Author: Beverley Oakley
Category: Nonfiction
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Mr McAlister was a very handsome young man, she’d decided, despite his air of peevishness at having been saddled with someone whom he now had to assist out of his undeniable duty at nearly having killed her.
And since, tomorrow, Lizzy intended to entrance Mr Dalgleish, she may as well make the most of her unexpected opportunity to start practising her skills of enticement, tonight.
It had been a hugely dramatic day. Really, the most thrilling day of her life, and there was no point in going to bed now when she knew she would simply toss and turn all night thinking about the witty lines she’d like to try out in order to relax the tautness from Mr McAlister’s face.
Satisfied that the evening was only just beginning, she picked up her candlestick and made for the drawing room.
“So, you cannot be a very successful fortune hunter if you’ve reached such an advanced age without actually having wed an heiress,” Lizzy said by way of greeting as she threaded her way past the cluster of chairs so she could dry her hair by the fire.
“I’d hoped you were not going to come downstairs as, in fact, I was on the point of retiring, myself,” said her rescuer ungraciously and with no trace of admiration for the transformation she had hoped would astonish him once she’d thoroughly removed the mud and leaves from her face and hair. He sighed and stretched out his long legs before him which Lizzy eyed appreciatively. In breeches and top boots, they were displayed to great advantage and made a wonderful change to the knobbly-kneed octogenarians with whom she’d hobnobbed during the few occasions she’d been allowed to a local country dance. The gauche, pimply youths who had lined up to fill her dance card didn’t count for they were not yet in the marriage market—and marriage was what Lizzy was aiming for. One that pleased her, not Mrs Hodge, though the truth was that Mr Dalgleish was the handsomest man she’d yet encountered, and she was certainly not ruling out his forthcoming offer.
“Miss Scott, you should be exhausted. I know I am.” Mr McAlister hesitated and glanced up from the brandy he was nursing, to look at her. “You’re not hurt, are you? I suppose I should have asked, though the way you positively galloped into the room has put my mind at ease.”
Lizzy narrowed her eyes. “Mr McAlister, I have never galloped in my entire life. I am not some runaway or schoolroom chit who has foisted herself upon you,” though she knew she sounded like one as she added, “If I were a winsome beauty with languorous, hooded eyes and an alluring pout you’d be going to great pains to placate me. Instead you treat me as if I’m the greatest burden. Really, if I—”
He held up his hand and shook his head, closing his eyes as if he really were on the brink of exhaustion. “You are quite right and I apologise. The truth is, seeing you dressed in Jane’s old gown was not—” He broke off. “I was not prepared for how difficult it would be. But you’re right. None of this is your fault. I’m entirely to blame, and I should have gone to far greater trouble to ensure you were not injured, and to take account of your fear at being in such a situation so far from home.”
“Well, don’t worry about that,” Lizzy muttered, “though I am sorry about your sister. You obviously— Why! Did you know you had a cut beneath your ear?” She darted forward and put her finger to the grazed skin beneath a growing bruise. “Poor Mr McAlister, you’re injured and yet you’ve said nothing. What a brave, noble—”
“Now, there’s no need to go on like that, Miss Scott! Here, have another brandy—your last for the evening—and take a seat by the fire. You cannot go to bed until your hair is dry. At least, that’s what Jane used to tell me, though I think that was just an excuse to stay up late, too.”
“Was she vexing, like me?” Lizzy smiled, holding out a hank of hair to the flames so that Mr McAlister could admire the flecks of gold that enlivened it, for she’d been told her hair was her crowning glory and he’d not had occasion yet to appreciate that fact. “My most vexing sister was my favourite, also. I had three sisters and a brother, but they all died of the scarlet fever when I was fourteen. My mother and father too.” She sighed as she lowered herself onto the ottoman Mr McAlister had just shifted with his foot so she could take advantage of the blaze in comfort, accepting the glass of brandy he handed her. “Mrs Hodge has always wondered why the most vexing of us was spared. It’s her favourite lament.”
“Mrs Hodge doesn’t sound like a very nice woman.”
