An Unconventional Miss (18 page)

Felicity's taking-up of Jessica into her select clique of upper
ton
females had come as a nasty shock to the earl for, although he was aware that the group of gentlemen whom the Draycott set favoured as escorts were generally regarded as confirmed bachelors, he found it almost impossible to believe that any man could be in Jessica's company for very long without eventually succumbing to her delectable charms. And the thought of Jessica going riding in Hyde Park and being squired about the capital by a series of well-to-do men about town was a good deal more troublesome to Wyvern than the sight of her dancing with one of the group of infatuated young bloods who had previously gravitated to her side.

As serious contenders for Jessica's hand, fellows such as Harry Stevenage and his sort had been dismissed out of hand by the earl, although this had done little to prevent the hot spurts of anger that had inflamed him whenever he had found himself in a position to witness one of them handling her in what he had considered to be a rather too familiar manner. And, even though he was perfectly well aware that highly connected men of Walter Allardyce's ilk were not the sort to take that kind of liberty with single young females, he was sufficiently astute to realise that, as possible rivals, they were an altogether different kettle of fish from the crass young sprigs with whom Jessica had been wont to associate! With a scowl of vexation, he found himself bound to consider the fact that, until he himself was able to woo her in the correct and proper manner, all of his carefully planned visions of future ecstasy might well be in peril of being prematurely nipped in the bud!

Drawing up his curricle outside the stable block at the rear of Ashcroft House, the earl threw the reins to the waiting Berridge, jumped down and hurried into the house, plagued by the unacceptable thought that one of those highly dashing and sophisticated men might win
his
beloved's heart and hand! Determining to seek out his two friends in order to petition them to join him at first light the following morning for a thorough search of the Grange's extensive grounds, he mounted the stairs to his bedchamber.

D
espite her hasty re-evaluation of Wyvern's character, Jessica could not prevent her eyes from seeking out his tall, broad-shouldered presence at every venue. Nor, indeed, could she control the highly unsettling images that pervaded her dreams, both day and night. Whilst her new escorts were charming and attentive in every degree, they none of them had Wyvern's red-blooded vitality, nor did they smile at her in such a way as to instantly curl up her toes and set her pulse racing. It seemed clear to her that Fate had doomed her to a lifetime of falling for rakes and reprobates and other such unsuitable characters.

This, she thought sourly, taking a quick peek at the somewhat self-satisfied look on the face of her current squire, the Honourable Gerald Pevensey, as he tooled his carriage around the Hyde Park circuit, was presumably the penalty she was obliged to pay for having been handed such beauty at birth, beauty that she had lately come to realise had been apt to cause her a good deal more trouble than it was worth. To think that she had once been perfectly content to bask in the admiration of the shallow young men who had constantly paid court to her—and even, to her utter chagrin, had actually considered it her due!

For the bald truth of the matter was that—apart from her half-brother, that is—Wyvern had been the only man in her life who had dared to challenge her actions; the only one who had sufficient confidence in himself to find fault with her behaviour and chastise her for it and, even though his occasional arrogance had infuriated her, it had not taken her long to realise that just one warm glance of approval from those deep grey eyes was worth more than a thousand pretty speeches from any other man.

As thoughts of this nature continued to occupy her mind, her shoulders drooped and her face grew wan, causing her escort to bring his carriage to a swift, albeit impeccable, halt.

‘My dear Miss Beresford?' he exclaimed anxiously, as he peered down at her pale cheeks. ‘Are you unwell? I trust that my manner of driving has not discomfited you?'

Jessica forced a smile. ‘Hardly, Mr Pevensey—I declare that you are a most exceptional whip! It is merely that I have a slight headache. It was foolish of me to come out without a parasol, for the sun is very bright today, do you not agree?'

Already in the process of turning his equipage around, Pevensey gave a frowning nod, ‘Still, dear lady, we cannot have you feeling poorly. It is clear that I must return you to your cousin without delay!'

Holding back the smile that threatened, Jessica could not help thinking that Pevensey's haste to return her to Dover Street was rather more to do with his horror of being seen with a sickly companion than with any real concern for her well-being.

That was the trouble with Felicity's friends and acquaintances, she thought, as she watched the Honourable Gerald skilfully tooling his way back through the press of carriages on the Row. Although her association with them had been relatively brief, it had taken her no time at all to discover that they all cared far more for appearances than for character, which, she supposed wryly, was why they had been happy to take her up. The fact that that she had been voted ‘Belle of the Season' amongst the more impressionable young men about town had been a point in her favour, especially insofar as Felicity's group of male escorts was concerned. To be seen with such a beauty on their arms seemed to do a great deal for these gentlemen's consequences, as a result of which, Jessica's days this past week had been filled to capacity, with early morning rides in the park, trips to the theatre, boating on the Serpentine, visits to art galleries and more carriage rides than she cared to remember. Added to which were the daily deliveries of so many extravagant bouquets of hothouse flowers that Mrs Simmons, their housekeeper, was having great difficulty in finding enough receptacles to accommodate them all.

