Rake's Honour by Beverley Oakley

he was prepared to take.
    He wanted Miss Brightwell and he wanted her for his wife . He felt his mouth stretch in a grin. Lord, the sight of himself in the mirror above the mantelpiece was like gazing into the past—to the eager schoolboy he must once have been, contemplating some great adventure or intrigue.
    Marrying Miss Brightwell would be both.
    “Why, Fenton! This is news to me. Who is the young lady?” The severe lines around Lady Fenton’s mouth softened when she smiled.
    “Miss Brightwell.”
    It was the brittle silence more than the gasp—which could have been occasioned by the accidental stabbing of her needle into her thumb—that said more than words. Words, however, were quickly forthcoming.
    “Miss Brightwell?” His mother looked stricken, disbelieving and furious at the same time before she rose from her chair, her needlework falling at her feet. “ Miss Brightwell! Oh, dear boy, pray don’t break your mama’s heart. No, no, it cannot be she who has stolen your heart—”
    Fenton made no move towards his mother’s open arms. His tone was cool, though his feelings were the very opposite. “Pray tell what might discount her candidacy, Mama? I am aware that her father disgraced himself and that she comes with no dowry, but I love her.”
    Lady Fenton’s ashen face took on the heat of indignation. She clenched her fingers and drew in her breath. For a moment words failed her, before she croaked through bloodless lips, “The girl’s mother was a toad-eating upstart who sold herself for a title. A cooper’s daughter!”
    “She married Lord Brightwell in a union that, while not spectacular, was not ignominious.” Fenton’s voice rose. “Is there a slur upon the reputations of either Miss Brightwell or her newly fired-off sister?”
        “If you were a woman you’d blush at the tactics that Friday-faced miss used to entice Baron Brightwell. Now I hear she’s prepared to go to any lengths to snare good matches for her daughters. No doubt she’s parading her girls like—like enticing sweetmeats before any old duke or viscount in an attempt to ease the family’s financial woes. No, I wouldn’t put a little procurement past Lady Brightwell.” She all but spat the name.
    “Mother!”
    “You have no idea, Fenton.” His mother’s lips were a compressed line. “I went to school with the designing creature. Her father made his fortune through trade. He thought his money could put her on a par with the daughters of baronets, if not earls.” Lady Fenton’s lip curled. “No, nothing was too good for little Miss Lottie Lucas as she was then and, believe me, there’s nothing I wouldn’t put past her.”
    “You went to school with her? I know, too, your father was a friend of the fourth Baron Brightwell. Nothing wrong with the lineage, Mama…”
    Lady Fenton’s trembling increased. Tugging on the bell rope to demand her vinaigrette in a high, thin voice, she turned to Fenton and muttered, “Nothing wrong with the lineage but everything wrong with your choice, my boy, just remember that!” Her eyes flashed and for a moment Fenton believed she was going to beat him with her clenched fists as she took an unsteady step forward. “Let me warn you, Fenton, if you marry this designing Miss Brightwell I will never receive her! Do you hear me? Never !”

    * * * *

    “What do you think of these?” Lady Brightwell waved a pair of York tan gloves at her eldest daughter from the other side of the shop. “Without waiting for a response, she said to the assistant, “We’ll have two pairs. Fanny, try them on for size…oh, and perhaps the lilac, too. They’re very fetching and will brighten up your newest muslin.”
    There was no time for a new gown but Lady Brightwell was finding far greater enjoyment than Fanny in spending the money Lord Slyther had provided for a few accoutrements for his intended. It was not the August heat that made Fanny feel like a wilting dandelion. It was late