“Oh, she’s quite abominable. I pray for divine justice for her every night, and if I didn’t wish so very much to escape her clutches, I would remain a vexatious burden to her my whole life just to spite her.”
“Ah, but there’s the rub.” His mouth stretched into its first real smile, and Lizzy felt her heart expand a little. He did have a very nice smile, she thought, as her third brandy warmed its way through her.
“Exactly!” she said. “That’s why I’ve decided to accept this fortune hunter I told you about, if five days with him proves more bearable than the next five days with Mrs Hodge.” She put her head on one side. “Or I could accept you if you wanted to throw your hat in the ring, as the saying goes.”
He raised an eyebrow, just as Lizzy blinked at her own forwardness. Had she really said that? She glanced down at her brandy and decided she’d better not finish it.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Scott, but my matrimonial plans are in progress. Perhaps I should have mentioned it.”
“Not at all.” Despite sounding bright and undaunted, Lizzy nevertheless felt a small pang. Still, that was to be expected, she supposed, picking up her brandy and finishing it before she’d realised what she was about. “I presume you don’t love her in the slightest, but she has lots of money.”
He looked taken aback. “I resorted to a degree of levity when I called myself a fortune hunter. I am not quite so craven.”
“So you do love her? Good, for now I can regard you in a more honourable light. How much?”
He blinked, as if the question really was unanswerable.
“Just a little? Or madly, passionately, as in, you couldn’t live without her? I was reading a book about a gypsy princess—”
“I admire her,” he cut in. “She has indicated she is happy with our arrangement.”
“So, you have not exactly proposed yet?”
He shook his head. “We plan to finalise our preparations after she has returned from a Christmas house party she is attending during the next few days.”
“Just as I shall accept my proposal during a similar event at Quamby House, Mr McAlister. And may you be very happy with this young lady who, I would hope, promises you a more joyful existence than your current lonely, dreary one.” She glanced about her and her nostrils twitched. “In this musty, gloomy house of yours.”
But he wasn’t listening. “You’re on your way to Quamby House?” He leaned forward and looked at her with sudden interest. “Why did you not say? That’s precisely where Amelia is headed the day after tomorrow.”
“The young lady you’re to marry? Goodness! So we’re all invited to Lady Quamby’s Yuletide festivities? How thrilling! We can travel together.”
“Except that I am not invited.” He sank back into his chair and looked darkly into his glass. “My grandfather and Lord Quamby were once thick as thieves, but I’m persona non grata these days and there’s not a thing I can do about it.”
Lizzy’s impulse to brush this aside was checked by his apparent genuine distress. He really did look as if the weight of the world were upon his shoulders, for his eyes, which she’d noticed earlier were a very nice grey, were now almost black with emotion. Lizzy, who had recently been greatly moved by Mrs Radcliffe’s thrilling Mysteries of Udolpho knew this was just how the hero Valencourt must have looked when his heart was broken by the lovely, enterprising Emily.
She therefore knew just the kind of succour a heroine was required to render in such a situation.
“I’m sure that’s not true, Mr McAlister!” she said, rising from her ottoman to kneel by his chair, putting a comforting hand upon his back. “Lady Q
uamby probably dropped your invitation and it’s fallen behind a cushion. Or the maid accidentally used it as a spill to light the fire, only won’t admit it. Or the mail coach was held up and—”
“Please, stop, Miss Scott!” cried Mr McAlister, putting his head in his hands.
“Oh, do call me Lizzy. I feel that Christian names are not only appropriate, but necessary, in times of great calamity and surely there can be no greater calamity than being cut by one of the greatest families in the county when it’s clear you’re in need of patronage—or a rich wife, for I couldn’t help noticing that one of your chimney stacks was crumbling. So, of course you’d want to be at Quamby House in order to properly propose to your heiress there.” Lizzy continued to stroke his back since he hadn’t objected, and went on, “And since I would like to repay your kindness, I insist that you accompany me to Quamby House where I shall—with great subtlety, I promise!—make Lady Quamby realise her oversight in not sending you an invitation so that she will rectify her omission and order a chamber to be made up for you on the spot.”
