An Unconventional Miss (17 page)

Then, without a thought for the welfare of her new evening gown, Jessica threw herself down at Felicity's feet and took the other girl's hand in hers. ‘Please don't start crying again,' she begged. ‘Else all our good work will have been for naught! He really isn't worth it, I promise you—you can do so much better!'

Felicity's brow wrinkled in a questioning frown at Jessica's final words, but instinct warned her that, whatever the other girl had imagined to be the cause of her misery, it might be more prudent to leave the matter as it was.

‘You have been more than kind, Miss Beresford,' she said, rising to her feet and holding out her hand. ‘I do hope that you will disregard my previous lack of courtesy towards you—a childish attack of the green-eyed monster, I fear! If you could bring yourself to forgive me, I would be more than happy to count you my friend!'

Although she had spent the previous few weeks ignoring Felicity's pointed rebuffs, Jessica, having recalled Imogen's remark that it might do her no harm at all to study the ways and manners of those such as this coolly elegant young woman and the other members of her select coterie, could not help but be flattered by her offer. Grasping the other girl's proffered hand in both of her own, she gave her a beaming smile, saying, ‘I would consider it a great compliment to be numbered amongst your friends, Miss Draycott,' and finding, to her surprise, that she actually meant every word she had uttered. A friend with whom she might share her innermost secrets was just what Jessica was in need of, at this moment, and the knowledge that Wyvern appeared to have been playing fast and loose with Felicity's emotions, too, was in the way of being some sort of salve to her own mounting feelings of resentment towards the earl.

‘Felicity, please!' returned her new friend, as she tidied her hair and briskly shook out her skirts. ‘And now, perhaps we had better give some attention to your poor slipper—I could not help noticing that it seems to have suffered a good deal of damage—another careless gentleman, I dare say!'

And so it was that Jessica found herself taken up into Felicity Draycott's top-drawer set, to begin a new, albeit slightly more sedate, phase of her stay in London.

 

If one or two of Felicity's more long-term acquaintances were a little surprised to find the previously disdained Miss Beresford admitted to their august ranks, they were far too polite and well bred to remark upon the strange occurrence. Even more gratifying was her half-brother's almost instant relaxation of his previously stringent control over her movements.

‘Miss Draycott's escorts are known to be perfectly reliable,' he explained to Imogen, who had expressed considerable amazement at his having allowed Jessica to go off in a curricle in company with the Earl of Dawlish's younger son, the Honourable Walter Allardyce. ‘They gain immense satisfaction from being seen about town with a series of attractive young women on their arms, but take great pains never to commit themselves! The plain truth of the matter being that, since the burden of procuring heirs for their family estates rests entirely on the heads of their older brothers, not one of these gentlemen feels compelled to alter his bachelor state and so, in consequence, they are all highly practised in avoiding compromising situations. Our little
enfant terrible
will come to no harm at their hands, I am certain of that!'

T
ossing the butt of his cigar into the dying embers of his library fire, Viscount Digby Hazlett reached across his desk for the note that one of his paid minions had filched from the new Earl of Wyvern's jacket pocket.

Scowling, he perused the note's contents for the umpteenth time. Trust that scoundrel Theodore Ashcroft to have gone out of his way to make everything so deuced complicated, he thought savagely, pouring himself another bumper of brandy and tossing back half its contents in one careless gulp.

Having foolishly lost the title deed of what was now looking to be a highly productive gold mine to the late earl in deep play, Hazlett had spent the better part of the last five months endeavouring to retrieve the vital document. Several abortive attempts to track down the missing deed had left him beside himself with frustration and, since it had become obvious that not only did Wyvern not have the paper in his possession, it was also looking increasingly likely that the earl was oblivious as to its very existence.

It had been only by the merest coincidence that Hazlett had chanced upon the new earl and his two comrades in White's, but his gaze had been immediately drawn to the three men's unusual interest in the sheet of paper that lay between them on the table. At Wyvern's hurried removal of that same piece of paper, Hazlett's attention had grown even more pointed and he had taken great pains to note where Wyvern had secreted the document. Subsequently, this application to detail had proved to be of considerable use to the well-practised pickpockets whom the viscount had employed, affording the wily pair no trouble at all in their speedy distraction of the somewhat preoccupied earl, along with the nifty removal of his notecase. This, as Hazlett had suspected, had contained a document that had, in the first instance, appeared to be of great import.

Having had no difficulty in recognising the reference to the mine, Hazlett had then set his mind to trying to decipher the rest of Theodore's words but, to begin with, no matter how strenuously he had persevered, he had been unable to make any sense of it. It was of no consolation to him that both Wyvern and his friends, in their perusal of the note, looked to have been experiencing a similar difficulty.

