Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride. Elizabeth Rolls

Braybrook his own last night, I didn’t imagine you would have any difficulty with Davy.’

      Christy blinked.

      The cat rose, stretching, all elegant muscle and sinew. Lady Braybrook made no effort to hold it, and it leapt down, stalking towards Christy.

      She eyed it sideways, wondering if her pet’s desertion would offend Lady Braybrook. Unblinking emerald eyes stared back.

      ‘Ma’am, if you do not dislike it, I have given some thought to my role here—’ She broke off as the cat sprang into her lap. Oh, drat! She could hardly tip the creature off and it had been so long since she had been able to have a cat.

      Lady Braybrook smiled over her embroidery, as the needle continued to flash. ‘My dear Miss Daventry, why should I dislike it?’ A faint twinkle appeared in her eyes. ‘After all, you have had more time to become used to the idea than I!’

      Christy blushed, and petted the cat, who had settled down purring.

      Lady Braybrook laughed. ‘Oh, don’t feel embarrassed. Believe me, I know how autocratic Braybrook can be when he is arranging everything for one’s good. Maddening, is he not? Now, tell me: what were you thinking?’

      ‘Well,’ said Christy, ‘I noticed this morning that you did not come down until quite late and—’

      She broke off at Lady Braybrook’s wry smile.

      ‘These silly legs,’ she explained. ‘I take my bath in the morning, and of course it does take a little time. Such a nuisance…’

      ‘Ma’am, I did not mean—’

      Lady Braybrook chuckled. ‘Of course not. Tell me what you have in mind.’

      ‘I wondered if I taught the younger children in the morning, before you came down, if that would work?’

      ‘An excellent idea,’ said Lady Braybrook. ‘Then I shall steal you for the rest of the day. Although after lunch you might accompany Lissy and Emma for their walk.’

      ‘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?’