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Miss Montrose stopped abruptly in the doorway and turned her large, luminous gaze upon him. To his astonishment, he saw the tears that were so close to falling. She gritted her teeth and stepped into the passage, muttering, “It’s no trouble to spend a few more hours in the company of an animal that asks nothing of me. Allow me this comfort, at least, Mr Patmore. I’m sorry to hold you up when you’d much rather be on your way than having to decamp at the local inn, but…please let me keep Devil’s Run until tomorrow.”
Rufus lengthened his stride to keep up with her as she hurried up the passage. On the path outside the front door of the cottage, he touched her arm to make her stop and attend to him. “He’s your horse to keep for as long as you choose,” he reminded her. “I’m in no position to demand that you return him, and nor is George Bramley.”
She was standing beside a hollyhock nearly as tall as she was as she gave him the vestige of a smile. “Mr Bramley is to marry me within the fortnight. Only a foolish woman would dig in her heels over a request like this.”
They walked in silence through the garden to the bridle path which meandered through the surrounding paddocks to the small wooden stable where Miss Montrose had agisted him, and which she pointed out from the top of a hill. The weather was warm but dark clouds had appeared on the horizon.
“There are candidates other than Mr Bramley.” Rufus wouldn’t have felt so emboldened except that the Brightwell sisters had made clear that he was their emissary and not just a disconnected bystander. If he were to report to them the emotion-charged encounter between the two Misses Montrose, he’d need to reassure them he’d done his part to remind Miss Eliza Montrose she had alternatives. It also made him feel rather noble, as if he could help direct her to future happiness. It certainly wasn’t that he was developing any greater tenderness for her—he told himself sternly.
“In seven, years that hasn’t proven to be the case,” Miss Montrose said, continuing to walk briskly and not looking at him. “You see what it is like, living with my aunt. I’ve chosen to swap my current detestable situation with one where I might hope to exercise a little more autonomy.”
“You’ve lived with her for seven years? You must be a saint.”
“A sinner in her eyes, didn’t you hear? I’ve heard it every day since I took up residence. But at twenty-five years old, I’m long past my first flush of youth. I do not get marriage offers every day. Mr Bramley’s was the first.”
Rufus found this hard to believe. The girl was a beauty.
They’d reached the paddock now and Devil’s Run, hearing them, ambled over and nuzzled his mistress’s arm. To Rufus’s surprise, Miss Montrose produced a carrot from the pocket of the apron she’d taken from a hook by the door as they’d left the cottage.
“I imagine a woman as beautiful as you would receive many marriage offers if you were allowed to meet more gentlemen.”
She’d put her face up to the horse’s, almost nuzzling it, smiling as she stroked it. There was a softness in her eyes that Rufus hadn’t seen before, and as she relinquished the carrot she stepped back, turning to Rufus and asking, “I beg your pardon; I didn’t hear what you said.”
A lady who didn’t hang out for every compliment was a novelty. Instead of answering though, he said, “Forgive me for speaking so plainly, Miss Montrose, but you must surely suspect that Mr Bramley’s interest in marrying you is solely on account of the inheritance that might pass to you on your aunt’s death.”
“Of course I know that. Just as he knows that my acceptance is predicated on the knowledge that an offer from him is preferable to spending another six or more years with my aunt.”
“So you admit that neither of you has any affection for the other.” He was truly surprised that she was so forthcoming about this.
Miss Montrose shook her head as she fondled the horse’s ears and rested her face against its muzzle, breathing in its horsey scent. She looked happier than he’d seen her.
“But…what if you received another marriage offer? One that wasn’t from Mr Bramley?”
A curiously evasive look that Rufus couldn’t quite interpret crossed her face. Then she said, “I told you, I haven’t received any others, so the question is irrelevant.”
“If you went about more in society, I’m sure you’d be surprised at the interest you’d garner, even if it were known you…”
“Were penniless?” She laughed. “Goodness, Mr Patmore, I didn’t expect to be having this conversation with you.”
“I’ve never had such a frank conversation with anyone.” He was trying hard now, his concern genuine. The girl was lovely. He couldn’t bear to see her throw herself away. “I just don’t believe you would be happy marrying Mr Bramley. Indeed, in good conscience, I cannot take Devil’s Run from you tomorrow if I’d not spoken up about my concerns regarding a match between you and that gentleman, for all that he is, purportedly, my friend. Ladies Fenton and Quamby—”
She raised her hand to silence him. “They have been even more frank than you in detailing every reason—good and bad—for why I should cry off; indeed, why I should have rejected Mr Bramley out of hand in the first place. So you have done your duty, and I thank you for your concern, Mr Patmore.” Her expression became stern. “You offered to help me, so perhaps you’d be so good as to fetch my sidesaddle from over there.” She flashed him a smile before moving around Devil as she waited.
Rufus was uncertain what to say. “You’ll need help to get that off when you come back from your ride.” He indicated the heavy leather saddle he’d just thrown onto Devil’s back and which she was now adjusting.
“It’s easier to get it off than on, though I can do both alone, I assure you.”
Rufus watched her work. She looked content enough, absorbed in the practicalities. Undoubtedly, she was stubborn, and he wondered how that would go down with Bramley. “Tell me where the farmer lives so I can settle the account without troubling you further, Miss Montrose.”
She stopped her work to send him a sharp look, her brow furrowing as if she was surprised at his attitude. “I think I’ve offended you, Mr Patmore. I’m sorry.” She went round to him and put a conciliatory hand on his sleeve, smiling into his face with genuine contrition. “My aunt’s sharp ways must have rubbed onto me more than I’d realised.” She shrugged. “I suppose seven years will do that to one.”
Without thinking, Mr Patmore placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. “I know I have no place saying it, but Ladies Fenton and Quamby were quite explicit that I do all in my power to persuade you against this marriage.” His short laugh echoed the amusement he saw in her eyes, and he realised she’d not withdrawn her hand, and nor had he.
She tilted her head, her mouth a perfect rosebud. “So, I should offer you a few words, a sentiment perhaps, for you to take back to those two good ladies at Quamby House. Something that will ease the conscience of everyone who knows Mr Bramley, and who fears they were derelict in their duty if they hadn’t thoroughly warned me of what lies ahead if I marry him.”
“Very perspicacious, Miss Montrose. I w
ould greatly appreciate that.”
