Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride

‘Naturally I would be happy to do so,’ said Christy, ‘but if I am to be your companion—’ The amused look on Lady Braybrook’s face stopped her.

‘You have other duties, Miss Daventry,’ pointed out Lady Braybrook.

Christy flushed. ‘Lord Braybrook explained, then?’

‘Braybrook,’ said her ladyship, not mincing words, ‘is the most devious and annoying man imaginable. I haven’t decided if he is disguising your true purpose from Lissy, by pretending that you are my companion, or disguising your true purpose from me, by pretending you are here to help open Lissy’s eyes!’

Christy found herself smiling. ‘He used both arguments with me. Perhaps I am merely a convenient stone to be hurled at two birds.’

Lady Braybrook’s lips twitched. ‘He’s not completely blind, Miss Daventry. I doubt he believes you to be made of stone.’

To this cryptic remark, Christy said nothing. There was something unsettling about the amusement in Lady Braybrook’s voice. The cat rolled in her lap, offering his belly, eyes closed to blissful slits as she obliged and kneaded.

‘Another thing, my dear. That striped creature is Tybalt—Tyb. He has an absolute genius for making up to people like Braybrook who loathe cats. If you dislike him, or he makes you sneeze, for heaven’s sake, tip him off.’

Again the sense of dislocation swept her. She felt not at all like a dependant. Lady Braybrook was doing everything in her power to make an outsider feel at home. She had even given her one of the best bedchambers.

‘Thank you, ma’am, but I love cats.’

Lady Braybrook smiled. ‘Excellent. Braybrook, like most men, prefers dogs. I must say I have never worked out why so many women love cats, and men profess to loathe them, but love dogs.’

‘That,’ said Christy, caught off guard, ‘might be because cats are independent, not slavish like dogs. Perhaps we women admire an independence and power few of us will ever know. Your Tybalt may sit in my lap, but he is the one conferring a favour. Cats are rather like aristocrats. They have staff.’ Oh, dear. Should she have said that?

A ripple of delighted laughter broke from Lady Braybrook and she laid aside her embroidery. ‘Oh, goodness. I’d never thought of that, but you are perfectly right. Although many women love dogs too.’

‘And that,’ said Christy, wildly aware that the conversation had somehow become far too personal, ‘is because we are far more flexible than gentlemen and are capable of loving creatures for quite opposite reasons. Cats for their dignity and independence, and a dog for its loyalty.’

‘Good morning, Serena. May I interrupt?’

Christy froze. As a lesson in the perils of unguarded conversation, this would be hard to beat.

Julian had enough sense to pretend he hadn’t heard the comment about aristocrats and cats, but he was pleased to see he had been correct in his estimation that Serena and Miss Daventry would suit.

‘Of course, dear,’ said Serena. ‘Miss Daventry was just observing how much you and Tyb have in common.’

Julian took one look at Tyb’s current position, sprawled with considerable indelicacy in Miss Daventry’s lap. He wasn’t sure any reply was safe. His mouth dried at the sight of Miss Daventry’s slender fingers kneading that furry abandoned belly. He’d never realised all the advantages of being a cat before.

Miss Daventry, of course, was taking no notice of him whatsoever. Although he thought there was a faint flush of colour in her cheeks.

Piqued, he said, ‘Good morning, Miss Daventry, I trust you slept well?’

‘Very well, thank you, my lord.’

Prim. Proper. Precisely what she ought to be. Not speaking until spoken to, evincing a becoming respect for her betters. But under the dowdy façade lurked quite a different creature. One who was not Miss Daventry at all. One who argued, and refused to be put in her place. Who sat kneading a cat’s belly in a slow hypnotic rhythm that sent heat curling through him. Christy. That was the woman he wanted to know. And he wouldn’t mind switching places with Serena’s cat either. His body tightened. Hell! If Miss Daventry could read his thoughts, her cheeks would ignite in fury.

‘Do you require something, Julian?’ asked Serena.

He turned to her, realising that he had been staring at Miss Daventry. Somehow he had to relegate the woman to her proper place.

‘No. I merely came in to see that you were well. I will be in the library if you require me. Just send Miss Daventry.’

Serena sent him a very straight look. ‘Thank you, Julian. I believe I need not use Miss Daventry like a page boy. We will see you later, then. Good morning.’

Julian removed himself, before he could put his other boot in his mouth. It was the cat’s fault. If the blasted creature hadn’t been lolling in Miss Daventry’s lap so brazenly, he would never have been such a fool.

