’ll be quite safe.”
Antoinette took Thea’s wrist to stay her. “First we must interrupt Mr Grayling’s romantic overtures.” She looked determined. “We might not be able to stop him from marrying the wrong woman but we can at least make things a little harder for him.”
Thea’s heart felt ready to break in two. This was the worst evening of her life for it was true, she now realised, that she’d honestly held out hope, believing that if Mr Grayling really did love her he’d somehow find a means to marry her. Unable to extricate her fingers from Antoinette’s, she allowed herself to be hurried down to the gravel path.
Antoinette greeted the couple, gaily. “I’m so glad to see you at darling baby George’s celebration, Mr Grayling, Miss Huntingdon. Do you plan to take a ride in the hot-air balloon?”
Thea noticed the discomfort on the faces of both young people as they were descended upon by all four Brightwells who’d clearly interrupted something of importance.
Antoinette giggled and Fanny sent her a sharp look which did nothing to temper her next piece of outrageous behavior. Fixing the young man with an intense look, she tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “Thea’s going to marry George Bramley, did you know?”
Thea was pleased by the shock on Mr Grayling’s face. He looked confused as he stared at her then towards the Pavilion.
“But I thought—” He broke off, shrugged, then after a long look at Thea, said, “I’m expecting my man of business to arrive here any moment—” He turned to Miss Huntingdon whose expression, which had been equally bleak, was suddenly transformed by hope. However, receiving no answering flare in Mr Grayling’s expression her mouth turned downwards once more.
“At least,” Antoinette went on as if she hadn’t heard him, “Mr Bramley has wagered Lord Darington seven hundred pounds that he’ll take Miss Brightwell up in the hot-air balloon to propose to her and as Thea has received no other offers to consider and her aunt will soon no longer be in a position to offer her a home, what choice does poor Thea have?”
Bertram, who’d been swaying on his feet while he downed the last of his second bottle of Madeira that night, interjected dolefully, “And he’s wagered that nine months later Miss Brightwell will give birth to a beautiful—”
“Bertram!” his sisters cried out in horror though surely their horror was nothing compared with Thea’s. Seeing Mr Grayling’s anxious, then shocked expression, and aware also of Miss Huntgindon’s doleful demeanour, she declared roundly, “Whatever my plans regarding matrimony, I would not get into a hot air balloon with Mr Bramley if he was the last man alive!”
Bertram looked at her approvingly. “Yes, well, I’m mighty glad to hear that, Thea, because of course Mr Bramley might be plump enough in the pocket after winning those bets to make him a likely prospect but I do agree that you’ll be much better off marrying Dr Horne.” He was about to add more when Mr Grayling interjected hurriedly, “I say, please excuse me, for there’s Clunes, my man of business now.” He took a step forward, stopped, then put his hand on Thea’s shoulder, adding, as he bent his face close to hers, “Promise you’ll not get into any hot air balloon or accept any doctor’s proposals while I’m gone? I know you’re angry with me, which is perhaps why you gave me no answer, but promise me you’ll wait?”
“Wait?” Thea repeated as she closed her eyes briefly and savoured the feel of his sweet breath upon her cheek before opening her eyes to see him gone.
So, he did care for her. Yes, she realised she had been angry. No, more disappointed, but perhaps he really had not yet given her a definitive answer because he did not have one to give. With a jolt of fear—but of hope and anticipation too—she realised that the outcome of Mr Grayling’s imminent meeting with Mr Clunes would be the decider of her fate. Both their fates. With beating heart she watched him cross the lawn as Miss Huntingdon murmured, “Congratulations, Miss Brightwell. Are you really to marry Dr Horne? That is a surprise.”
“Poor Thea’s got little choice,” Antoinette replied, a touch tartly. “Aunt Minerva is expecting a marriage proposal tonight and says she isn’t able to offer Thea a home after Mr Granville becomes my formidable aunt’s husband. I expect their little assignation at the Pavilion is to arrange the final details.”
Miss Huntingdon looked surprised. “Mr Granville intends to propose to Miss Brightwell? Miss Minerva Brightwell? I did not think they knew one another.”
Miserably Thea explained, “He was a suitor in her youth whom she rejected more than twenty years ago. She was greatly upset by the fact that he was supposed to repeat his marriage offer only he didn’t. And now, twenty years later, he has.”
Miss Huntingdon’s surprise turned to confusion. “I do beg pardon, but Mr Granville appeared greatly taken with my second cousin who is…well, a fair young lady with a substantial portion.”
“What! Even fairer than the esteemed Miss Minerva Brightwell?” Bertram demanded as if he couldn’t believe such a thing. “Well, it appears your second cousin is going to be disappointed since clearly Mr Granville has rekindled his romance with my aunt and intends to propose to her in the Oriental Pavilion.”
Sylvester had had enough. Enough of his propensity for making excuses and of not being true to his heart and to his beliefs regarding what made for a good and worthwhile life.
He wanted to feel worthwhile and right now, crossing the lawn towards where he saw Clunes in conversation with several gentlemen, he was more conflicted that he had ever been.