Although the late earl had died owing Hazlett such an exorbitant amount, the viscount had decided not to press for payment, reasoning that the return of his deed of title, which Theodore had continually refused to relinquish, looked to be, potentially, of far greater value to him than a one-off payment of twenty-five thousand pounds. However, he was sufficiently shrewd to have reached the conclusion that the burden of such an enormous debt would remain a useful lever with which to intimidate Wyvern, should the earl happen to come across the title deed before he himself got his hands on it.

It had been an overwhelming dread of the latter occurring that had caused Hazlett to set his spies upon Wyvern, in addition to a frantic doubling of his efforts to try to decipher Theodore's garbled phraseology. Then, suddenly, almost like a bolt from the blue, it had hit him! The document was hidden in some place where the two Ashcroft brothers had, in their boyish pursuits, been wont to play! But where that favoured place might be, Hazlett had no way of discovering—not until his furtive conversation with Felicity Draycott, that is—and, no sooner had that lady's little gem of information worked its way into the equation, than the viscount had sent two of his back-street associates to scour every accessible inch of the ruined edifice that was once Wyvern Abbey.

That costly plan having failed to produce the elusive document, Hazlett found himself at a standstill. Eventually, having discovered that Wyvern was engaged in some sort of covert operation of his own in regard to mining stocks, he was reluctantly obliged to concede that, other than keeping a constant watch on the earl and his movements, there was little else he could do to further his own ends. And, after some weighty consideration of the matter, it occurred to him that leaving Wyvern to solve the problem in his own way might be by far the best solution to the problem. After all, he reasoned, once the earl had all the pertinent information at his fingertips, he would immediately understand where to go to find the missing title deed and, as soon as he had accomplished that task, Hazlett could move in and demand reparation! To that end, he knew exactly what to do to make Wyvern's job just that little bit easier!

 

Having spent the past two weeks engaged in a fruitless pursuance of every single one of the possible leads with which Charlie Fitzallan had, after a certain amount of persuasion from his cousin Freddy, agreed to supply him, Wyvern eventually found himself seated in a small, dusty office tucked away in the back of Capel Court's Stock Exchange.

Heartily weary of following endless trails that had led to nothing, he had not held out a great deal of hope that this latest excursion into the unknown backwaters of London's business quarter would further his investigation in the slightest. Somewhat to his surprise, however, it seemed that his tentative questions regarding the possibility of there being some sort of mine somewhere to which the late Earl of Wyvern might have claimed title were being taken perfectly seriously, instead of being met with the unsympathetic and often scornful incredulity that had generally been the case thus far.

The elderly clerk had listened to Wyvern's somewhat confused tale with great interest; at its conclusion, he had reached into one of his desk drawers and brought out a bulky sheaf of papers.

‘Since we have, as yet, no fully comprehensive register of mining companies,' he murmured, as he rifled through the bundle and drew out several closely written pages, ‘it would, in the normal way of things, be quite impossible for me to assist you in this matter. However, given that, only just this morning, I received a very similar query from another gentleman in regard to a missing stock certificate, it has occurred to me that it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that the two matters may be linked in some way. The El Serena concession has, after all, been carving out some very worthwhile tonnage of late and production of a valid title deed looks likely to provide its owner with a considerable fortune.'

‘El Serena?' repeated Wyvern, frowning. ‘I am not familiar with the name—sounds foreign—South American, at a guess?'

Adjusting his spectacles, the man nodded. ‘A small gold-mining settlement near Santiago, in Chile,' he explained. ‘Your lordship is no doubt aware that, for the past few years, that country has been at war with the Spanish but, now that it is on the brink of achieving independence, those fortunate few who, before the onset of the hostilities, had the foresight to put their money into schemes to harvest its mineral resources are beginning to see vast profits from their investments.'

Peering down at the paper in his hand, he then went on, ‘If my information is correct, the agent representing the El Serena management has been seeking information as to the whereabouts of one of its original shareholders—a Mr John Stavely, it would seem. However, my morning visitor has assured me that, not only has the title deed subsequently changed hands but, more to the point, it appears to have gone missing. Which, as I am sure you will agree, is something of a calamity, especially in view of the fact that considerable sums of money have already been deposited in an account with the Coutts brothers, on behalf of whosoever provides valid ownership of these shares!'

His eyebrows raised, he regarded Wyvern with interest. ‘Do you have reason to believe that your brother might have been in possession of this title deed, your lordship?' he asked curiously.

‘I wish I knew,' replied Wyvern, with a rueful smile. ‘If he was, he seems to have gone to considerable trouble to prevent the blessed thing from being discovered!'

