A Poor Relation. Joanna Maitland

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes widened in sudden recognition—for that was exactly how she had felt earlier, at the pianoforte. Then, she had not been able to put it into words. Now…now she had to admit that Lord Amburley would be a very dangerous man to cross.

      Chapter Four

      While society ladies were sleeping away the exertions of their late night, Lord Amburley was much occupied. He had never lost the soldier’s habit of rising early, though nowadays he used the time to exercise his horses rather than to inspect his troops. He revelled in the solitary beauty of the park and the freedom he enjoyed there in the early morning. Later in the day, there were always too many prying eyes for his comfort—the rigid etiquette of the ton sat very uneasily on the shoulders of the man of action that he had been.

      It was a beautiful, late spring morning, but Amburley barely noticed the birdsong or the budding trees. The huge grey he rode seemed to be itching to gallop across the fresh, dewy grass but was held to a sedate walk by an iron hand. The horse tossed his head in protest.

      Lord Amburley was still in Sir Thomas’s drawingroom, listening to a heart-stoppingly beautiful voice—and worrying at the riddle of the woman behind it. He had observed her closely while she sang. She was remarkably handsome—her glorious golden hair and her glowing complexion were a revelation to him. Only those unforgettable grey-green eyes confirmed her double identity—and her duplicity. She had been totally in control, too, until she caught sight of him. From then on, her agitation—and Miss Sophia’s—had been apparent, though she had masked it well in the supper room. A good actress, he supposed.

      But what—in truth—was she? On the road, he had met a poor relation with a sharp tongue and more concern for poor Jonah than for polite behaviour. Now, she was transformed into a lady of the ton. One guise must be false, of course—and, remembering her guilty reactions of the previous evening, he knew which it must be.

      None the less, he found he could not help admiring her. She had more than beauty—she had spirit. No shrinking violet she, in spite of what she was. And yet, her inexcusable behaviour must surely be condemned by any right-thinking man?

      The grey shook his head again, more forcefully. ‘All right, old fellow. You’ve made your point. You think I’m good for nothing this morning, don’t you? Well, we’ll see about that.’ He let the horse have his head. The grey needed to shake the fidgets out of his legs. If only Amburley’s own concerns could be so simply resolved.

      Around ten o’clock, while Lord Amburley was partaking of a light breakfast in his rented house in Jermyn Street, Mr Lewiston was announced. ‘Good God, George, you are up betimes,’ exclaimed his lordship, waving his friend to a chair. ‘I have not known you to emerge before noon, unless there was a prize-fight to attend. What brings you here at this hour?’

      ‘I have some news,’ replied Lewiston. ‘I must tell you that I encountered Miss Winstanley yesterday, quite by chance. You recall the young lady we rescued on the North Road? Well, it was she. And I have discovered her direction in London. Quite wonderful luck! I mean to call on her today. Will you accompany me?’

      Lord Amburley did not immediately reply. ‘Did you, indeed? And was she still in looks?’

      ‘Indeed she was. She looked quite lovely. And so animated, more so than before, I fancy. I think that that dowdy companion we met up north had a malign influence on her. Miss Winstanley seemed in much brighter spirits without her louring presence.’

      ‘Miss Winstanley was alone?’ asked Lord Amburley sharply.

      ‘Of course not,’ snapped Mr Lewiston. ‘She was accompanied by a distant relation—a Miss Isabella Winstanley. She is much older than Miss Sophia and a perfectly proper chaperon. Though I should perhaps warn you that she is a most elegant female herself, not beautiful exactly, but certainly striking.’

      Lord Amburley raised an eyebrow. Isabella Winstanley was much more than striking, surely? But that was not a subject for discussion with Lewiston. ‘And what has become of the poor companion? “Winny”, was it not?’

      ‘I have not the least notion. In any case, what has she to say to anything? You are not about to have another attack of philanthropy, are you, Leigh?’

      ‘No. Merely curious.’ Lord Amburley busied himself with the coffee-pot as he spoke. ‘Tell me about your encounter, including the distant cousin.’

      ‘There is little more to tell. Miss Winstanley— Miss Sophia Winstanley, I mean—almost collided with me outside Florette’s. We exchanged a few words. Miss Sophia introduced me to her companion, and then she told me she was staying with Lady Wycham in Hill Street. Lady Wycham is her godmother, you know.’

      ‘Well, no—in fact, I don’t know her ladyship, I’m afraid,’ responded his lordship flippantly.

      ‘Sometimes, Leigh, you are quite exasperating. I did not expect you to know Lady Wycham, dammit; I was simply explaining how things are. If you’d just let me finish…’

      ‘Oh. Is there more?’ His lordship sat back, calmly drinking his coffee.

      Lewiston continued doggedly. ‘Kenley has told me all about the Misses Winstanley. Your man Peveridge was right about her being an heiress. Apparently Lady Wycham is very well-to-do, and Miss Winstanley is her nearest relative. She is expected to inherit everything. I dare say she will be the catch of the Season—beauty, breeding and a fortune into the bargain.’

      ‘With Kenley involved, she will certainly become the centre of attraction—he is a gossip-monger of the first order. I have never understood why he spoils his own chances of winning heiresses by spreading the news all over London. After all, everyone knows he’s mortgaged to the hilt. But you mean to be first in line yourself, I collect?’

      Lewiston glowered in response. ‘I have no need of her fortune, as you know perfectly well. I mean only to further my acquaintance with her and, perhaps, to warn her about some of those who may have mercenary motives.’

      This was serious, Amburley realised. And there was an edge in Lewiston’s tone that suggested… ‘I trust you do not include me in that category, do you, George?’

      Lewiston laughed. ‘Why, no, of course not. I know you are not hanging out after an heiress for a wife…or indeed any wife at all, as far as I can see. And even if you were, I doubt you would choose someone of Miss Winstanley’s tender years. The cousin, now, might be more to your liking. I’d say she is past five-and-twenty, but she is very well-looking, none the less. I gather she is a poor relation of some kind, though, and totally dependent on Lady Wycham’s generosity, so you couldn’t really afford to—’ Lewiston broke off at Amburley’s dark frown. ‘What is the matter, Leigh?’

      ‘I will thank you not to interfere in my private affairs, George. I know you mean well… However, what is important at present is that I prevent you from making a complete ass of yourself in this case.’ Lewiston gave an audible gasp. ‘As I said, an ass,’ repeated his lordship. ‘You clearly did not look closely at Miss Isabella Winstanley. If you had, you would have recognised the “malign” companion of our earlier encounter.’ Lewiston now looked as if he had received a blow in the solar plexus.

      ‘I chanced to meet both ladies at Lady Bridge’s soirée last night,’ continued Lord Amburley evenly. ‘Miss “Winny” is attempting to pass herself off as a lady of fortune, no doubt in the hope of catching a husband. Your Miss Sophia, probably abetted by Lady Wycham, has clearly put quite some investment into her companion’s appearance, for she СКАЧАТЬ