He’d felt a cad disappointing Miss Huntingdon but it had been necessary to ease his conscience. Yet had he been premature? What was behind Miss Brightwell’s meaning? Was she toying with him to test his feelings for her? It seemed out of character and, furthermore, extraordinary that after his note of last night to her, requesting that she meet him at the Pavilion, she should publicly inform him she intended accepting Dr Horne. Perhaps it was a ruse for the benefit of her cousins and Miss Huntingdon. Perhaps she was trying to throw them off the scent in order to meet him at the Pavilion, after all. It was confusing and Sylvester didn’t like feeling confused.
That’s why he liked Miss Brightwell so much. She didn’t play games. She was completely transparent and honest.
Which meant her words with regard to accepting Dr Horne were out of character.
Yes indeed! Miss Brightwell was the sweetest, most innocent creature he’d ever met and these were the qualities he esteemed: pure goodness and a complete lack of guile.
He was within hailing distance of Clunes when he heard a breathless voice from behind, calling for him.
“Mr Grayling! My Grayling! Wait!”
He hesitated, turned, then when he saw it was Miss Brightwell, was unprepared for the complete disorderly beat of his heart as he stepped a little off the path so they were partly concealed by several large saplings.
She reached his side, her expression intense as if she had something of great importance to say, her words labored as she burst out, “Whatever you have to tell me doesn’t alter my opinion of you. My father couldn’t afford my mother’s…material needs and it made the whole family very unhappy. I wouldn’t do that to any child of mine and I truly understand your feelings of honour and why you’d hold that as a very impo
rtant factor when making your decision.” Her smile was tremulous as she put her hand on his wrist, her look appealing. “We must both make decisions that may not be what we want but what are for the best; that is, when everyone else is taken into account.”
He was touched by her sincerity. Her sentiments were so much as he’d have expected from her and that was why he loved her. She thought about everyone else before she thought of herself. She was too good for him but suddenly he was struck by the most earth-shattering realisation. By Gad he was going to marry her, regardless of what Clunes had to say. Or his mother. Or anyone.
With a quick glance behind her he gripped her shoulders, forcing her into the shadows, he whispered, “Will you kiss me in the seclusion of that small thicket over there?”
Wide-eyed, she nodded.
“You’d do so, even if I were to tell you news you might not wish to hear?”
Once again she nodded, adding, “But only this once because I love you, Mr Grayling, and I’d have this to remember you by. And only if you had no other commitments to anyone else. You’ve not made promises to Miss Huntingdon?”
Warmth filled his heart as he shook his head. “No, my dear love, I’ve made no commitments to anyone else. Or rather, to no one except myself.”
She smiled at the endearment, her gaze enquiring as he gently propelled her to the privacy he sought so he could truly convey his feelings to her.
“And since you’re not asking what commitments I’m making to myself, I will tell you. Yes, regardless of what my man of business tells me I ought or ought not do, I intend to marry you, Miss Brightwell. Why? Purely selfish reasons, I’m afraid to say.”
This time it was his turn to smile when she looked a little startled, but he stopped her question by touching his lips to hers, deep in the shadows of a spreading elm. But only for a second, only to whet her longing before he whispered, “You will make me a man I can be proud of. I truly believe that only you have that power.”
And before she had time to answer, he kissed her more deeply, dipping his head to fuse his mouth to hers as he cupped the back of her head and caressed her waist, skimming her thigh which charged him with a lust so fierce he had to remember where he was.
After a moment or so, she drew back, perhaps for air, though also to murmur against his lips, “You don’t need me to make you into anything, Mr Grayling. You’re perfect as you are.”
He had to kiss her again at this; and to feel her yielding, so willing, her gaze so tender and loving, was almost more than he could bear. In fact, her response was so rapturous it filled him with the sense that nothing could be more right and proper in the whole world than allying himself with this sweet angel.
Finally they both became conscious of the world around them; yet it was hard to break away. As they joined hands and gazed at one another, there was a new and shared understanding.
“I thought you had decided against meeting me in the Oriental Pavilion,” he said, almost bashfully. Lord, he felt like a green boy in the throes of first love. And yet, this young woman was going to be his wife. He’d never felt happier in his entire life. Of course, he hadn’t asked the question in the proper and formal manner he intended. But he would. Later. When the time was right.
She looked surprised. “Why should I do that? I…” She bit her lip and frowned. “I’m not a mind reader. You…you didn’t send me a message did you?”
Surprised, he replied, “I sent a message last night making just such a request. I asked the messenger to wait for an answer which I received in the affirmative.”
Miss Brightwell shook her head, wonderingly. “I received no such message though…Aunt Minerva did.”
Surprised, he asked, “What time was this?”
“At about eight o’ clock. She looked very excited and then told me I must accept Dr Horne if you hadn’t proposed to me by tonight.”
They had returned to open ground by this point and when Sylvester raised his head to respond he instead exhaled on resignation. He knew he should not have been surprised to be confronted by all three Brightwell siblings but there they were advancing, en masse, towards them. They were a formidable team and the trick Bertram Brigthwell had played in deceiving him was deplorable. Yet he could not condemn him. Not for delivering him a lifetime of happiness.