The man nodded sympathetically. ‘A great pity,' he said. ‘Nevertheless, should you happen to come across the missing paperwork, you may rest assured that it would be my pleasure and privilege to assist you with any difficulties that might arise in claiming the revenue.' He stole a quick glance down at his notes. ‘Which, it may interest you to know, currently stands at something in excess of fifty thousand pounds!'

‘Good God!' exclaimed Wyvern, as this somewhat staggering information filtered its way into his brain. ‘If that's not the spur to a more diligent search, I'll be jiggered if I can think what might be!'

But then, as another thought came to him, he frowned. ‘Did I hear you say that you have had other enquiries regarding this Chilean mine?'

‘That is correct,' nodded the clerk. ‘I was visited by another gentleman, only this morning.' But, immediately perceiving the question in Wyvern's eyes, he hastened to add, ‘It would be quite out of the question for me to reveal my visitor's name, however. To do so would place me in breach of all the rules of my profession!'

With a rueful nod, Wyvern rose to his feet and thanked the clerk for his help, then, after assuring the man that he would keep him posted on any progress he might make, he walked out of the dusty office into the late afternoon sunshine. Although he was finding it hard to believe that his search might finally be over, the spring in his step was a good deal lighter than it had been when he had entered the building and he could not help feeling rather more positive about his chances of resolving his problems—particularly in regard to securing Jessica's hand.

Subsequent to the Berkeley Square teashop rendezvous, the earl's seemingly endless daytime excursions into the City had, for the most part, prevented his mind from wandering too far in Jessica's direction. The nights, however, had proved to be a very different matter for, whether sleeping or waking, he had found his thoughts being constantly bombarded with tormenting visions of Jessica in some other man's arms. To begin with, he had done his utmost to keep away from any social event that he knew that she and her family might attend and, with the support of his two stalwart companions, neither of whom had taken long to fathom the root source of their friend's discontent, he had, for the most part, been reasonably successful. But, last Friday evening, when the burning ache just to set his eyes upon her lovely face once more had overtaken his common sense, he had presented himself at Lady Henderson's supper-dance, hoping to claim a dance with Jessica, simply because this was the only way that he could think of where it would be deemed perfectly acceptable to be seen holding her in his arms. Having achieved that goal, however, it had left his emotions on such a knife edge that he had been obliged to quit the room, since the agony of having to watch some other fellow lay his hands on her might well have driven him to conduct himself in a not altogether acceptable manner!

And, if this predicament were not far more than enough with which to contend, he reminded himself gloomily, there was the added problem of his grandmother who, having taken umbrage with him over the Draycott affair, was now refusing to speak to him directly and had resorted to the somewhat farcical strategy of communicating with him by way of the servants!

Nevertheless, despite all of these mounting difficulties and, since his pride would not allow him to approach Jessica's guardian until he had something rather more tangible to offer her than the heartfelt promise of his own boundless and abiding love, Wyvern was ruefully aware that he had very little option but to continue with his present quest, which, until this afternoon's encouraging news, had looked to be turning into something of an odyssey!

Leaping up into his waiting curricle, he flicked the reins and headed back through the city towards Grosvenor Square, desperately trying to remember the final phrases in his brother's scribbled missive. Jessica had been perfectly correct in her assumption that, unless committed to paper, Theo's words would slip away from him, he thought grimly, knitting his brow in fierce concentration, as he wove his way through the interminable press of vehicles in London's West End.

What the devil had Theo written after the words
mine is yours now
? Just more apologies, as he recalled, along with some garbled nonsense about playing together as boys. Suddenly, he stilled and the reins fell slack in his hands, causing Berridge, his tiger, to shout a warning from his seat on the box behind. With an abrupt start, the earl jerked his mind back to the task in hand and, pulling hard on his left-hand rein, only just managed to avoid contact with an oncoming beer dray, the infuriated driver of which shook an angry fist at him, calling him a cork-brained young numb-skull, an epithet that might well have been matched with one of a similar nature had not Wyvern's mind been more seriously engaged.

‘Close one there, guv,' offered Berridge, a little shocked at his master's apparent lack of judgement. ‘Nearly lost a wheel!'

‘Yes, sorry about that, Berry,' returned the earl somewhat absently, as a wide grin creased his face.
Oh, Theo!
he exulted silently.
You clever old devil! You've hidden the damned title deed in one of our childhood haunts!

But then, as the perplexing matter of just which childhood haunt his brother might have lit upon to secrete such an important document filtered its way into his brain, the grin slowly faded, to be replaced by yet another frown, as Wyvern's mind flashed from one favoured den to another. Until, finally, he was forced to conclude that he still had very little idea of where to look. This, of course, would mean another extended visit to Ashcroft Grange—not to mention another week or so away from Jessica, he thought gloomily, and, since her recent involvement with Felicity Draycott and her set, who knew what might happen while he was out of town?