An Unconventional Miss (13 page)

What in the name of providence can I be thinking of?
he chastised himself, rising hurriedly to his feet. Having carelessly thrown away the one chance that he had been given to secure his family heritage, here he was, sitting casually supping tea and doing his level best to ingratiate himself with a girl to whom he could no more pay court than fly to the moon! Added to which was the unpalatable fact that he had yet to contend with his grandmother's shocked incredulity when word of this morning's débâcle at the Draycotts' reached her ears—notwithstanding the certain ribald disbelief of his two colleagues!

Without further ado, he helped the somewhat bewildered Jessica to her feet and ushered her hurriedly out of the tearoom on to the pavement. And then, to add to her confusion, he let go of her arm and, leaving her to follow in his wake, set up such a pace back towards the haberdasher's that she had the utmost difficulty in keeping up with him.

She had not failed to register his anguish during his attempted recitation of his brother's words, which had given her some understanding as to why he had been so unusually distressed at having a virtually empty notecase stolen. It was clear that the lost memento had been of great sentimental value to him and she tried hard to conjure up some suitable words of comfort to a man who was, as she constantly had to keep reminding herself, still little more than a stranger. As yet, no obvious solution presented itself to this difficulty and, since she was, at the moment, having enough trouble endeavouring to match her pace with his hurried stride, she was obliged to set the matter aside and concentrate her efforts on not losing sight of his tall figure in the press of people on the pavement.

On reaching Ringfords, Wyvern halted, frowningly scanning the street in both directions but of young Master Beresford there was no sign. The earl, by this time, had recovered sufficient of his composure to venture the remark that he trusted that the unexpected delay with the missing notecase had not caused them to fail to spot Nicky's return from Hatchard's.

‘We cannot have missed him!' he expostulated. ‘He would not go on without you, surely?'

One look at the earl's intimidating frown was enough to curb Jessica's immediate desire to defend her young brother, so she simply shook her head. At this unexpected lack of response from one who he had discovered was usually more than ready to speak her mind, Wyvern looked down and, catching sight of her pained expression, he could not prevent his lips from twitching in a rueful smile.

‘My dear Miss Beresford,' he said, reaching out to take her hand. ‘I cannot apologise enough! It would appear that the loss of my notecase has had the added effect of addling my wits. I pray that you will find it in your heart to forgive such a shocking display of bad manners?'

Her eyes softening, Jessica gave him a tremulous smile. ‘You have every reason to be out of sorts, my lord,' she assured him. ‘I only wish that there was something I could do to lessen your hurt.'

As Wyvern wryly returned her smile and thanked her for her concern, he could not help but reflect that the simple act of her throwing herself headlong into his arms and fastening her tempting lips upon his would certainly go a long way towards alleviating the ache in his heart, even if only temporarily but, wisely, he kept these highly appealing thoughts to himself.

Since neither of them could think of anything further to add to the conversation, there followed several moments of slightly awkward silence while they stood waiting for the wayward Nicky to make an appearance; Wyvern reluctantly turned his mind towards constructing some sort of acceptable explanation of the morning's events for his anxious grandparent.

Jessica, however, chose the respite to mull over the extraordinary turn of events that had just occurred. Deliberating on the late earl's odd use of words in the letter to his brother, she could not help being curious at the term
mine is yours now
. Was the writer intending to indicate that all of his possessions were now Wyvern's, a somewhat unnecessary stipulation in a last message, she thought, since it was obvious that his younger brother would stand to inherit everything at the late earl's death—including his debts, she knew, having overheard parts of an earlier conversation between Matt and her cousin Imogen.

‘How perfectly stupid to expect the poor fellow to pay off all his brother's gambling debts!' Imogen had protested, Matt having imparted to her some of the current rumours regarding Wyvern's financial difficulties.

‘Not so, my love,' her husband had retorted. ‘Gambling debts always take precedence over any other—it's a question of honour.'

‘Oh, lord!' Imogen had sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. ‘When it comes to you gentlemen and your inexplicable code of honour, we ladies can do nothing other than have the sense to give in gracefully.'

‘And you know full well that you wouldn't have it any other way!' Matt had laughed, gently ruffling his wife's new short and highly becoming hairstyle. ‘Lovelace has it to a tee
—“I could not love you, Dear, so much, loved I not honour more”—
extremely well put, I've always thought!'