His agent’s reports would banish his wayward thoughts. Anything to rid himself of this fancy to find out what, beyond a sting like a wasp, hid behind Miss Daventry’s prim façade.

At luncheon Julian congratulated himself on an excellent choice of companion. Serena seemed brighter, happier than he had seen her in a long while. Not that she was ever self-pitying, but he had thought for some time that she had lost something of her sparkle.

Miss Daventry was worth her hire for that alone.

‘I think, this afternoon, Miss Daventry might accompany Lissy and Emma for their walk,’ said Serena, sipping coffee. ‘She must learn her way about.’

‘We intended to ride this afternoon, Mama,’ said Lissy. ‘Of course, Miss Daventry may still come with us. May she not, Julian?’

He glanced up, trying not to appear at all interested. ‘Miss Daventry ride? Yes, if she wishes.’ As an invitation it left a great deal to be desired, but his unbecoming interest in Miss Daventry must not be indulged.

Miss Daventry cleared her throat.

Bracing himself for the inevitable, Julian said, ‘I collect you have an objection, ma’am. Please state it.’

Miss Daventry’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not precisely an objection, my lord. An observation.’

Did she have to be so damned pedantic?

‘Yes?’ He didn’t like the snappish tone of his voice, but Miss Daventry seemed not to notice.

‘I don’t ride,’ she said.

‘Don’t ride? But everybody rides!’ Lissy’s disbelief was palpable.

‘Not everyone, Miss Trentham,’ said Miss Daventry gently. ‘I have always lived in a town and we couldn’t afford a horse.’

‘But Harry, I mean, Mr Daventry rides. He told me he had ridden since he was a child—’

‘Enough, Lissy.’ Julian was at a loss to explain the revulsion sweeping him. This was precisely why he had hired Miss Daventry—to demonstrate to Lissy the gulf between them. To force her to realise all she would be giving up. Now, hearing Miss Daventry explain the reality of genteel poverty with quiet dignity, he suddenly didn’t like it. The opposite side of the equation was laid brutally bare—Miss Daventry’s humiliation.

He had never intended to rub her nose in the gulf between herself and Lissy. If he were honest, it had not occurred to him. And yet, he could see Lissy thinking, looking at Miss Daventry’s dowdy appearance with new eyes, applying it to herself. And Miss Daventry seemed unperturbed.

Why wouldn’t she be? She’s had years to accustom herself to her station and you are paying her fifty pounds extra for the privilege of having her nose rubbed in it.

Part of him rebelled against this cold logic. Surely, even if only as part of her remuneration, she was entitled to some enjoyment in her life. It might ram the message home to Lissy all the faster, he told himself. Yes, that was it.

He looked across at Serena. She raised her brows, dearly.

‘We still have Merlin in the stables,’ he said, wondering what the devil was so entertaining.

She smiled. ‘Dear Merlin. I dare say he will be glad of a little outing. By all means, dear. I’m sure it will be very beneficial.’

Beneficial for whom? wondered Julian. Something about Serena’s smile had alarm bells clanging. He turned to Miss Daventry. ‘Ma’am, if you would care for it, you may ride Lady Braybrook’s old mount. He is very quiet, used to carrying a lady.’

Miss Daventry demurred. Of course.

‘Thank you, sir, but I will be more than happy to remain with Lady Braybrook. I—’

‘No, dear. Go with them,’ said Serena. ‘I would be much happier if you learned to ride. Lissy is for ever giving the grooms the slip when she rides out, but I fancy she will not be so rag-mannered with you! Especially if she knows you to be inexperienced.’ She shot a glance at her daughter. Who blushed.

In one final attempt to avoid her fate, Miss Daventry said, ‘But I have no riding habit!’

Serena—Julian silently blessed her—dismissed that with a wave of her hand. ‘Oh, pish! You may have my old one. It will be a little large, but the colour will suit you. It’s quite a dark blue, so you need not scruple to wear it despite your mourning. And there are any number of mourning gowns in my dressing room. Heaven knows I wouldn’t fit into most of them any more.’ She smiled ruefully at Miss Daventry, and added, ‘I have a tendency to put on weight sitting in this horrid chair. It would be better, of course, if I were not so fond of cakes and made more use of my exercise chair.’

Julian looked at Lissy. His sister was watching Miss Daventry, an odd expression on her face, as the companion accepted politely.

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