A Poor Relation. Joanna Maitland

no outward sign of heat. Her face, too, felt as if it were on fire. Was this an example of how a rake’s practised charm was exercised? She shook her head, vainly trying to clear her disordered thoughts. She longed for solitude so that she might attempt to make sense of what had happened. But, of course, sharing a room with the effervescent Sophia would prevent any opportunity for calm reflection. It was hopeless.

      Isabella now wished with all her heart that she had never succumbed to the urge to visit that rural orphanage. It had led her into two encounters with a man who affected her composure as no other had ever done. Not that it mattered, for he clearly regarded her as a poor, used, spinster companion, put upon by all and an object to be pitied. She felt deeply embarrassed and somehow shamed. Her only refuge was in the hope—earnestly felt—that she would never set eyes on Lord Amburley again. She did not see how her injured self-esteem could survive a third meeting.

      ‘You carried that off perfectly, Winny,’ said Sophia. ‘But for you, we should be sleeping in the stables.’

      Isabella smiled weakly in response. At least Sophia had not recognised Lord Amburley.

      ‘Shall we retire to our parlour now?’ continued Sophia. ‘I so much want to tell you about my conversation with Mr Lewiston.’

      Isabella nodded agreement. It would certainly not do to learn Sophia’s views about the perfection of Mr Lewiston’s figure and address in the hearing of the coffee-room gentlemen. That would be the final humiliation of an absolutely dreadful day. Fortunately, the landlord returned at that moment, and so they were soon ensconced in a comfortable parlour with easy chairs and a welcome blaze in the hearth. With a sigh of relief, Isabella removed her all-concealing bonnet and sank into a chair. Privacy, at last.

      ‘I must tell you, Winny, about my encounter with Mr Lewiston. He must have witnessed our arrival, for he was seeing to his horses in the yard. They are very fine, by the bye, so I collect he must be a rich young man.’

      ‘That need not be so,’ interposed Isabella. ‘Many a young gentleman of address is deeply in debt and hanging out for a rich wife to solve his problems.’

      ‘I do not believe Mr Lewiston is such a one. How can you possibly suggest such a motive for the young man who helped to rescue us?’ Sophia stopped short as the full import of Isabella’s words struck home. ‘Besides, I am not rich.’

      ‘No, Sophia, you are not rich but, just for the moment, you have every appearance of it. You ride in a fine carriage with an abigail and servants in attendance. Your shabbily dressed cousin is naturally assumed to be your companion, while you yourself are dressed in the latest fashion. No one would guess it is thanks to your own nimble fingers, you know. No, indeed, you seem to have all the outward trappings of an heiress.’

      ‘Oh!’ Sophia blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Oh, dear! What shall we do?’

      ‘Nothing. Tomorrow we shall wait until the gentlemen have left before we emerge as ourselves. And even then, I shall ensure that there is not so much difference in my own appearance as to cause comment. Then we can forget all about this unfortunate occurrence…and start preparing for your London Season. We must have you do justice to the Winstanley looks.’ Her mischievous smile lit up her eyes.

      That final sally was not enough to restore Sophia’s spirits. ‘But what if we should meet Mr Lewiston or Lord What’s-his-name in London? I should die of mortification.’

      ‘If you should meet either Mr Lewiston or Lord Amburley, you will behave as if nothing had happened, my dear. After all, you have done nothing, except to be your true self. The imposture, such as it is, has been mine, and I shall have to deal with the consequences if we should meet either gentleman again. However,’ she added consolingly, ‘I do not believe we shall. Although I do not go into Society very much, I have lived in London for almost a year now, and I have not heard of either of them. No doubt they are northern gentlemen who do not come to London for the Season.’

      In a bedchamber further along the corridor, Lord Amburley was changing his coat, musing abstractedly on his two encounters with the elder Miss Winstanley. She was remarkably sharp-tongued—but perhaps that was not surprising, considering how shamefully she was treated by her young employer. It was not a fate he would wish on any woman, however poverty-stricken.

      His valet’s voice intruded insistently. Peveridge was clearly determined to indulge his irrepressible taste for gossip, now that he had an audience of two. ‘Miss Winstanley is a real lady, m’lord, and a considerable heiress to boot, by all accounts.’

      ‘Is she, begad?’ said Mr Lewiston, who was reclining at his ease in a chair and nursing a glass in his hand. ‘Well, well.’

      ‘Pray do not encourage him, George,’ said his lordship. ‘I have been trying for years to persuade him out of his reprehensible tendency to gossip, and now you are like to undo all my hard work with a careless sentence or two.’

      The valet grinned at Mr Lewiston, as if to say that no amount of effort on the part of Lord Amburley would ever cure that particular malady.

      ‘Come, Leigh, I will have the truth out of you. Are you not at all curious about the circumstances of the lovely Miss Winstanley?’

      ‘I know all I wish to know about that young lady,’ countered his lordship. ‘She is young and quite pretty, I grant you. If you listen to Peveridge, she is also rich. You could have concluded that yourself from her mode of travelling, without recourse to Peveridge’s sources.’ Peveridge cleared his throat at this point as if preparing to intervene, but subsided at a warning glance from his master. With barely a pause, his lordship continued evenly, ‘Peveridge can no doubt give you detailed information on her family, her financial circumstances and her marital ambitions. I know nothing of those, nor do I desire to. The rich Miss Winstanley is empty-headed, frivolous and spoilt. No doubt she has been indulged from birth.’

      ‘How can you suggest such a thing, Amburley?’ growled Mr Lewiston. ‘You yourself admitted you know nothing about her.’

      ‘I know her kind very well. Did you compare the poverty of the poor relation’s dress with the expense of the young lady’s? The cost of that single fashionable outfit was probably more than the companion receives in a year. And to address her as “Winny”… If there had been the least doubt as to her lowly station in life, that would certainly have settled it.’

      ‘It could be her name, you know. Winifred, perhaps?’

      ‘I take leave to doubt that, George. Did you not notice how she blushed? I believe she was quite put out.’ Until the words were spoken, he had not been aware that her reactions had registered with him at all.

      ‘She did seem a little strained, I admit, but I put it down to the difficulties of the situation. However, you went out of your way to be kind to her, I noticed. Indeed, you were much more solicitous to the poor companion than to the lady.’

      ‘Since the lady had you to defend her, my friend, she clearly had no need of me. The companion, by contrast, had no one, not even her charge. She is—’ He stopped in mid-sentence. For some reason, he did not feel able to share his assessment of the poor companion, even with his friend. Deliberately, he pushed her shabby image to the back of his mind, before continuing, ‘I sought only to allow her to recover her composure a little. If I succeeded, I am glad.’

      ‘You are very much your mother’s son,’ said Lewiston, after a thoughtful pause, ‘with your concern for the poor and disadvantaged. Perhaps you should set up a foundation for impoverished spinsters?’

      Lord Amburley smiled enigmatically. ‘I have not the means, George, as you know very well—and, in any case, one philanthropist in the Stansfield family is quite enough. My mother does my share, I think—though only among the orphans.’ His eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘You, by contrast, could certainly afford to support such a worthy cause. Why not adopt your own suggestion?’

      ‘I have not the taste for it,’ came the prompt reply. ‘I fear I fall into your category of empty-headed, frivolous and spoilt.’

      The