A Poor Relation. Joanna Maitland

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СКАЧАТЬ like a pretty young heiress. Just the sort of prey that such a man would seek to fasten on. Pity the hapless female who was unwise enough to fall into his clutches. He was charming, too, no doubt about that. She would not easily forget that devastating smile and its effect on her. She was feeling it still.

      Isabella straightened her spine, waiting until she felt sufficiently in control of her emotions to speak. ‘You are most kind, gentlemen,’ she said, carefully addressing her remarks to the space between the tall unknown and Mr Lewiston. ‘I am sure my cousin will agree that she and I share a chamber also. There will be no need for further inconvenience to the guests on that score. I take it the landlord can find accommodation for the servants?’

      The landlord readily agreed that he could. Then he fled from the scene, ostensibly to see to the readying of the rooms.

      Isabella, now relieved of the immediate worry, felt some sympathy for him. It could not be easy dealing with a forceful lady and an arrogant lord at one and the same time. Arrogant? No, it would be unjust to call him so, however much she might detest his libertine ways. He was simply very firm about what was to be done. His manner was certainly daunting, but he was self-assured rather than arrogant, a man who was used to issuing commands and who expected them to be obeyed. It would probably be unwise to cross him, too, for there was something in his demeanour that suggested ruthlessness as well as strength. He… Enough! What on earth was she about, letting her mind wander so in the hallway of a posting house?

      Isabella’s tumbling thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Sophia in her usual tempestuous fashion. ‘Winny, dear,’ she began, and Isabella’s heart sank as she recognised a gleam of sardonic amusement in the tall gentleman’s eye, ‘Mr Lewiston has so kindly offered to resolve all our problems for us. I have—’

      Clearly, Sophia must be stopped before Isabella was even further embarrassed. Her predicament was already wretched enough. ‘Yes, I know, Sophia. Thanks to the kind offices of these two gentlemen, we have somewhere to sleep tonight, even if we are constrained to share a bedchamber. My lord,’ she added pointedly, ‘you must let me make you known to my cousin, Miss Sophia Winstanley. Sophia, this is Lord…’

      ‘Amburley, at your service, Miss Sophia Winstanley,’ he continued coolly, as if Isabella had known the name all along. He favoured Sophia with a brief, hard smile and bowed over her hand. Then, turning to Isabella, he took her hand also, adding, with another bow, ‘And at yours, Miss Winstanley, of course. The burdens of a companion on a journey such as this are not lightly borne. I hope I may have helped to relieve them in some small way. If there is any other service you require of me, ma’am, please do not hesitate to ask. And now we will leave you. I am sure you will wish to assure yourselves that your accommodation is adequate.’ With a further bow, he released Isabella’s hand and left them to return to the coffee-room, followed by a rather reluctant Mr Lewiston.

      Isabella looked dazedly at her hand. It felt as if it were burning, yet there was no outward sign of heat. Her face, too, felt as if it were on fire. Was this an example of how a rake’s practised charm was exercised? She shook her head, vainly trying to clear her disordered thoughts. She longed for solitude so that she might attempt to make sense of what had happened. But, of course, sharing a room with the effervescent Sophia would prevent any opportunity for calm reflection. It was hopeless.

      Isabella now wished with all her heart that she had never succumbed to the urge to visit that rural orphanage. It had led her into two encounters with a man who affected her composure as no other had ever done. Not that it mattered, for he clearly regarded her as a poor, used, spinster companion, put upon by all and an object to be pitied. She felt deeply embarrassed and somehow shamed. Her only refuge was in the hope—earnestly felt—that she would never set eyes on Lord Amburley again. She did not see how her injured self-esteem could survive a third meeting.

      ‘You carried that off perfectly, Winny,’ said Sophia. ‘But for you, we should be sleeping in the stables.’

      Isabella smiled weakly in response. At least Sophia had not recognised Lord Amburley.

      ‘Shall we retire to our parlour now?’ continued Sophia. ‘I so much want to tell you about my conversation with Mr Lewiston.’

      Isabella nodded agreement. It would certainly not do to learn Sophia’s views about the perfection of Mr Lewiston’s figure and address in the hearing of the coffee-room gentlemen. That would be the final humiliation of an absolutely dreadful day. Fortunately, the landlord returned at that moment, and so they were soon ensconced in a comfortable parlour with easy chairs and a welcome blaze in the hearth. With a sigh of relief, Isabella removed her all-concealing bonnet and sank into a chair. Privacy, at last.

      ‘I must tell you, Winny, about my encounter with Mr Lewiston. He must have witnessed our arrival, for he was seeing to his horses in the yard. They are very fine, by the bye, so I collect he must be a rich young man.’

      ‘That need not be so,’ interposed Isabella. ‘Many a young gentleman of address is deeply in debt and hanging out for a rich wife to solve his problems.’

      ‘I do not believe Mr Lewiston is such a one. How can you possibly suggest such a motive for the young man who helped to rescue us?’ Sophia stopped short as the full import of Isabella’s words struck home. ‘Besides, I am not rich.’

      ‘No, Sophia, you are not rich but, just for the moment, you have every appearance of it. You ride in a fine carriage with an abigail and servants in attendance. Your shabbily dressed cousin is naturally assumed to be your companion, while you yourself are dressed in the latest fashion. No one would guess it is thanks to your own nimble fingers, you know. No, indeed, you seem to have all the outward trappings of an heiress.’

      ‘Oh!’ Sophia blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Oh, dear! What shall we do?’

      ‘Nothing. Tomorrow we shall wait until the gentlemen have left before we emerge as ourselves. And even then, I shall ensure that there is not so much difference in my own appearance as to cause comment. Then we can forget all about this unfortunate occurrence…and start preparing for your London Season. We must have you do justice to the Winstanley looks.’ Her mischievous smile lit up her eyes.

      That final sally was not enough to restore Sophia’s spirits. ‘But what if we should meet Mr Lewiston or Lord What’s-his-name in London? I should die of mortification.’

      ‘If you should meet either Mr Lewiston or Lord Amburley, you will behave as if nothing had happened, my dear. After all, you have done nothing, except to be your true self. The imposture, such as it is, has been mine, and I shall have to deal with the consequences if we should meet either gentleman again. However,’ she added consolingly, ‘I do not believe we shall. Although I do not go into Society very much, I have lived in London for almost a year now, and I have not heard of either of them. No doubt they are northern gentlemen who do not come to London for the Season.’

      In a bedchamber further along the corridor, Lord Amburley was changing his coat, musing abstractedly on his two encounters with the elder Miss Winstanley. She was remarkably sharp-tongued—but perhaps that was not surprising, considering how shamefully she was treated by her young employer. It was not a fate he would wish on any woman, however poverty-stricken.

      His valet’s voice intruded insistently. Peveridge was clearly determined to indulge his irrepressible taste for gossip, now that he had an audience of two. ‘Miss Winstanley is a real lady, m’lord, and a considerable heiress to boot, by all accounts.’

      ‘Is she, begad?’ said Mr Lewiston, who was reclining at his ease in a chair and nursing a glass in his hand. ‘Well, well.’

      ‘Pray СКАЧАТЬ