“You look positively glowing, Thea!” cried Lady Quamby. “Do you have good news to report?”
Noting Miss Brightwell’s embarrassment which was understandable since Sylvester had not stated anything in specific terms which she could in turn report to her cousins, he interjected, as forcefully as was polite, “I was hoping I might be allowed a few moments alone with your cousin in the Oriental Pavilion.” He smiled fondly at his lovely bride-to-be, then returned his gaze to the Brightwell clan. “Then she will have something to report.”
Instead of the delight he was expecting, Lady Fenton’s brow clouded. “But that’s where Aunt Minerva has gone.”
“Indeed she has,” his darling Miss Brightwell corroborated anxiously. “As I told you, she received a message last night from Mr Granville, requesting that she meet him there.”
Sylvester stared from each questioning face before returning his gaze to his darling’s. “I think, perhaps, she is mistaken. I sent a message to Miss Brightwell requesting her company at the Oriental Pavilion.”
“To Miss Thea Brightwell?” Bertram clarified.
“Lord, not Miss Thea Brightwell.” Sylvester sent Thea a stricken look. “Are you not the eldest young lady, the lady I was introduced to as Miss Brightwell?”
“Indeed she was, as you could hardly be on Christian name terms,” Bertram said smoothly. “I say, it’s an easy mistake to make, but rather a foolish one. Of course Miss Brightwell—Aunt Minerva—would imagine any letter addressed to Miss Brightwell was for her. Not very clever of you, eh wot?”
Sylvester’s anxiety grew as he directed an even more intense look at Miss Brightwell. “You say your aunt has been in receipt of a number of notes during the past two weeks?”
“Yes, Mr Grayling. I glanced at one of them and indeed, I can assure you that Mr Granville’s growing interest is not a figment of her imagination. He apologized for his shabby treatment and begged for a sign from her to reassure him that she forgave him. This was just before the masquerade.”
“The note was addressed to Miss Brightwell and signed with the initials SG?”
Miss Brightwell nodded.
Impulsively he gripped her hand, bringing it to his lips as he cried, “I wrote that note. In fact, I wrote all of them. But I addressed them to Miss Brightwell assuming they would be delivered to you.”
Miss Brightwell gasped. “You wrote all those notes to Aunt Minerva?”
“No…to you, of course!”
“To me?” she whispered. Sylvester’s apparent stupidity was then rewarded by a look of the utmost adoration.
Meanwhile Lady Fenton looked greatly discomposed. “I fear Aunt Minerva is on her way to the Pavilion for a secret assignation which she believes will be with her long-lost Mr Granville. As she would if she believes all the letters Mr Grayling intended for Cousin Thea were for her.”
Bertram guffawed. “Just as well you didn’t get there earlier and find yourself stuck with the old trout, Grayling old chap. Not that she won’t be mightily disappointed to find nobody there, now.”
Lady Fenton let out a resounding sigh. “Well, Thea is accounted for, and that’s our greatest relief.”
“I wonder where George Bramley is?” Bertam fiddled with the buttons of his waistcoat and Sylvester assumed he had a good deal of money wagered on something to do with the odious George Bramley. But with Thea Brightwell by his side, he felt easy. No, he was not going to let her out of his sight. Not tonight. In fact, he’d be there always to see to her best interests in case someone tried to put a wedge between them by making her feel at some time in the future that she and their growing brood of children—funny how he loved the idea!—might ever be considered a drain on his
purse.
“I daresay he’s somewhere near the hot air balloon since that’s where he intends to win that stupid wager,” the young man went on, “though he certainly won’t now.”
They all looked towards the Oriental Pavilion and, nearby, where the balloon had been tethered to the ground, its enormous brightly coloured canopy reaching for the sky.
“Really, I think the kindest thing right now would be to put Aunt Minerva out of her misery and tactfully explain that Mr Granville will not be making an appearance let alone any heartfelt declarations,” suggested Lady Fenton.
At which Lady Quamby cried in stirring tones, “To the Oriental Pavilion, one and all!”
All was quiet when they reached the Oriental Pavilion en route to their destination. However knowing that poor Aunt Minerva was waiting like a lovelorn damsel somewhere inside, they peeped through a section of uncovered window.
In unison they all voiced their horror before clapping hands to their mouths.
George Bramley was on a raised dais, strutting backwards and forwards as if addressing a rapt audience. Every now and again he’d stop, run his hands down his sides, flex his muscles, then throw his head back and laugh.
“He’s quite mad, you know.” Lady Quamby rolled her eyes. “And to think he imagined he might succeed in making Thea his wife.”
The idea was so preposterous, Sylvester felt his stomach lurch. The moment he had the Oriental Pavilion all to himself he was going to ensure Miss Brightwell received the offer for which she was waiting so patiently. In fact, he could barely contain himself from blurting out his marriage proposal right now, just to ensure it was official.
“What is he doing?” Lady Fenton cried, squinting with greater concentration into the gloom. “Good God, who is that?”
Rogue's Kiss (Scandalous Miss Brightwell Book 2) Page 22
