“Indeed Aunt Minerva would not give Thea up, but that is not at issue here,” Fanny said, with a touch of asperity, as if her husband were being perfectly stupid. “Thea is a beauty and she has caught the eye of Mr Grayling, for whom she feels a considerable degree of…affection.” She patted her husband’s hand, smiling at him before transferring her gaze to Thea. “What we need to deduce is how to ensure Mr Grayling comes to value the strength of Thea’s feelings for him.”
The equable tone of Fenton’s response would have been surprising, had Thea not observed that he held his wife’s intelligence in the highest regard. “I’m sure you’ve already hit upon the perfect cunning plan.” He transferred his fond gaze from his wife’s lively countenance to study Thea with considered concern. “That is, provided Thea has no objections.”
“No objections to what?” Confused by the sense of shared understanding between everyone else, Thea scanned each face. Antoinette’s full mouth was turned up by the wickedest pucker and her eyes danced; Fanny looked serenely self-satisfied; and Fenton looked…well, as handsome and devoted a husband as Thea longed to make of…Mr Grayling?
All of a sudden she was trembling, the kernel of hope growing within her that perhaps some day she, too, like her cousins, could orchestrate a future more fulfilling than any she could hope for in her current circumstances.
“Thea, I think you should come to my room before lunch,” Fanny told her, while Fenton continued to surreptitiously fondle her ungloved hand on the sofa between them. On the surface she appeared as dignified as her position required but Thea did not miss the colluding look she and Antoinette exchanged.
Then Fanny returned her attention to Thea, her eyes dancing with merriment before she sobered. “Of course, Lord Fenton is right to be concerned. Once—you may have heard—my darling Fenton was London’s most notorious rake, so he’s the first to know how easily an innocent young woman, untutored in the ways of this wicked world, can come to grief. Happily, he is now a reformed rake,” she looked smug, “and you can rest assured that with a little help and tuition from your Brightwell cousins, all of us are only too ready to ensure you make a success of this rare opportunity to snare a man’s interest from under your aunt’s nose.”
Chapter 7
ALL that was needed was a plan. A cunning plan, and no one had mastered the cunning plan better than Fanny.
Fanny had nearly lost Fenton after she’d surrendered her all, assuming that as a gentleman he would do the honourable thing. Then Fanny’s nemesis, the odious George Bramley, had whipped up the vilest rumours about Fanny’s suitability as a wife, so that Fenton had in fact offered Fanny a secret little bower and her own carriage rather than a ring and a title.
Well, Fanny had won her position as Lady Fenton through some very clever maneuvering. Not only had she secured her position in society as Fenton’s wife, she’d secured his affection, too.
Such marital success was just what she had in mind for her cousin. Thea was the most deserving candidate but she also provided Fanny with excellent material to work with. The girl was lovely in both looks and nature, and she was intelligent and pliant, too. She wanted marital success and to give up her parsimonious existence as Aunt Brightwell’s companion, and Fanny had no doubt Thea would prove obedient to all Fanny’s ministrations and instruction.
Not that Fanny intended Thea to know every detail of how she and her siblings planned to orchestrate her fate. That wasn’t necessary at all and, in fact, would be most unhelpful. Thea was less daring than Fanny, and a lot less outrageous and immoral than Antoinette. She’d be a reluctant protégé if she knew what her cousins intended. No, Thea would have to be managed like a slightly temperamental thoroughbred, but no doubt that delicacy of temperament was more likely to appeal to Mr Grayling. Fanny’s investigations had revealed a man who did not favour the bold and the brash but rather the beautiful and bashful.
So on a crisp June morning, when the flower beds by the castle walls were in full bloom, Fanny persuaded Thea to accompany her riding at an hour considerably earlier than Fanny, certainly, was inclined to take her exercise. Lolling in bed with Fenton was decidedly the best way to while away the morning hours, but Fanny was never one to shirk her duty when it came to furthering the collective interests of the once maligned Brightwells. Yes, she was definitely prepared to endure a degree of sacrifice for the satisfaction of seeing her cunning plan bear fruit in the shortest possible time. Fanny in fact was determined to hear wedding bells peal by the end of July at the very latest.