At the time, Jessica had considered the whole concept of love and honour to be a somewhat romantic ideal, best kept between the pages of the novels that she and her cousin so enjoyed reading. And what any of it might have to do with the late earl's message to his brother was beyond her comprehension. Nonetheless, even though she was not best pleased at having to stand like some sort of mute next to the tight-lipped Wyvern, while silently cursing her own brother's abysmal lack of time keeping, that curious phraseology from the earl's missing letter would keep invading her thoughts. ‘Mine is yours,' she murmured, half-aloud.

‘I beg your pardon?' intruded Wyvern's startled voice.

At the earl's unexpected disruption to her deliberations, Jessica's eyes flew up to meet his and, almost without thinking, she asked, ‘The mine—what sort of a mine is it?'

His forehead creased in a puzzled frown. ‘Mine?' he said. ‘I'm afraid I don't follow you.'

‘I was wondering about your brother's mine!' she admitted, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. ‘The one he said was now yours! Is it a coal mine—a tin mine? What sort of mine is it?'

For a moment, he stared down at her, uncomprehending. Then, in an instant, his frown vanished and the beginnings of a smile appeared. ‘Oh, I see!' he said, shaking his head. ‘No, no. You have misunderstood. Theo was merely telling me—'

Suddenly he stopped and an odd expression came over his face. ‘Good grief!' he gasped, clutching at his brow. ‘I wonder if—dear Lord—I believe you may be in the right! How can none of us have thought of such a thing? My dear girl, you are an absolute genius!'

And, suddenly overcome with a curious mixture of realisation and excitement, he reached towards her and, regardless of the curious stares of the passers-by, would have pulled her into his arms, had not the sudden appearance of the long-overdue Master Beresford halted him in his tracks.

‘Terribly sorry, Sis!' exclaimed the boy breathlessly. ‘Met a chap from college and got chatting—didn't notice the time.' And, inclining his head respectfully towards the earl, he added, ‘Thanks for keeping an eye on my sad romp of a sister, my lord—I had the most dreadful visions of her starting back without me!'

Wyvern, his former ebullience having fizzled away like a damp squib, felt a small spurt of anger run through him but, on catching the warning look in Jessica's eyes, unmistakably daring him to react to Nicky's rather unchivalrous jest, he forced some semblance of a smile to his lips and replied, ‘The pleasure was mine entirely, I assure you!'

Nicholas gave a satisfied nod and then, taking hold of his sister's arm, lightheartedly suggested that they had better be on their way back home before Matt sent out a search party after them.

Doffing his beaver, Wyvern bowed and bade the siblings a polite ‘good afternoon', his eyes following the pair as they made their way through the busy streets. And, despite the fact that all he could distinguish of Jessica was the bobbing, green-beribboned crown of her chipstraw bonnet, he did not alter his stance until well past the moment that the two siblings had turned the corner into Dover Street and disappeared from his view. Then, with a stifled oath, he crammed his own hat back on his head, turned swiftly on his heel and strode off in the opposite direction, towards his Grosvenor Square residence and whatever reception might await him there.

F
or as far back as her memory could take her, Felicity Draycott had been harbouring a secret passion for one or other of the Ashcroft brothers. Having spent most of the summer months of her solitary childhood sequestered at her father's country estate near Heston, in Middlesex, she had been given ample opportunity to observe the happy-go-lucky independence of the handsome pair.

In the first instance, it had been Theo who had captured her heart when, at twelve years of age, the elder of the two boys had come upon Sir Jonathan's then four-year-old daughter sitting on the bottom step of the Grange's sweeping central staircase, sobbing her heart out. The occasion, which she could perfectly well recall, had been one of the many extravagant social gatherings that the Ashcrofts had been wont to hold in those far-off days before the boys' mother had died. Various local families would be invited to attend these alfresco receptions and, after partaking of a sumptuous repast, whilst the adults might choose to rest in the shade of the Grange's magnificent chestnut trees or wander at will through the ground's extensive gardens, the younger members of the group would be left to enjoy themselves as they saw fit.

Due to the sprawling, almost labyrinthine construction of the Ashcrofts' family home, it went without saying that the favoured pastime among the older children would be ‘hide-and-go-seek' and it would not be long before a dozen or so youngsters could be heard scampering up and down the three staircases and in and out of a seemingly inexhaustible number of cubby holes, in search of suitable places in which they might secrete themselves.

