Tweaking the neckline of the unadorned and rather worn white muslin gown she had been lent, Lizzy moved the candlestick on the dressing table to experiment with the lighting on her skin, which was glowing after her bath.
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.”