“I never took you for a sportswoman, Fanny,” Thea panted as they crested a hill and brought their mounts to a halt. The valley spread out before them: a patchwork of variegated greens interspersed with woodland. Thea sighed. “What an utterly charming vista. I could live here forever.”
“Then you’re far more the country bumpkin than I am, Thea.” Fanny smiled. “Give me the hustle and bustle of the city any day. I immerse myself in the country for a short time on a regular basis so that when desperation hits its peak, I can throw myself back into what I truly love, and enjoy it all the more.”
Her cousin looked at her in astonishment. “I thought people only lived in town when they had no other choice. Why, I grew up in the country and it’s the only place I’d choose to be. Even Bath is too bustling for me.”
“Then we’ll have to find a nice quiet country barrister with a self-deprecating demeanour to fall in love with you, Thea, for any man of ambition is going to want to live in the city.”
Thea raised her eyes to the skies, where a weak sun was attempting to punch through the thick cloud cover. “Oh, I’m prepared to make compromises, Cousin Fanny,” she murmured. “Perhaps I’m not so fond of town because I’m always perceived as the poor relation, and believe me, there’s nothing worse than that. I just wanted to crawl under the bed every time mama tried to entice me to attend an entertainment with her, both of us dressed in the fashions of three seasons ago.”
Fanny could see how this was a likely contributor to Thea’s jaundiced views on living in London. “Don’t imagine I was in a better financial position, dearest. It was my mama’s ambition that saw us fitted out in the latest. She gambled every last penny on outfitting Antoinette and me for our final season. I can tell you, the pressure was considerable, knowing that if we failed to secure the wealth and titles Mama desired for us, we were destined to spend our days like you, mouldering in the country as unpaid companions to Aunt Brightwell.”
Thea levelled a half-envious, half-desperate look upon her cousin. “Goodness, so I’m the one living the life you’d have lived had your courageous efforts not won Fenton over.” With the reins slung loosely over one wrist, she clasped her hands and pleaded, “If you have any suggestions as to how I might win Mr Grayling’s high regard, do tell me, Fanny. I really am all at sea when it comes to knowing how to behave with a gentleman. Especially one like Mr Grayling, who sends my heart into such palpitations I can barely force out a sentence.”
Fanny felt a great surge of satisfaction at hearing this. Securing Thea’s marital aspirations was going to be far easier than she’d thought since her cousin was clearly proving so malleable.
“Why, good lord, I do believe that’s Mr Grayling himself coming towards us!” Fanny exclaimed. The girls shaded their eyes, squinting into the distance as a dark-clad, indistinct figure on horseback assumed all the right proportions, emerging through a final copse of trees as…Mr Grayling.
Fanny leaned across the small space that separated them to say to her cousin, “I suggest you appear interested but not too bright and eager. A certain whimsical lethargy might be in order as you feel your way with any unknown gentleman.” She hesitated, adding, “That is, before you know what they’re truly after.”
Thea nodded.
“What a delightful surprise it is to see you, ladies.”
Mr Grayling doffed his hat and as he focused his pleasure upon Thea, Fanny was pleased to observe that while the planes of his angular face
indicated a determined character, she could discern no suggestion of cruelty. She’d made such studies a feature of her sizing up of the male contingent ever since her painful encounter with Lord Slyther, the disgusting libertine her mother had chosen to foist upon her if Fanny failed to secure an acceptable match. Fenton often whispered stories of a man’s true character, his predilection for certain activities that were demeaning or demoralizing to those weaker than himself, and Fanny was always assiduous, when meeting the said gentleman in a social setting, in ascertaining whether an unguarded look, or faint grooves about the mouth might bear up such an undesirable streak.
Fortunately, Fenton had heard only good regarding Mr Grayling and now, as Fanny studied him, she saw only determination, ambition and a very decided interest as he narrowed his eyes and, studying Thea closely, asked, “You are not worn out after your ride, Miss Brightwell? From a distance I saw both of you fair galloping up the hill.” He smiled. “You’re very flushed.”