“Your subtlety would be much appreciated.” He rolled his shoulders and Lizzy dropped her hand, uncertainly. But when he saw her face, he sent her a rueful smile. “Your concern is touching. Thank you…Lizzy. We can talk about it in the morning.”
Since he looked like he was about to dismiss her when Lizzy felt the evening had only just begun, she glanced hopefully at the brandy decanter as she countered, “Or we could discuss arrangements now?”
He shook his head. “Young ladies who have had severe shocks do not get a fourth brandy in an evening.”
“It would be a third.”
“Nor a third, either. Now, off to bed, Lizzy or I shall have to enlist Mrs Rice to assist you, forcibly. Your hair is dry, and I am certainly the worse for wear after today’s little adventure.”
Lizzy was about to object but then thought better of it. It was true that he did look a little pale and ‘jaundiced around the gills’ as Mrs Hodge was wont to put it. Though his gills—or rather his chin—was a nice, firm, and resolute one.
But then, so was Mr Dalgleish’s, she had to remind herself.
Which meant that Mr McAlister’s chin, or any other part of him, was out of bounds since he’d said his heart was engaged by another, and he was clearly very much upset at being denied the opportunity of spending the next few days with the young lady to whom he intended to propose.
“Very well,” she said, reluctantly, rising to her feet but finding that the world wasn’t quite as properly on its axis as she’d thought it was, for Mr McAlister had to put out a steadying hand to stop her stumbling back against the fire screen. “Sleep well, Mr McAlister, my noble rescuer.” She smiled through something of a haze, her heart very full of gratitude at having enjoyed the most wonderfully exciting day of her life. “But don’t trouble yourself about tomorrow. One good turn deserves another, as my excellent late father used to say. So, despite the fact it was you who plunged me into such a desperate predicament, you did come good, and I shan’t forget it.” She hiccupped slightly and put her hand to her mouth, though Mr McAlister did not seem to mind, for he was smiling at her with a look that suggested he was most taken by her artful words.
She pressed her lips together, thinking of all the ways she might be able to lift Mr McAlister out of the blue devils so that he’d be forever indebted to her, and said, in a burst of inspiration, “I am very well connected, and Mrs Hodge’s late husband was highly esteemed by those at Quamby House, so I am entirely confident of being able to rectify the oversight in failing to ensure your invitation was sent out to you. Tomorrow we can travel together to Quamby House where you shall receive a warm welcome, and the invitation to join the Yuletide festivities that, quite obviously, was stolen by some jealous suitor who is vying for the attentions of your ladylove and therefore prepared to resort to such underhand behaviour in order to eliminate his competition.”
Mr McAlister inclined his head. “Thank you, Lizzy. Now go to bed…and go to sleep for sleep is what you need.” He waved a hand in the direction of the door. “And do not be distracted by the collection of romance novels by Jane’s bedside for she too was marvellously enamoured of Mrs Radcliffe and her Mysteries of Udolpho— though you may help yourself to a volume to pass the time during the journey tomorrow for I won’t have the energy to keep up with your chatter.”
“So you will come with me!” Lizzy clapped her hands together, her sudden pleasure at his surprise announcement erasing the disappointment she’d felt at having the source of her marvellous conspiracy theories revealed as unoriginal. “And there is no need to worry, Mr McAlister. I shall ensure your journey is not in vain.”
He yawned. “If I am worried about anything, Lizzy, it’s that I shall be expected to offer an opinion upon every passing landmark, and, if my brow is creased as a result, be accused of agonising over my reception at Quamby House, when nothing could be further from the truth. I am properly reconciled to the fact that society has pegged me as a libertine and a fortune hunter.”
“Then I shall see that you are redeemed in society’s eyes.” Lizzy thrust out her chin, a new sense of purpose firing her with energy and enthusiasm for the future. “And I shall not vex you with a running commentary of the passing scenery. However, if I might borrow your sister’s copy of Mrs Radcliffe’s Romance of the Forest, I could read to you to help pass the time, for you may find that soothing. The only compliment Mrs Hodge has ever paid to me is on my reading manner, for she has me read to her every night.”
