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Orlando’s gaze encompassed the great lands that surrounded him. “With all due respect, Lady Fenton, is it wise to put hopes into the minds of children who are quite frankly, on quite a different social footing?” He laughed, as if trying to lighten the tone, for Eliza noticed that her hostess was looking distinctly pink. What, really, were her thoughts, though more to the point, what were Orlando’s? Eliza was finding it quite difficult to breathe.
“Believe me, Mr Perceval, I once shared your views, but only because I’d not given a thought to those less fortunate. I was too concerned with raising myself in the world.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “However, a few years ago, my cousin nearly ran over a poor infant whose mother had had second thoughts about placing him into the basket for motherless babes. She was stricken with mortification at the thought she might have killed them both, and it seems to have excited her conscience. She takes in an orphan several days a week to play with her son, and we have done the same with young Jack.”
She bent down to address the boy, but Eliza was too shocked to listen to what she was saying. Lady Fenton’s cousin had been the young lady in the carriage who had nearly run down Eliza and Jack all those years ago? Mrs Thea Grayling, whom she’d met at the beginning of her visit here? It was a revelation. It changed nothing, but now she realised to whom she owed so much for changing Jack’s circumstances for the better.
Orlando, who was standing behind his son, placed a hand on the boy’s head and asked, “I hope you proceed with caution, Lady Fenton, though I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to conduct your affairs. I just fear that we would be turning society on its head if we allowed all beggars and bastards to believe they were as entitled as we are.”
“Entitled to what, Orlando?” Eliza burst out with far more heat than was warranted. “I believe it’s pure luck as to where we’re born in the great scheme of things. Why, you could have been as unfortunate as Jack here. Or rather, your mother could have been. What if she’d been abandoned and left with the care of you, through no fault of her own? Should the children be made to suffer? Are they not as entitled and intelligent? Jack is certainly intelligent, you said so yourself, Lady Fenton. You know your numbers, don’t you, Jack?”
The lad looked surprised, as well he might, but Eliza was too distraught to know how to manage the quagmire into which she’d flung herself. “Forgive me! Good day, Lady Fenton! Orlando!”
She turned on her heel and walked rapidly down the hill towards the stables, while Fanny sent a surprised glance in Mr Perceval’s direction before her gaze dropped to the clever charity child in front of him—a handsome, fine-featured boy with light, slightly curling hair.
Characterised by a cowlick and a patrician nose.
She frowned, glancing up again at Mr Perceval. “You can go now, Jack. And if you can get Katherine to go back into the house before Mrs Candlewick is due to leave in half an hour, I’ll make sure Cook sends you back to the home with cake to share with the other children.”
Rufus saw Miss Montrose leave Lady Quamby and Mr Perceval in some haste. Without thought, he began to follow. She appeared distressed, brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand as she hurried in the direction of the stables.
In a more considered frame of mind, Rufus might have questioned the wisdom in detaining her.
“Miss Montrose!” He found her inside the lofty building that housed the earl’s half a dozen mounts.
“None of the grooms are anywhere to be found,” she muttered. “I’d hoped to have one of them saddle up Devil for me.”
“So you could clear your head with a bracing ride?” He ventured closer. Her lashes were damp and her nose pink. She looked utterly ravishing, and so desperately in need of comfort.
She nodded, avoiding his eyes and apparently trying to control her emotions for she began to pace, first to the stall where Devil was contentedly chewing straw, then to another doorway from which she gazed back to the place she’d just left.
“Miss Montrose, you have endured much these past few days.” He went to her side and, bravely, gripped her hand, bringing it up to his chest and forcing her to look at him. The tragedy in her gaze nearly undid him. He wanted to kiss her without preamble, but wasn’t sure how that would be received.
“Mr Bramley has thrown you over, and now you learn that the man you loved for so many years has only recently married. All this when your aunt is only just buried having neglected to recognise you for your services these many years.” He squeezed her hand. “But don’t think yourself alone. I am here for you.” He swallowed. “If you’ll have me.”
With a cry of what he first believed was pain, she threw herself into his arms, a response that was as unexpected as it was pure heaven.
Kissing her fiercely, Rufus drew her into the shadows of the barn, backing them into an unoccupied stall. Her mouth was as sweet as he remembered, and her body as soft and desirable. He cupped her face and deepened the kiss as fiery heat threatened to consume him. God, he wanted this woman, and she would be his, as her passionate responses confirmed. An overwhelming relief swept over him as he drank in her scent, her goodness, her incomparable desirability.
“My darling, you are not alone,” he whispered, as they finally stepped apart to draw breath and digest what they had done. “I love you. Yes, truly, madly, more than I could believe possible. You are an angel of goodness, a paragon of virtue beyond compare.” When she looked as if she might cry once more, he drew her into his embrace again, stroking her hair as he went on. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you to be my wife. You are perfect as you are. Your good heart has held true to a man whose memory you cherished for seven long years, and while I know today has been a shock, I hope it has helped sever the final ties that might bind you to him.”
“Please, Mr Patmore, you paint me in too rosy a light.” She struggled out of his embrace and stared at him, her expression stricken.
He shook his head. “Believe me, Eliza. If I may call you that. I am thirty-one years old, and I’ve not come even close to marrying because I have never fallen for a woman whose blameless character matches her charm and goodness. You are all these things.” He knew he was gushing, but he was overcome with the need to highlight how deeply he felt about her. “You are a paragon, a brave and noble young woman shouldering your responsibilities to your aunt all these years without complaint merely because your lack of fortune put you in such a position. I don’t care about your fortune. No, I care nothing for that; only that you are pure and kind and virtuous, and I would be so very proud to call my wife.” He went down on one knee and stared up into her face. “Please, Miss Montrose. I’m begging you to make me the happie
st man alive by agreeing to marry me.”
She looked shocked rather than overjoyed, but then this was yet another tumultuous event, he supposed, in a very few tumultuous days. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, then turned her head away while two large tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Oh, Eliza!” he cried, mistaking her emotion for joy at his offer.
“No, Mr Patmore.” She shook her head wildly as she retreated a step. “You don’t understand. All these things you’re saying. They—”
“All true!” He gripped her wrists. “I wouldn’t say them if I didn’t believe them. You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a wife. I have the utmost respect for everything you represent—uncomplaining virtue and acceptance as evidenced by the way you’ve served your aunt these long years. Please, Eliza, consider what I’ve just said. We could be so happy living between London and my estate, which is only three hours from here and five from London. I would not be an exacting husband. You’d be mistress of a household of servants and would have complete say over how matters were conducted. I have developed an interest in politics this past year, and you’re exactly the kind of wife I’m looking for. A woman with an unblemished character who would be my hostess and represent me in the admirable, self-contained manner that so drew me to you. And that was before you showed me that you also were a woman of great love and passion. Please, Eliza.”
He couldn’t believe that she was shaking her head slowly, her expression sorrowful.
“You do me a great honour, Mr Patmore.” She touched his cheek. “But as you rightly observed, I am a woman who needs to give careful consideration to matters of great import, so it would be wrong to give you an immediate answer.”
He felt a great swell of relief lift his spirits. “Tomorrow?”
