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Miss Brightwell shook her head, wonderingly. “I received no such message though…Aunt Minerva did.”
“What time was this?”
“At about eight o’ clock. She looked very excited and then told me I must accept Dr Horne if you hadn’t proposed by tonight.”
They had returned to open ground by this point and when Sylvester raised his head to respond he instead exhaled on resignation. He knew he should not have been surprised to be confronted by all three Brightwell siblings but there they were advancing, en masse, towards them. They were a formidable team and the trick Bertram Brigthwell had played in deceiving him was deplorable. Yet he could not condemn him. Not for delivering him a lifetime of happiness.
“You look positively glowing, Thea!” cried Lady Quamby. “Do you have good news to report?”
Noting Miss Brightwell’s embarrassment which was understandable since Sylvester had not stated anything in specific terms which she could in turn report to her cousins, he interjected, as forcefully as was polite, “I was hoping I might be allowed a few moments alone with your cousin in the Oriental Pavilion.” He smiled fondly at his lovely bride-to-be, then returned his gaze to the Brightwell clan. “Then she will have something to report.”
Instead of the delight he was expecting, Lady Fenton’s brow clouded. “But that’s where Aunt Minerva has gone.”
“Indeed she has,” his darling Miss Brightwell corroborated anxiously. “As I told you, she received a message last night from Mr Granville, requesting that she meet him there.”
Sylvester stared from each questioning face before returning his gaze to his darling’s. “I think, perhaps, she is mistaken. I sent a message to Miss Brightwell requesting her company at the Oriental Pavilion.”
“To Miss Thea Brightwell?” Bertram clarified.
“Lord, not Miss Thea Brightwell.” Sylvester sent Thea a stricken look. “Are you not the eldest young lady, the lady I was introduced to as Miss Brightwell?”
“Indeed she was, as you could hardly be on Christian name terms,” Bertram said smoothly. “I say, it’s an easy mistake to make, but rather a foolish one. Of course Miss Brightwell—Aunt Minerva—would imagine any letter addressed to Miss Brightwell was for her. Not very clever of you, eh wot?”
Sylvester’s anxiety grew as he directed an even more intense look at Miss Brightwell. “You say your aunt has been in receipt of a number of notes during the past two weeks?”
“Yes, Mr Grayling. I glanced at one of them and indeed, I can assure you that Mr Granville’s growing interest is not a figment of her imagination. He apologized for his shabby treatment and begged for a sign from her to reassure him that she forgave him. This was just before the masquerade.”
“The note was addressed to Miss Brightwell and signed with the initials SG?”
Miss Brightwell nodded.
Impulsively he gripped her hand, bringing it to his lips as he cried, “I wrote that note. In fact, I wrote all of them. But I addressed them to Miss Brightwell assuming they would be delivered to you.”
Miss Brightwell gasped. “You wrote all those notes to Aunt Minerva?”
“No…to you, of course!”
“To me?” she whispered. Sylvester’s apparent stupidity was then rewarded by a look of the utmost adoration.
Meanwhile Lady Fenton looked greatly discomposed. “I fear Aunt Minerva is on her way to the Pavilion for a secret assignation which she believes will be with her long-lost Mr Granville. As she would if she believes all the letters Mr Grayling intended for Cousin Thea were for her.”
Bertram guffawed. “Just as well you didn’t get there earlier and find yourself stuck with the old trout, Grayling old chap. Not that she won’t be mightily disappointed to find nobody there, now.”
Lady Fenton let out a resounding sigh. “Well, Thea is accounted for, and that’s our greatest relief.”
“I wonder where George Bramley is?” Bertam fiddled with the buttons of his waistcoat and Sylvester assumed he had a good deal of money wagered on something to do with the odious George Bramley. But with Thea Brightwell by his side, he felt easy. No, he was not going to let her out of his sight. Not tonight. In fact, he’d be there always to see to her best interests in case someone tried to put a wedge between them by making her feel at some time in the future that she and their growing brood of children—funny how he loved the idea!—might ever be considered a drain on his purse.
“I daresay he’s somewhere near the hot air balloon since that’s where he intends to win that stupid wager,” the young man went on, “though he certainly won’t now.”
They all looked towards the Oriental Pavilion and, nearby, where the balloon had been tethered to the ground, its enormous brightly coloured canopy reaching for the sky.
“Really, I think the kindest thing right now would be to put Aunt Minerva out of her misery and tactfully explain that Mr Granville will not be making an appearance let alone any heartfelt declarations,” suggested Lady Fenton.
At which Lady Quamby cried in stirring tones, “To the Oriental Pavilion, one and all!”
All was quiet when they reached the Oriental Pavilion en route to their destination. However knowing that poor Aunt Minerva was waiting like a lovelorn damsel somewhere inside, they peeped through a section of uncovered window.
In unison they all voiced their horror before clapping hands to their mouths.
