‘Taking pity on you? That’s a likely story.’
She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but Captain Bretherton seemed to stiffen. His voice was certainly a bit cool when he said, ‘Miss Hutton, now that I have restored you to your grandfather, I shall bid you good day.’
Her spirits plunged as he disappeared into the throng. That was probably the last she’d see of him. He might say he wanted to get to know her better, but no man, at least none with any pride, would stand for being addressed as a jackanapes.
‘Didn’t take long to get him to take to his heels, did it?’ Grandfather was glaring in the direction of Captain Bretherton’s retreat. ‘Though I warned you about fellows of his stamp, yesterday. What do you mean by dancing with him, eh?’
‘Well, he asked. And I didn’t have any reason to refuse...’
‘That’s the trouble with places like this. Full of strangers. Anybody can pass themselves off as marquesses or dukes...’
She took a breath to object. Grandfather’s eyebrows lowered even further. ‘Or call themselves captains,’ he persisted. ‘Ten to one he never got nearer a regiment than walking past a parade in Hyde Park.’
‘Well, no, but then he is in the navy. He...’
‘Playing on your susceptibilities is he, because of Sam?’
Lizzie flinched. Firstly, the chances Captain Bretherton knew she’d even had a brother, let alone one who served in the navy, were so remote as to be laughable. And secondly, why would he play on her susceptibilities?
‘Just let him know you don’t have a dowry, next time he comes sniffing round. Then we’ll see what his motives really are.’ He rapped on the floor with his cane. Though he might as well have struck her with it again.
‘Very well, Grandfather,’ she said, with as much meekness in her voice as she could muster. ‘Next time I see him, the first thing I shall do is tell him I am penniless.’
She hadn’t thought it was possible for his eyebrows to get any lower, but they did. And he thrust out his jaw, as though he was trying to decide whether she was being sincere. But, after a moment or two, he leaned back in his chair, with a ‘hmmph’, and then turned his shoulder to carry on the conversation in which he’d been engaged before.
Lizzie took up her station behind his chair, her chin up, her gaze fixed straight ahead. She wasn’t trembling, although the entire episode would have humiliated any girl who hadn’t grown inured to such scenes over the years. She told herself that Grandfather probably meant well. That he was trying to protect her, in his own, inimitable fashion. That Bath was the kind of place that did attract men on the lookout for gullible heiresses, or so Lady Buntingford had told her. And that it didn’t matter what they looked like. A practised seducer would make his intended victim feel as though there was something special about her. Something that only he, out of the whole world, could appreciate. Make her believe he truly loved her. So that he could get his hands on her money.
So, the sooner she informed Captain Bretherton that she had none, the sooner she would know whether his interest in her was genuine.
Or not.
He strode from the Pump Room, his fists clenched. No wonder Lady Rawcliffe had said Miss Hutton would jump at the chance to escape her grandfather, if that was an example of the way he treated her. The old man should have taken an interest in the stranger who’d escorted her back to his side, not driven him away. After insulting her, in front of all the other Bath quizzes, by insinuating that no man could possibly have asked her to dance for any reason except from pity.
He’d had to walk away before retaliating in kind. Which wouldn’t do his prospects any good. You couldn’t get into a stand-up row with a man, then ask for permission to court his granddaughter. Or a sit-down row, anyway, since the old man hadn’t stirred from his chair.
He whipped off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Since today was Tuesday, he wasn’t going to be able to see Miss Hutton tonight and attempt to offer her any comfort. Because it would be cards in the Assembly Rooms. Still, since he’d already told her his aversion for games of chance, she wouldn’t expect to see him. She wouldn’t think her grandfather had scared him off.
Would she?
* * *
It felt as if a month went past, rather than just a day and a half, before he was entering the Assembly Rooms again. For on his return from his daily swim, he’d found a muscular young man waiting for him outside the door of his hotel room, bearing a message from Rawcliffe and Becconsall. They’d decided he needed a bodyguard, apparently, and had sent Dawkins to perform that duty, under cover of being his valet. It had taken some time for them to discuss strategy. By the time they’d reached an understanding it had been too late to attend the Pump Room. So he was chafing at the bit by the time he entered the room where he hoped he might find her attending the Wednesday night concert.
And it wasn’t all to do with furthering his quest to find Archie’s killer, either. Even if he never got any further with Miss Hutton, he simply had to convince her that he hadn’t danced with her out of pity. Although he did feel a bit sorry for her, in some respects. She really needed someone to give her a bit of confidence, so that she could blossom into the kind of woman any man would be proud to call his wife.
Any man but him, that was. He might have agreed to pose as an eligible bachelor, but he didn’t really have anything to offer any woman. He’d returned from France a hollow shell of the man he’d once been. And even that man hadn’t been in any position to take a wife. He had to live on his pay. Which meant that not only would his wife have to struggle just to get by, but she’d be doing it alone, because he’d be away at sea.
He scanned the room for a glimpse of her. She should be easy enough to spot. She stood head and shoulders above every other female, and most men, in any room. And her silvery hair was very distinctive, too. He’d certainly had no trouble picking her out from the crowds in the Pump Room, that first time.
A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the moment she’d backed into him, with such force she’d knocked the cup of water from his hand. And the sudden, surprising flare of attraction that contact with her body had provoked. Surprising, because he hadn’t felt any such stirrings since the day he’d fallen into the hands of the French.
But not unwelcome. For one thing it was proof that he was recovering, physically at least. For another, it meant that in one respect he would not be deceiving Miss Hutton at all. He was genuinely attracted to her.
Ah, there she was. His heart lifted. And not just at what she might represent in terms of vengeance for Archie. She looked stunning with the candlelight gleaming on her silvery hair. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Indeed, it wasn’t until he was within a few feet of her that he noticed the older woman standing with her. The same one who’d been with her the night he’d asked her to dance.
He bowed to them both, wondering how he was going to be able to detach her from her chaperon. ‘Miss Hutton, it is a pleasure to find you here tonight.’ And it was. He didn’t have to feign delight. He was delighted to see her again.
Though she didn’t appear to feel the same. On the contrary, she was looking at him as though he was an unexploded shell that had landed at her feet. Until the lady at her side nudged at her with her bony elbow.
‘Oh. Yes,’ said Miss Hutton with one of her frequent blushes. ‘Lady Mainwaring, this is... Well, he says his name is Captain Bretherton.’
‘My name is Captain Bretherton.’ Or at least, that was part of it. He never used the part of his title that referred to his earldom, since the title had never been of any use to him whatever. What use was insisting on being addressed