A Poor Relation. Joanna Maitland

calmly, refusing to be daunted by his hard eyes.

      ‘No, ma’am. I remained until Boney was sent to Elba.’

      ‘Even then, he was afire to be off again when Boney escaped,’ interposed Mr Lewiston, ingenuously, ‘and would have gone, had it not been for Lady Amburley’s entreaties.’

      ‘You allow yourself too much latitude in interpreting my motives, George,’ returned his lordship, with a generous smile that softened his features markedly. In that moment, he seemed to Isabella to reveal a character totally different from the hard, taciturn man she had judged him to be. ‘My mother’s wishes happened to coincide with my duty. I was not in a position to quit the estates again, however much I might have been tempted.’

      ‘But you have yielded to temptation now, my lord, have you not, in coming to London?’ Without pause for thought, Isabella had decided that, if he would condemn her for impertinence, she would give him cause. She fixed an innocent smile on her lips.

      Lord Amburley turned back to Isabella and surveyed her slowly. It was exactly the same calculating look he had given to ‘Winny’ on their encounter at the Bell inn. Then suddenly, he laughed. ‘Touché, ma’am. I have indeed yielded to the delights of the London Season. Though, before you reproach me further—’ Isabella lowered her eyes, suddenly conscious of the impropriety of her outburst ‘—I should reassure you that my estates are now in good enough order to be able to survive without my ministrations for a month or two.’

      Isabella raised her gaze again to discover that he was now laughing at her. Infamous! Her earlier embarrassment was replaced by righteous anger. She must—and would—find the means of repaying him in his own coin…and soon.

      The door had hardly shut behind the two men, when Lewiston launched into a slightly incoherent recital of the stages of his enlightenment. ‘What the devil do they mean by entertaining Gradely? He’s the worst sort of fortune-hunter. Puts me in mind of some ravening beast, waiting to prey on the innocent and helpless. If he should make her an offer…’

      Amburley waited patiently for the tirade to end before gently steering his friend back to the question of Isabella’s identity.

      ‘I would not have believed that they were one and the same, but for her eyes. They are a most unusual colour. I noticed that at the inn. But she did not guess that I had rumbled her, I’d swear to that,’ Lewiston added, with obvious self-satisfaction, ‘so we still hold all the cards.’ He paused. ‘It’s a devilish tricky situation, though, Leigh,’ he added uncertainly. ‘You are quite justified in saying they have practised a disreputable deception on us, yet I cannot readily believe Miss Sophia is truly guilty. She is such an innocent… In the circumstances,’ he continued, after a moment, ‘I thought it best to say nothing, at least for the present. To be honest, I wanted time to think.’

      ‘Very wise, George,’ agreed Amburley. ‘Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.’

      ‘What the devil do you mean, “revenge”?’ exclaimed Lewiston. ‘What need have I, or you for that matter, to wreak vengeance on that poor girl?’

      ‘Easy, George. Remember that they set out, quite deliberately, to dupe us. Let us consider the situation dispassionately, before we pronounce upon the appropriate retribution. The facts are simple. Miss Sophia Winstanley, the heiress, has a distant cousin, Isabella, also called “Winny”. Said cousin is only a poor companion, but has now been dressed to the nines in order to appear as an equal. We do not know why, nor who is responsible for this disreputable scheme, though I must say that it is much more likely to have originated with the rich Miss Winstanley than with the poor relation.’ He cut short his companion’s attempted defence of Sophia. ‘However, I attach the largest part of the blame to the elder Miss Winstanley. A lady of her years and experience should never have consented to such a bird-witted escapade, however tempting the bait. It was always bound to fail.

      ‘By the way, George,’ he added, ‘I think you owe me an apology, for doubting my ability to detect a fraud.’

      Lewiston’s jaw dropped momentarily.

      ‘Do not bother to beg my pardon, old fellow,’ Amburley said, with a sardonic smile. ‘I understand that you are much more concerned about Miss Sophia’s feelings than mine.’

      ‘Leigh, you are quite outrageous,’ returned his friend. ‘Yes, of course you were right. But what are we to do?’

      ‘For the moment, I think, we shall simply wait and observe developments. We could easily spread the tale now, of course. Nothing simpler. But I think—not yet. I confess to being intrigued by this potentially disastrous make-believe of theirs. I should like very much to know what occasioned it. Indeed, I intend to find out. Then I shall decide what is best to be done.’ He paused. ‘I beg your pardon. You, of course, will take whatever action you think is right. It is not my place to make decisions on your behalf.’

      Lewiston shook his head. ‘I have no present intention of betraying them, Leigh. Indeed, I rather think we should not unmask them at all, unless it is clear that mischief is afoot. To be honest with you, I cannot believe it is more than a silly prank.’

      ‘Ladies of Miss “Winny’s” age and background should not become involved in pranks,’ declared Lord Amburley flatly. ‘I may yet bring her to rue it, I dare say. However, I agree that, for the present at least, we should simply watch and wait.’

      They turned the corner and approached his lordship’s door. ‘Are you bidden to the Duchess of Newcombe’s ball tomorrow, George?’ Lewiston nodded. ‘Doubtless both the Misses Winstanley will be there. We shall have ample opportunity for spectator sport. It promises to be better than a prize-fight.’

      Chapter Five

      Sophia awoke early next day, the day of her first ever ball. She made no attempt to go back to sleep, scrambling out of bed and into her dressing-gown without ringing for her new maid. Then, eyes shining with excitement, she hurried along the corridor to Isabella’s room, where she knocked briefly and entered, without waiting for an invitation.

      ‘Isabella, forgive me for…’ Her words trailed off, and she looked at her cousin in astonishment. ‘Good God,’ she exclaimed, ‘whatever are you doing, dressed like that at this hour?’

      Isabella was not best pleased at the interruption to her plans, nor was she prepared to indulge Sophia’s curiosity. With a stern look, reminiscent of Lady Wycham at her most haughty, she replied sharply that her private business was of no interest to her young cousin.

      ‘But those are the clothes you wore to visit the orphans,’ protested Sophia, refusing to be silenced. ‘If anyone were to see you, there would be a scandal. Surely—’

      ‘Sophia,’ interrupted Isabella sharply, ‘I shall thank you to allow me to be the judge of what I may or may not do. And where I go is of no interest to anyone but myself.’ She turned to her maid. ‘Have you my gloves, Mitchell? Thank you.’ Drawing them on, she spoke more gently to Sophia. ‘Now go back to bed, my dear. It is much too early for you to be about. Even on the day of your first ball,’ she added, with a slight smile. ‘Say nothing to anyone about what has happened here, even to me. And ask no questions. They will not be answered.’ With a quick nod, Isabella opened the door and was gone.

      It was still quite early when Sophia entered the breakfast room. Even so, Isabella was before her, now dressed in a light morning dress of cream cambric trimmed with green velvet ribbons and calmly pouring coffee. Sophia’s mouth formed an O, but no sound came out.

      ‘Good morning, Sophia dear,’ beamed Isabella. ‘I hope you slept well, for it will be a long night, I fancy. Will you have some coffee? Or shall I ring for chocolate?’ Isabella was quite determined that no allusion to their earlier encounter would be permitted, but Sophia surrendered with only token resistance.

      As the day wore on, Sophia’s excitement visibly increased, until Isabella at last managed to persuade her to rest in the late afternoon. Relaxing on her own chaise-longue, Isabella abandoned herself