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“I can’t believe you are here, Theo. You’ll have to tell me all about it—though not in public.” She picked up her skirts to climb the stairs to the house, pausing to say over her shoulder, “You haven’t changed your mind?”
“I have not.” He smiled at her. She looked so small and unremarkable; such an insipid reflection of her beautiful, fiery older sister with her brown hair in its unfashionable knot and her plain gown in a sober blue print with no adornment. And yet he knew Amelia had an inner strength Catherine had lacked.
“Don’t worry; I shan’t ask you to dance tonight, Amelia.” This time it was Theo who scanned the surroundings to ensure their few seconds of conversation were not causing undue interest. No other houseguests were in the vicinity, and Amelia’s companion, a dark-haired woman of middle age dressed in brown serge whose expression did not hint at warmth, was too busy ensuring their parcels were being handled with care to pay heed to the pair of them. It was fortunate she’d not met Theo, though no doubt she’d been told to beware.
“That’s good.” Her tone was cynical. “I love you, Theo, but you’re not always known for your discretion.” She paused to scan the lawn. “Is there somewhere we can meet, tomorrow?”
He nodded. “There’s a folly by the river. You can’t see it from here, but it’s not hard to find. What say ten in the morning when everyone will still be abed? And if not then, I will return on the hour until you’re able to get there. Does that suit?”
“It suits,” she said, with a curt nod, making it clear she had no wish to be seen further with him as she nodded at the butler who’d opened the door to admit them.
Chapter 8
“Goodness gracious, Antoinette!” Fanny called her sister over to the drawing room window to look down at the latest carriage this morning to disgorge its occupants by the portico, this time on their return from a shopping trip to the town, it would appear.
“Why, it’s wicked, fortune-hunting Mr McAlister,” Antoinette said, identifying the gentleman in conversation with the small personage with brown ringlets who was directing a footman to carry a hatbox. “I told you he was handsome, didn’t I?” Antoinette added with a sly look.
Fanny contemplated the gentleman’s well-chiselled features.
Yes, he would be very successful as a fortune hunter, she decided. If she didn’t know better, and have proof of the danger Mr McAlister posed, any young lady could be forgiven for thinking his lips eminently kissable rather than sullen, while Fanny saw his lazy-eyed look as an indication of a wolf sizing up delectable prey. Yes, he was very handsome, but he was dangerous, too.
“I never disagreed with you. But do you see who he’s greeting? Do you see who the young lady is who just got out of the carriage?”
“It’s Quamby’s friend’s niece and Fenton’s little brown peahen.” Antoinette barely suppressed a smile. “You would think with all that money she could look a little more remarkable, wouldn’t you?” She sighed. “But then, the poor child hasn’t had the benefit of a mother with style, has she? We must make allowances. Isn’t that what you always say, Fanny, when you tell me I’m too quick to criticise those who don’t cut quite the dash they ought? Make allowances.”
“Of course we must make allowances. But do you see the way he’s smiling at her? Mr McAlister is going to stir up trouble; I know it.”
Antoinette didn’t look as concerned as Fanny thought she ought. “I rather think he will. Yes, Fenton’s description is apt. The fox and the little brown hen. Strange that she’s smiling at him when he ruined her sister. Killed her, more to the point.”
“I never accused him of that,” Fanny returned. “The girl died of fever. But—”
“Indeed she did, Fanny!” Antoinette said as if she’d scored a great point. “And no doubt you’re now going to accuse Mr McAlister of knowing Miss Amelia Harcourt was in residence here so therefore used Lizzy to orchestrate his invitation to Quamby House? No doubt, by deliberately spooking her horses so her carriage plunged into the river enabling him to save her life and earn her regard so she’ll hand over her fortune to him!”
Fanny was slow to answer. “Of course, I wouldn’t go that far.”
She paused. “However, it does seem rather too much of a coincidence that Miss Harcourt is here and…so is Mr McAlister, despite our best endeavours to ensure he did not receive the invitation his grandfather received every Christmas.” Thoughtfully, she tapped her fingernail against the window pane. “No, I can’t accuse him of anything more than simply seizing an opportunity. But…we must be careful,” she added as she intensified her study of the pair below who were oblivious to those at the drawing room window.
“The poor girl could do with a touch of my Olympian Dew for that sallow complexion, don’t you think?” remarked Antoinette coming up beside her. “Though her eyes are very fine. Oh dear, she has a much too trusting expression. No young lady with more than five thousand should look so trusting—and she has twenty for the taking since her sister died. And Mr McAlister knows it!”
On closer observation, Fanny could see the girl had a quiet confidence about her and a pleasantness to her plainness. And, of course, a cold and dreary day did no one any favours, Fanny knew. But Miss Amelia’s gown was so lacking in style, and her bonnet had only the barest adornment. It was as if the girl were rejecting the fashions of the day and trying to be as unremarked-upon as possible; Antoinette taking the words right out of Fanny’s mouth when she said, “If he asks her to dance this evening, then I daresay we know he is more interested in her money than her style; I’ll grant you that, Fanny.”
“You’re observing McAlister, I see,” said Fenton, arriving at that moment and putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Our fox in the henhouse.”
“I just thought he was the gentleman who rescued Mrs Hodge’s plain and difficult charge and then gallantly travelled half a day to deposit her safely here,” Antoinette said.
“Except that Miss Scott is not plain in the slightest, is she?” Fenton observed.
“She is not. Mrs Hodge is a horrible liar,” said Antoinette. “It’d serve her right if young Lizzy was snapped up by the wrong fortune hunter when she’s so determined Mr Dalgleish will have her.”
“She told me Jeremy felt he was suitable,” Fenton said mildly, “which is why I extended an invitation to Mr Dalgleish.”
“Well, Jeremy Hodge’s judgement was questionable when he married Mrs Hodge,” said Fanny. “A dead husband is a wonderful excuse.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it for a moment. I think Dalgleish and Mrs Hodge have cooked up something havey-cavey—”
“And you think Theodore McAlister is planning to elope with Miss Amelia Harcourt before the Christmas Ball. Really, Fanny!” said Antoinette with some feeling. “You always blame me for letting my imagination get the better of me. They’re just two young men who are going to charm the ladies and, as has been said before, may the best man win.”
“Only, you’re going to decide who the best man is, and do some meddling, aren’t you, Antoinette?” Fanny accused her.
Antoinette pushed a golden curl over her shoulder and shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. “But only in the interests of true love. You know I am not one to be motivated by avarice, and if I detect that’s what’s at the heart of any of this, I shall root it out!”
