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Idly, Rufus considered the room’s plain but comfortable furniture. Miss Montrose senior certainly was perplexing. She lived in far humbler surroundings than Bramley would have had him believe, considering the old woman was worth a fortune, inherited from her brother who’d made his riches in copper. Rufus assumed the brother couldn’t have been Miss Eliza Montrose’s father, though now that the question arose, he should find out. Miss Eliza Montrose’s father was no doubt an impecunious sixth or seventh son, and Miss Montrose his orphaned daughter whose future no one in the family had thought to secure.
He stared at the paintings of various family members lined up around the parlour walls. All sitters were handsomely garbed, and the paintings had been done by a master. So where did Miss Montrose fit in? Where had she lived before she came to live with her aunt? Had she always been the poor relative? If so, no wonder she was prepared to wed Bramley. Anything to have a roof over her head, he supposed.
He heard the talking cease and waited for Miss Montrose to return. He should have been more considerate, earlier, when he’d said she was free to do as she chose, for tonight she’d not sleep at all, wondering at the possibilities open to her upon the reading of her aunt’s will.
Either she’d have inherited a fortune, or she was a pauper. He stepped up close to better examine a couple of two small, obviously more recently painted, portraits upon the wall. They depicted a man and a woman of middle age, both light-haired, with fine but stern features. Family members? He could see nothing to suggest who they were to either of the Misses Montrose. So much about Miss Eliza was a mystery.
Now he wished to know more.
He also wished for the courage to bring up the subject of that surprising kiss that hadn’t been mentioned. Some ladies would have been mortified. She appeared to have brushed it aside as if it had never happened.
But he had caught her studying him. When he’d been putting wood on the fire, he’d caught her eyes on him, and the look she’d sent him when she’d thought he couldn’t see had been gratifying.
But there was little beyond that other than a mild encouragement that he stayed for dinner to keep her company. She’d said little to indicate how preoccupied she must be by her future, and there’d been no hint of self-pity in her demeanour.
If she inherited wealth, she could do as she pleased. If not, she’d be hoping George Bramley did the honourable thing and did not renege on the marriage.
Bramley! The idea of marriage between Miss Montrose and that thuggish ruffian was intolerable. And yet, what alternative did she have should the cards not turn in her favour?
Lord! Of course, Rufus shouldn’t have kissed her! And now he thought her even more impressive for being such a woman of principle, for didn’t she have every justification for subtly—or not so subtly—pursuing him as an alternative suitor? It was clear she found him a good deal more attractive a proposition than she did Bramley. But unless Rufus gave her some encouragement further to their kiss, she wasn’t going to carry this further.
This, he now realised as he ran his hands over a Sevres vase—yet another indication that while the cottage was humble, its accoutrements were not— was an increasing fascination and admiration for Miss Montrose. He’d not been on the lookout for a wife, and he certainly wouldn’t have looked for a prospective bride with Miss Montrose’s reserve. He gravitated naturally to the vivacious; the flirtatious.
Perhaps that was why he’d never got himself hitched. He enjoyed these types of women, but subconsciously he wanted a wife with more depth.
Someone like Miss Montrose.
Someone whom he could rely upon to attend to necessary matters of business, and who would take an interest in estate affairs. He wasn’t a large landholder, but his properties were extensive enough that increasingly they required his attendance, and he had the expectation of inheriting more. Miss Montrose, in addition to possessing the qualities that would make her an adept and conscientious landholder’s wife, was extremely pleasing to the eye.
There was no denying that he was most assuredly attracted to her. Yes, she was affianced to Bramley, but it was quite clear that was for expediency only.
Well, Rufus was a betting man in his own way, and while he could afford a wife with nothing, if she answered his exacting criteria, as Miss Montrose did, perhaps she would inherit when the old woman’s will was read the following day.
Perhaps he’d be on hand to offer her an alternative to George Bramley. Why not? He wasn’t being any more dishonorable than Bramley himself, who should have come personally to see his betrothed if he wanted his horse back.
But even as he put it this way, he knew that, deep down, it didn’t really matter which way it went. And that only a cad like Bramley would think this way.
He wanted Miss Montrose, regardless.
Once Eliza had despatched Mrs Goodings, whom she made sure was well out of sight at the bottom of the road before it forked, she sought out Mr Patmore from the parlour where he was staring thoughtfully at a Sevres vase, snatched her cloak from the hook on the wall, and bade him follow her.
She didn’t feel the need for small talk or to explain who the visitor had been, simply nodded her head towards the glowering sky as she pushed open the door and said, “I’ll wager we’ll be rained upon. I trust you have dry clothes at the White Swan?”
He was clearly surprised. “You’d planned on coming out in the dark—alone—to take Devil’s Run back to his stable? The horse is my responsibility now, Miss Montrose.”
She stopped at the gate and put her hands on her hips. “Devil belongs to me, and you have been kind enough to take him to Mr Bramley; however, if I choose to take him to his stables right now, that is my affair. Are you going to accompany me?” She squared her shoulders, adding with brittle pride, “I understand if you prefer to return directly to your lodgings.”
“And leave you to walk in the dark? Aren’t you…afraid?”
“Of you? The dark? My reputation?” Eliza was feeling ridiculously independent now that the truth was dawning on her that she was—at least for a few days—mistress of her own destiny.
What did she care about reputation when that was long gone? Besides, Mr Patmore had been good company. Part of the reason for her clipped manner was to disguise the fact that she didn’t want to relinquish him quite so soon, though she’d have to soon enough. It might be a long time before she’d again enjoy the company of a good and honourable man to walk out with. Perhaps not until Gideon was grown—and by God, she intended to be by his side during that journey from childhood.
“I hardly think you’re going to take advantage, Mr Patmore,” she said, latching the gate behind them while he still hesitated. “Not after today, when you’ve gone so far beyond the call of duty. Now, I suppose we shall have to lead Devil’s Run.” She let doubt colour her tone, and he asked quickly, “What would you do if I weren’t here, Miss Montrose?”
She smiled and bit her lip. “I’d jump astride and enjoy the fact that in the dark no one would see.”
“It sounds as if you’d like to be so wicked this evening.”