Thea blinked and opened her mouth to speak but Fanny said quickly but with bolstering sympathy, “Darling Thea will prove to us all just how…robust she is. Yet she is worn out—aren’t you, dearest? —while I am just itching to put Major through his paces.” She tilted her head and looked enquiringly at her cousin. “Why don’t you allow Mr Grayling to take you for a gentle stroll over to that fallen log, where you can rest for a few minutes while I give Major his head?”
“Really, Cousin Fanny, I don’t think I—” Thea began, but Fanny brushed away her objections with a blithe wave of her hand.
“What difference are a few minutes with or without a chaperone? I’m sure I could trust an honourable man like Mr Grayling with my life as well as your reputation, Thea.” Fanny chuckled as Thea dubiously dismounted in response to Fanny’s imperative indication; then she leaned across to address Mr Grayling in a collaborative manner.
“I hope you have no objection, initiating my cousin in the art of conversing with a gentleman. I’m sure she’ll be quite tongue-tied but,” she dropped her eyes and affected great sorrow, “Thea’s time is limited and I am fond of her.” She smiled a meaningful, colluding smile. “As I think she is fond of you, Mr Grayling. You are just the kind of gentleman to whom I would entrust darling Thea—” She broke off as she was aware of Thea taking a step closer and looking enquiringly at them. “Carry on, Thea. Mr Grayling will join you in a moment, so that you both may enjoy the view from the top of the hill. I shall be back in twenty minutes. No need to look at me like I’ve cast you into the lion’s den.”
“Cousin Fanny!” Thea gasped in embarrassment, putting her hands to her face as she glanced from Fanny to Mr Grayling.
Fanny was glad the gentleman shared her amusement at Thea’s reaction. He really was charmed by the girl’s charm and innocence, she thought.
Resuming her conversation as Thea began to trail obediently towards the fallen log, she indicated her cousin with a nod of her head. “You understand that under normal circumstances I would never consider leaving Thea unchaperoned.”
Mr Grayling nodded, his expression suitably grave. “Rest assured, Lady Fenton, you have no cause to fear that I shall say or do anything that might remotely tax Miss Brightwell, or that may be cause for scandal.”
Fanny raised her eyes heavenward. Perhaps he wasn’t as understanding as she’d assumed. It seemed she really must spell it out. “But that is exactly what you must do, Mr Grayling. I am charging you with the task of introducing Thea to the pleasures that she will all too soon be denied when her sweet young life is cruelly cut short just months from now.” She sent him a meaningful look, hoping he really did have the intelligence to follow what she was implying.
Dawning gratification crossed his face, quickly followed by alarm. “But what if she—”
“Unexpectedly…expire? There is no danger now, I assure you, Mr Grayling. Her doctor says that while she is well and robust, she must enjoy every amusement she can. He recommends gentle stimulation and mild exertion. When she starts to decline in another four months or so, why, then we must take every care with her.”
She was about to say more, only Thea, who was already a few feet across the grassy turf, turned. Fanny saluted her and curtailed her advice with a smile. “Can I leave my cousin’s…education in pleasure…to you, Mr Grayling? As long as there are no whispers surrounding the pair of you, I shall be only too pleased to think that you’ve so kindly stepped in to shoulder the burden of caring for Thea in a way only a gentleman for whom I can tell she has feelings could do.”
With his thoughts in turmoil, Sylvester led his horse towards Thea, who was stroking the nose of her docile mare as it cropped the sweet grass on the hilltop. Lady Fenton’s parting words had been a licence for anything, it seemed, but the lust that had coursed through him a few moments ago was tempered now with a curious mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite identify. He certainly must not let the girl down by feeling pity. Didn’t she deserve to feel what her cousin believed she ought before she went to her grave: pleasure and passion? Delivering upon that was what he’d been charged with.
“What a beautiful morning it is, Miss Brightwell,” he murmured. For the first time in his life he wasn’t sure how to approach a lady. Their very aloneness was highly irregular, and she’d know it. Sylvester, by contrast, was used to secret assignations and, on occasion, fast and furious lovemaking with highly experienced women who had looked to him to deliver a mutually satisfying experience. Bored married women and voracious widows had been his usual fare until now.