At the time, Felicity, having been the youngest member of that particular set of children, had been left to her own devices and ignored by the others, not one of whom had proved willing to encumber his-or herself with a small girl scarcely out of leading-strings. Theo, however, who on the occasion in question had been elected ‘seeker', had taken pity on the sadly forsaken youngster and, after hoisting her on to his shoulders, piggy-back style, had not only carried her with him to search out the rest of the group, but had also allowed her to accompany him for the remainder of the activity.

Thereafter, Felicity had carried a torch for the young viscount, revelling in such moments as when he had abandoned his own game to teach her the rudiments of croquet and, when she had reached her early teens, had occasionally sought her out to partner him in one of the country dances that were part of the usual entertainment at any local house party. The arrival of the beautiful Lady Sophia Goodwin on the scene, however, had very quickly had the effect of crumbling Felicity's youthful dreams of becoming Theo's countess into the dust. Furthermore, no sooner had the beloved hero of her childhood, now Eighth Earl of Wyvern, betrothed himself to Sophia than Felicity had immediately, and unfalteringly, transferred all her hopes and affections to his younger sibling, where, for the past five years, they had remained firmly entrenched. As long as Benedict remained single, she had constantly assured herself, there was every hope that she would eventually capture his attention, which, to her abounding joy, following the newly ennobled earl's recent return from Paris, she finally seemed to have succeeded in doing.

Accordingly, it was with a gasp of horrified disbelief that she had leapt to her feet, as the ominous thud of the Mount Street front door had proclaimed the curtailment of the earl's interview with her father, without bringing about the anticipated and much longed-for proposal. Flinging herself to the window in a flurry of consternation, she had observed Wyvern striding purposefully up the street. With her mother close on her heels, she had burst into her father's study, demanding an immediate explanation for the earl's precipitate departure.

Upon hearing Sir Jonathan's rather garbled version of Wyvern's refusal to apply for her hand, Felicity, ignoring her mother's shocked protests and other attempts to restrain her, had made for the front door where, calling for her maid to accompany her, she had snatched up her gloves and reticule, thrust on her bonnet and dashed out of the house in pursuit. Her intention had been to try to intercept the earl, in order to assure him that she did not consider the deep affection of which he had spoken to be at all necessary, as well as to point out to him the many advantages that a match between them would bring. Being the out-and-out gentleman that he was, he would be bound to hear her out and surely feel obliged to escort her home, thus allowing her at least one more chance to press her case!

Heedlessly and in the most undignified manner, she had fought her way through the milling crowds of promenaders quite happily intent upon enjoying their customary Saturday morning stroll in and around Berkeley Square. Then, pink-faced and panting with anxiety, she had arrived at the square's Berkeley Street gateway, just in time to observe Wyvern disappearing into Gunter's tearooms, with Jessica Beresford, accompanied by an elderly woman who Felicity could only suppose must be the girl's abigail, following hard on his heels.

Both angry and disconsolate that her hastily planned confrontation of the earl had failed to materialise, Felicity had then, to her maid's utter astonishment, spent some ten minutes or more strolling back and forth past Gunter's windows, peering through the small panes of glass at the unsuspecting group within. Thus, she had witnessed Wyvern presentation of a most expensive gift to Jessica and, as if to add insult to injury, his tender holding of the little madam's hand!

Dejectedly trudging back to Mount Street, she had found herself with more than enough time to bring to mind the events of the previous evening and, having suddenly recalled Wyvern's puzzling and somewhat hasty retreat from the ballroom at just about the same time as the Beresford party had entered, a pensive frown had furrowed her brow. And then, to add even more fuel to her quickly mounting suspicions, she distinctly remembered having heard Imogen Beresford making anxious enquiries as to her young cousin's whereabouts. The earl, as Felicity also recalled, had appeared somewhat out of sorts when, some time later, he had eventually returned to the ballroom and had then spent the remainder of the evening looking decidedly preoccupied. At the time, however, since her father had only just that moment informed her of Wyvern's desire to meet with him on the morrow, as well as congratulating her on the likely result of that appointment, she had merely supposed that it was probably his slight apprehension over the impending interview that had been the cause of the earl's distracted manner. Now, however, having had time to consider the matter, and bearing in mind Wyvern's subsequent behaviour, she could only suppose that he and the Beresford girl had, in reality, been engaged in some sort of furtive assignation—probably to arrange a further meeting this morning! And, no sooner had this thought occurred to her than a hot resentment towards Jessica had very quickly followed.
The little flirt just has to have every man she sets eyes upon,
she had fumed,
and, it is all due to her that Wyvern changed his mind—making me a laughing-stock into the bargain!
Dispiritedly mounting the steps to her front door, she had then set her mind to considering the various ways in which she might get even with her rival.