“Thank you, Lizzy, but…” Mr McAlister raked his fingers through the curls of his fashionably cut hair and closed his eyes “I think I would prefer to sleep.”
Chapter 5
“Ahem.”
At the third delicate clearing of her voice, Theodore reluctantly opened his eyes and directed an enquiring look at Lizzy. He’d been enjoying the gentle rolling motion of the carriage.
He had been enjoying the silence too, for he’d allowed her to chatter to her heart’s content during the first hour of their journey before sleep had claimed him.
It hadn’t been feigned, either, for he’d barely slept last night, his mind being in such disorder over his likely reception at Quamby House.
“I was checking to see if you were awake, and if you were, thought you might wish to be diverted. I’d be happy to read to you. Mabel is very anxious to hear what happens next in Romance of the Forest, aren’t you, Mabel? And we thought you might be, too.”
The little chit was smiling brightly at him over the top of her book; and now her maid put down her knitting and added, “We did, sir, fer yer bin sleepin’ ever so long an’ I’ve jest bin dyin’ ter know if wot poor Miss Adeline’s bin seein’ is a real proper ghost.”
Theodore considered the offer. Having located Lizzy’s trunk by the river’s edge, she was now in possession of a wardrobe befitting an heiress, he supposed, for her carriage dress was of finely woven blue wool with all the à la mode trimmings that would have had Jane in a fever of admiration.
Indeed, it was hard to reconcile the beautifully-turned-out young lady gazing at him through cornflower-blue eyes fringed with dark lashes, with the bedraggled urchin of the night before. Natural curls of golden hair framed her delicately featured face, making her a classic beauty.
But it was her artlessness that had the greatest impact—one which he was careful not to show—as it reminded him of his sister.
Jane loved pretty clothes, yet she was the most loyal of sisters. And of friends, he thought with a pang.
Closing his eyes a moment, he nodded. “Well, I should hate to deprive Mabel if you were both struggling so hard to stay quiet, only to humour me. Yes, please continue the adventures of our hero and heroine.”
To his surprise, the rhythm of Miss Scott’s voice lulled him as he decided how he might orchestrate the delicate matter of his arrival at Lord Quamby’s estate.
Lizzy had written a note that morning explaining, in rather dram
atic terms, her situation. It had been delivered to Quamby House by Theodore’s groom, who’d had to take Theo’s horse, meaning Theo had had no choice but to travel with Lizzy in his old-fashioned and less than commodious carriage that could barely squeeze three people, and which leaked.
What the reaction would be when Lizzy’s hosts discovered it was notorious Theodore McAlister who was Lizzy’s rescuer, he could only imagine. Would they send him packing? Would they thank him, icily, but offer no bed for the night? He’d deliberately timed their arrival for midafternoon so there’d be no reasonable possibility of him making the return journey to his home before nightfall.
He must have displayed his agitation for he realised Lizzy had stopped reading to him and was now prodding him in the chest.
“You didn’t attend to a word I said, and it really was a most thrilling part,” she complained.
“I attended to every word,” Theo protested, opening his eyes.
“Then what did Louis say to Adeline after realising he’d fallen in love with her?”
Theo opened his mouth but no sound came out.
“I knew it!” Lizzy sounded triumphant. “You haven’t attended to a word and yet Romance of the Forest is the most thrilling and exciting of all Mrs Radcliffe’s novels.” She exhaled in frustration, then glanced at the page in front of her and quoted: ‘I should esteem myself most happy, if I could be of service to you.’” She glanced over the top of the book and narrowed her eyes. “That’s what Louis—who is Madame and Pierre’s son whom Adeline met in the forest after he comes searching for his parents—says to Adeline. And it’s a very apt sentence too, because those are my own sentiments, Mr McAlister. Only, I wish you’d invite me to call you by your Christian name. I would not dream of doing so, otherwise, but in view of all we’ve been through together—”
“Don’t say anything of that!” He dropped his hand, which he’d raised, like his voice, in sudden alarm, immediately regretting his outburst.