A Poor Relation. Joanna Maitland

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ work with a careless sentence or two.’

      The valet grinned at Mr Lewiston, as if to say that no amount of effort on the part of Lord Amburley would ever cure that particular malady.

      ‘Come, Leigh, I will have the truth out of you. Are you not at all curious about the circumstances of the lovely Miss Winstanley?’

      ‘I know all I wish to know about that young lady,’ countered his lordship. ‘She is young and quite pretty, I grant you. If you listen to Peveridge, she is also rich. You could have concluded that yourself from her mode of travelling, without recourse to Peveridge’s sources.’ Peveridge cleared his throat at this point as if preparing to intervene, but subsided at a warning glance from his master. With barely a pause, his lordship continued evenly, ‘Peveridge can no doubt give you detailed information on her family, her financial circumstances and her marital ambitions. I know nothing of those, nor do I desire to. The rich Miss Winstanley is empty-headed, frivolous and spoilt. No doubt she has been indulged from birth.’

      ‘How can you suggest such a thing, Amburley?’ growled Mr Lewiston. ‘You yourself admitted you know nothing about her.’

      ‘I know her kind very well. Did you compare the poverty of the poor relation’s dress with the expense of the young lady’s? The cost of that single fashionable outfit was probably more than the companion receives in a year. And to address her as “Winny”… If there had been the least doubt as to her lowly station in life, that would certainly have settled it.’

      ‘It could be her name, you know. Winifred, perhaps?’

      ‘I take leave to doubt that, George. Did you not notice how she blushed? I believe she was quite put out.’ Until the words were spoken, he had not been aware that her reactions had registered with him at all.

      ‘She did seem a little strained, I admit, but I put it down to the difficulties of the situation. However, you went out of your way to be kind to her, I noticed. Indeed, you were much more solicitous to the poor companion than to the lady.’

      ‘Since the lady had you to defend her, my friend, she clearly had no need of me. The companion, by contrast, had no one, not even her charge. She is—’ He stopped in mid-sentence. For some reason, he did not feel able to share his assessment of the poor companion, even with his friend. Deliberately, he pushed her shabby image to the back of his mind, before continuing, ‘I sought only to allow her to recover her composure a little. If I succeeded, I am glad.’

      ‘You are very much your mother’s son,’ said Lewiston, after a thoughtful pause, ‘with your concern for the poor and disadvantaged. Perhaps you should set up a foundation for impoverished spinsters?’

      Lord Amburley smiled enigmatically. ‘I have not the means, George, as you know very well—and, in any case, one philanthropist in the Stansfield family is quite enough. My mother does my share, I think—though only among the orphans.’ His eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘You, by contrast, could certainly afford to support such a worthy cause. Why not adopt your own suggestion?’

      ‘I have not the taste for it,’ came the prompt reply. ‘I fear I fall into your category of empty-headed, frivolous and spoilt.’

      The following morning was wet, which dampened everyone’s spirits. Isabella waited anxiously in her chamber for the gentlemen to leave the inn. She had exchanged the hideous brown dress for a simple but modish travelling gown of deep green, which she planned to hide beneath a plain dark pelisse when she emerged. There was also a matching hat, but Isabella would not dare to put it on until she was safely in the carriage and miles from this unfortunate inn. For the present, she would continue to hide her hair completely under the battered brown poke bonnet.

      Her main concern now was to avoid any further meeting with Lord Amburley. Until she was sure he had left, she dared not even venture into the parlour, lest he call to see how they did.

      She had suffered mortification enough, she told herself. She was resolved to leave without meeting him again, even if she had to resort to ill-manners to achieve it.

      Isabella returned to the window to check again on the departure of the gentlemen. To her relief, she saw that the curricle Sophia had described was standing ready in the yard. In spite of her preoccupation, she could not help noticing that the horses were quite as fine as Sophia had supposed. Mr Lewiston had a good eye, then, and might be wealthy after all. What a pity Isabella’s actions had ruined everything for Sophia.

      The sound of voices in the parlour next door distracted her from this depressing train of thought. Sophia’s voice, conversing with a man. Thank goodness Mitchell was present as chaperon, so that Isabella need not join them.

      She drew near the connecting door and, without quite putting her ear against it, found a position from which she could overhear all that was said. She told herself sternly that it was her duty to listen. Was she not, after all, the guardian of Sophia’s virtue?

      The voice proved to be Mr Lewiston’s. Isabella breathed again.

      Mr Lewiston was advising the ladies to delay their journey until the rain eased. He feared Miss Sophia might catch cold if she travelled in such weather.

      ‘But what of you, sir?’ responded Sophia. ‘Are you not about to set out for your prize-fight, or whatever it is you are all here to see? I thought I saw your horses standing in the yard?’

      ‘They are Amburley’s horses, I am sorry to say,’ admitted Mr Lewiston ruefully. ‘I should give much to own them.’

      ‘But they are not for sale,’ put in a deeper voice.

      Behind the door, Isabella smothered a gasp. A shiver ran down her body and she swayed on her feet. Amburley was there, just a few feet beyond the door. And it was all his—horses, wealth, everything. Surely a titled man of means would be bound to appear in London at some stage, whatever reasons had kept him away in the past?

      Light suddenly dawned. What a fool she had been! Of course, he must have been with Wellington’s army. How could she have missed something so obvious? His bearing, his air of authority, everything about him betrayed the soldier. He would be recently returned from the wars. There must be estates somewhere, she supposed. Oh, she prayed they were a long way from London and in need of his constant supervision. She could not bear the thought of meeting him again. A rake—and a hero too, no doubt. There could not be a more dangerous combination.

      Chapter Three

      Sophia looked around with glowing eyes. ‘Oh, Isabella,’ she breathed, ‘I have never seen such beautiful fabrics. It’s…it’s like Aladdin’s cave.’

      ‘Just wait until you have seen Madame’s designs.’ Isabella smiled.

      Sophia’s dark eyes opened even wider, as Madame Florette’s elegant black-clad figure re-entered the room, followed by a bevy of attendants carrying yet more bolts of splendid silks. Madame waved them into the background, before inviting the ladies to seat themselves on her delicate spindle-legged chairs.

      ‘Bien, mademoiselle.’ Madame was beaming at Isabella, no doubt in anticipation of a very large order. ‘I am at your service.’

      ‘Come, Sophia, let us make a start by choosing some simple morning dresses.’ Isabella smiled encouragingly. ‘Madame Florette has impeccable taste. You may trust her judgement.’

      ‘Mademoiselle Winstanley is most generous,’ СКАЧАТЬ