 

Meanwhile, Nicholas, having finally turned up to escort his sister back to their Dover Street residence, was eagerly acquainting her with all the details of his unexpected reunion with his school colleague. ‘And, as it turns out,' he grandly informed her, ‘Ramsey's people are sending him back to Rugby on Monday in their own carriage and
he
has invited me to travel up with him!'

Endeavouring to smile and nod in all the right places, his less-than-interested sister had far too many things on her mind to pay more than the vaguest attention to his effusive descriptions of the, no doubt, highly worthy Ramsey's academic abilities. Instead, she set her mind to unravelling her own quandary in regard to the highly perplexing Lord Wyvern. Surely, it could not be right, she told herself, that a man who, according to rumour, was almost betrothed to one woman should continually look at another in
such
a way! She was quite positive that she had not imagined either the suggestive twinkle or the depth of emotion in his eyes. Even now, the thought of both sent delicious shivers up her spine and she was obliged to turn her head away from her brother, lest he should catch sight of the sudden blush that coloured her cheeks. With a sinking heart, she wondered if it were possible that she had allowed herself to be taken in by yet another handsome rake's plausible attentions. Wyvern had attempted to kiss her, after all, she reasoned—hardly the behaviour of a true gentleman—especially when she was a young, single female and a guest in his house! His actions, in that respect, had scarcely differed from those of the hateful Philip Wentworth's, who had cleverly won her confidence by professing to have her interests at heart. But Wentworth's performance, as had been revealed, had been all to do with getting his hands on her late father's money and property. The Earl of Wyvern could hardly have any such motive for trying to prolong the interlude in Gunter's tearooms, let alone keeping hold of her hands much longer than polite society dictated. And yet, despite seeming to be paying her far more attention than simple courtesy demanded, he had still not made the slightest effort to call at the house to pay his respects. Jessica let out a sigh. The whole issue was so very frustrating and, seemingly, quite beyond her powers to comprehend. To make matters worse, if that were at all possible, there was no way of determining if or when she would ever be given either the opportunity—or the necessary courage, she was bound to concede!—to confront the infuriating man with the dilemma he had bequeathed her!

‘Buck up, Jess,' came Nicholas's bracing tones. ‘If you walk any slower we won't get home until dinner time!'

Jessica gave a startled jolt, having been quite unaware that her deep introspection had had the effect of reducing her steps almost to a standstill. Hurriedly increasing her pace, she abandoned her deliberations and endeavoured to concentrate her mind on her brother's highly improbable descriptions of his school friend's sporting skills.

 

Upon their arrival back at Dover Street, they were greeted with the news that they had only just missed a most crestfallen Harry Stevenage. The young lieutenant, so Imogen informed them, had called round to bid the family a sad farewell, owing to the fact that both he and his unit were about to be dispatched to Newcastle, in the far north of the country, making it doubtful that he would return to London before the close of the Season.

‘He did say that he will, almost certainly, be paying his usual visit to his godfather in the autumn and commissioned me to tell you,' added Imogen, with a smiling nod in Jessica's direction, ‘that he would be most obliged if you could find it in your heart to drop him the occasional line.'

‘Yes, of course,' was Jessica's somewhat disconsolate reply, it very quickly having occurred to her that, with both of her ‘respectable' escorts off on their travels, the relative freedom that she had enjoyed for the past few weeks looked to have reached its conclusion. In the light of last year's unsavoury incident, she was well aware that Matt was hardly likely to be in favour of his young sister wandering around the capital on her own and, as for allowing her to go off with any gentlemen escorts, other than those whom he had himself personally and thoroughly vetted, she knew that this was equally out of the question!

She groaned inwardly, visualising the coming days filled with circumspect shopping trips with either Clara, her maid, at her side or, worse still, one of the footmen at her heels!