A shy—dying—virgin with a reputation to be protected was entirely out of his league.
Gad, but she was lovely, he thought as he approached, raising her head to regard him with a look of unsettling intensity. He was unexpectedly assailed by a wave of tenderness coupled with a charge of feeling to his groin.
“I’m sorry you’ve been saddled with me while Cousin Fanny takes her exercise.” Her voice was lilting and musical and he noticed the slightest upturn to her lips, suggesting humour as she added, “Fanny is very impulsive and she does like to seize the moment when she can.”
Sylvester lay his handkerchief over the fallen log. “Are you so unlike?” he asked, offering his hand so he could help her to sit.
“As Aunt Minerva’s companion—and unlike Cousin Fanny—I have few moments to seize.”
And so little time left in which to seize them, Sylvester thought with a pang as he sat next to her, careful that his thigh did not rest against hers—yet.
“Your aunt is…somewhat exacting, I’m led to believe. But let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about you.”
“Me?”
It was almost a squeal of surprise. Amused, he touched her cheek, very briefly, then carefully clasped his hands in his lap as he gazed into her eyes. The flare of response in their blue depths was gratifying and he was just congratulating himself on how well he was conducting this gentle prelude to the greater intimacy with which he’d been charged, when she said abruptly, “I am totally dependent on my aunt, Mr Grayling. My father left me penniless some years ago. That’s really all there is to know about me.”
He took her hand. “Should I be shocked by your candour or full of admiration for your honesty?” Admittedly, he was surprised by her revelation, which for the moment hindered what he had in mind, but perhaps needed to be dealt with. “You are a very lovely young woman.” He hesitated. “And I should like to know you better, having observed you from,” he smiled as he added with emphasis, “across the Assembly Rooms.”
Rising, he drew her to her feet. “Come, let us walk the path that skirts the cliff face. Do you see your cousin over there?”
He pointed to a speck in the distance, which he assumed was Fanny galloping hell for leather over the downs. Lord, but Lady Fenton, as she had become, had inspired the lustful fantasies of half of London. He well recalled the whispers and innuendo that had swirled around her regarding her suitability as a wife. Some of the more scandalous suggested she’d had a rag
ing affair with Viscount Fenton before they were married, and that he’d even proposed to set her up as his mistress. But then Earl Quamby had made her an honest offer, which soon had Fenton begging her on his knees to pledge her troth to him. The whole world knew that part, followed by the shock of the season when Miss Fanny Brightwell did indeed succumb to Lord Fenton’s avowals of love and in fact broke off her betrothal to Lord Quamby to wed the man who’d stolen her heart. Jaws had barely been put back into place when the younger Miss Antoinette wed Lord Quamby not one week later, producing for him a son and heir after supposedly nine months and five minutes—though it was whispered the babe was vastly overcooked.
Miss Thea was a meek lamb to her cousins’ fire and daring, which was fine by Sylvester, as he had no interest in a jezebel who’d lead him a merry dance before conferring her favours upon him. While the girl’s tragic plight both touched his heart and made it thrill with forbidden opportunities—well, forbidden under any other circumstance—normally he was not drawn to the weak and helpless. But perhaps he was of a more altruistic and philanthropic nature than he’d supposed. He’d be rendering her the greatest service if he could wean her ever so gently into a world of forbidden pleasures before her time on earth was at an end. It’s what Lady Fenton explicitly wished of him, and what he was relishing—even more now that he realised he’d have to be more creative about his wooing—.
Miss Brightwell shaded her eyes. “She is a very long way away,” she said doubtfully.
“Then let us take a shortcut through the woods to cut her off at the pass.” Sylvester placed her hand in the crook of his arm, patting it firmly to keep it there, and increased his pace until they were well camouflaged by the wooded terrain.
Aware of her increased breathing, he glanced down at her. “Would you like to stop a moment, Miss Brightwell? The exertion is perhaps not good for you.”
Rogue's Kiss (Scandalous Miss Brightwell Book 2) Page 7