Joanna Maitland - A Poor Relation

‘Indeed she was. She looked quite lovely. And so animated, more so than before, I fancy. I think that that dowdy companion we met up north had a malign influence on her. Miss Winstanley seemed in much brighter spirits without her louring presence.’

‘Miss Winstanley was alone?’ asked Lord Amburley sharply.

‘Of course not,’ snapped Mr Lewiston. ‘She was accompanied by a distant relation—a Miss Isabella Winstanley. She is much older than Miss Sophia and a perfectly proper chaperon. Though I should perhaps warn you that she is a most elegant female herself, not beautiful exactly, but certainly striking.’

Lord Amburley raised an eyebrow. Isabella Winstanley was much more than striking, surely? But that was not a subject for discussion with Lewiston. ‘And what has become of the poor companion? “Winny”, was it not?’

‘I have not the least notion. In any case, what has she to say to anything? You are not about to have another attack of philanthropy, are you, Leigh?’

‘No. Merely curious.’ Lord Amburley busied himself with the coffee-pot as he spoke. ‘Tell me about your encounter, including the distant cousin.’

‘There is little more to tell. Miss Winstanley— Miss Sophia Winstanley, I mean—almost collided with me outside Florette’s. We exchanged a few words. Miss Sophia introduced me to her companion, and then she told me she was staying with Lady Wycham in Hill Street. Lady Wycham is her godmother, you know.’

‘Well, no—in fact, I don’t know her ladyship, I’m afraid,’ responded his lordship flippantly.

‘Sometimes, Leigh, you are quite exasperating. I did not expect you to know Lady Wycham, dammit; I was simply explaining how things are. If you’d just let me finish…’

‘Oh. Is there more?’ His lordship sat back, calmly drinking his coffee.

Lewiston continued doggedly. ‘Kenley has told me all about the Misses Winstanley. Your man Peveridge was right about her being an heiress. Apparently Lady Wycham is very well-to-do, and Miss Winstanley is her nearest relative. She is expected to inherit everything. I dare say she will be the catch of the Season—beauty, breeding and a fortune into the bargain.’

‘With Kenley involved, she will certainly become the centre of attraction—he is a gossip-monger of the first order. I have never understood why he spoils his own chances of winning heiresses by spreading the news all over London. After all, everyone knows he’s mortgaged to the hilt. But you mean to be first in line yourself, I collect?’

Lewiston glowered in response. ‘I have no need of her fortune, as you know perfectly well. I mean only to further my acquaintance with her and, perhaps, to warn her about some of those who may have mercenary motives.’

This was serious, Amburley realised. And there was an edge in Lewiston’s tone that suggested… ‘I trust you do not include me in that category, do you, George?’

Lewiston laughed. ‘Why, no, of course not. I know you are not hanging out after an heiress for a wife…or indeed any wife at all, as far as I can see. And even if you were, I doubt you would choose someone of Miss Winstanley’s tender years. The cousin, now, might be more to your liking. I’d say she is past five-and-twenty, but she is very well-looking, none the less. I gather she is a poor relation of some kind, though, and totally dependent on Lady Wycham’s generosity, so you couldn’t really afford to—’ Lewiston broke off at Amburley’s dark frown. ‘What is the matter, Leigh?’

‘I will thank you not to interfere in my private affairs, George. I know you mean well… However, what is important at present is that I prevent you from making a complete ass of yourself in this case.’ Lewiston gave an audible gasp. ‘As I said, an ass,’ repeated his lordship. ‘You clearly did not look closely at Miss Isabella Winstanley. If you had, you would have recognised the “malign” companion of our earlier encounter.’ Lewiston now looked as if he had received a blow in the solar plexus.

‘I chanced to meet both ladies at Lady Bridge’s soirée last night,’ continued Lord Amburley evenly. ‘Miss “Winny” is attempting to pass herself off as a lady of fortune, no doubt in the hope of catching a husband. Your Miss Sophia, probably abetted by Lady Wycham, has clearly put quite some investment into her companion’s appearance, for she appeared as a very fine lady indeed. Miss “Winny’s” manners are irreproachable, of course, but then that is often the last resort of the impoverished. It’s a pity she is indulging in such a shameful masquerade. She would have been better to take honest employment as a governess. She is certainly well qualified for that. She plays and sings delightfully.’

Lewiston put his cup down with a clatter. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he gasped.

‘What other explanation can you offer?’ countered his lordship grimly. ‘We both met Miss “Winny”. There can be no doubt of her lowly station in life. Unless I am mistaken in my identification of her as Miss Isabella—and I assure you I am not—there can be no other explanation. Your Miss Sophia is not only rich, frivolous and spoilt, she is also prepared to perpetrate a disreputable fraud upon you and other unsuspecting gentlemen of the ton. I have to say I am not surprised. Heiresses tend to have little regard for morality.’

He rose from the table and strode to the window, frowning out on to the busy street. ‘I see that you doubt me. It is understandable, perhaps, that you think my judgement has been swayed by my own experience of society ladies. However, once you have paid your respects in Hill Street and looked upon Miss Isabella Winstanley with new eyes, you will doubt no longer, I promise you.’

‘I am sure you are wrong, Amburley,’ said Lewiston coldly, making to rise from his chair, ‘and I shall take pleasure in telling you so, as soon as I may. Such a delightful and well-bred girl as Miss Sophia would never be party to so base a deception. It is not possible.’

‘As you wish,’ replied Amburley calmly. ‘But since my opinion cannot be put to the test for some hours yet, let us turn to happier pursuits. I was intending to take a turn in the ring at Jackson’s parlour this morning. Will you join me? It might improve your temper to plant me a facer.’

‘No doubt it would, if I could do it,’ admitted Lewiston, forced into unwilling laughter, ‘but I know very well that I cannot. You are much too skilled for me, and I prefer not to suffer your left again, thank you. I will gladly accompany you, though.’

Good humour temporarily restored, they left for Gentleman Jackson’s boxing parlour.

Although Mr Lewiston’s dress was the height of fashion and his coat owed its immaculate fit to the artistry of Weston, he nevertheless looked nothing out of the common way by comparison with the tall and imposing figure of Lord Amburley at his side. Mr Lewiston kept fingering his cravat—a mathematical that he had laboured over for nearly two hours. It felt too tight. ‘I think, perhaps, we should not go in, Leigh,’ he suggested, tugging at it yet again.

‘Do you tell me you do not care to catch Miss Sophia in her outrageous behaviour, George?’

‘What? Oh, heavens, no! This cravat of mine. It’s not, I fear, quite what I should like. Perhaps I should—’ At that moment, the great door swung open to reveal the uncompromising stare of Lady Wycham’s butler. Retreat became impossible.

Lady Wycham greeted them amicably from her place on the sofa in the blue drawing-room. ‘Sophia has told me all about your gallant rescue, Mr Lewiston. Believe me, we are most grateful to you both.’

‘It was nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am, I assure you.’ Mr Lewiston blushed. ‘I was glad to be of service,’ he added with a smile for Sophia, sitting beside Lady Wycham.