Not that the recipient of all this consideration was in the least bit smug about any of it, having learned that it was all part and parcel of the Draycott set's need to create the right impression, which seemed to be far more important than simply enjoying oneself. Oh, so proper and, oh, so dull, she thought. It was difficult to imagine any one of her new female acquaintances ever having done anything so outrageous as to hop or skip, take the stairs two at a time or, heaven forbid, slide down the banisters, as she had been often wont to do back home in Thornfield!

With an inward grin, she allowed the Honourable Gerald to hand her down from his carriage and escort her to her front door. Politely declining her invitation to step inside for some refreshment, the gentleman raised his hat, executed a swift bow and, after extending his good wishes for her swift recovery, returned to his carriage with as much speed as dignity would allow.

‘You weren't very long,' observed her brother, looking up from his broadsheet, as she entered the salon where he was sitting reading. ‘Nothing wrong, I hope?'

‘Just a slight headache, that's all,' returned Jessica, removing her bonnet and tossing it to one side. ‘The sun is very bright today. Where is Imogen?'

‘Upstairs resting—and I'd rather you didn't disturb her, if you don't mind.'

‘No, of course I won't!'

Sitting down on the sofa opposite the armchair in which Matt was lounging, she patted her hair and made a play of inspecting her nails. Then, ‘Have you happened to come across Lord Wyvern of late?' she enquired tentatively.

Matt raised one eyebrow and stared at her. ‘Why the sudden interest in that fellow?' he asked.

‘No especial reason, really,' she replied, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘I thought you said that he might call, but he still hasn't done so.'

‘But that was weeks ago!'

‘True,' she nodded. ‘But I never did get the chance to thank him properly for helping us that evening.'

Matt shrugged. ‘Dare say the fellow's forgotten all about it—got more important things on his mind, I hear.'

Such as the loss of his brother's note, Jessica supposed, wondering if any mine had actually transpired after her conversation with him. ‘He doesn't attend many functions,' she then observed.

Matt, who had returned to his perusal of the recent riots in Manchester, frowned and laid down his newspaper. ‘As it happens, I played a hand of cribbage with him only last week at the Hendersons' soirée, while you were tripping the light fantastic with one of your many devoted swains. Appears there's a great deal of work to do on his recently inherited estate—although why that should be of any interest to you I can't possibly imagine!'

Having been perfectly well aware of Wyvern's presence on that particular occasion, Jessica thought better of the retort that she had been about to fling at her brother, since it was clear that Imogen had failed to mention the earl's having solicited her for a dance. ‘I just wondered why it was that he never called,' she said hurriedly. ‘If only for courtesy's sake!'

This time her brother raised both eyebrows and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, at last I'm beginning to see the point of this conversation!' he guffawed. ‘The one that got away! Poor old Jess! Finally come across someone who didn't immediately succumb to your rather obvious charms!'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Matt,' protested Jessica, getting swiftly to her feet and making for the door before her brother could detect the sudden rise of colour in her cheeks. ‘It isn't like that at all—I was merely interested.'

Matt's eyes narrowed. ‘Well, it beats me why you should be so interested in someone you've barely spoken to, unless…' Thrusting his newspaper to one side, he leapt to his feet and, crossing the room in two quick strides, he grabbed her by the arm. ‘I trust that you haven't been up to your old tricks again, Jess!' he growled. ‘Imogen will never forgive you if you get into another scrape like the last one!'

‘No, Matt, I promise,' breathed Jessica fearfully. ‘I would never do such a thing again, I swear to you!'

‘No clandestine meetings of any sort?' he demanded. ‘I swear to God that, if you upset Imo at this time, I'll—'

‘No, Matt, no!' interrupted Jessica, now thoroughly frightened at the maddened expression in her brother's eyes. ‘There has been nothing of that sort, I promise.'

‘Well, just you make sure that there isn't,' he warned, as, only slightly mollified, he let go of her arm and, muttering a series of imprecations under his breath, stalked back to his seat.

Hurrying out of the room, Jessica uncrossed the fingers of the hand that she had been holding behind her back and, letting out her breath with a mixture of relief and guilt, tried to persuade herself that what she had told her brother was hardly an untruth in the real sense of the word. Meetings in the middle of Oxford Street and in full view of the public in Gunter's teashop could hardly be classed as clandestine, she reasoned but, nevertheless, felt the urgent need to offer up a swift supplication, praying that her brother would never have cause to discover her white lie.

 

When two whole days spent in a meticulous search of the Grange's numerous attics and stables, in addition to every single one of its many other outbuildings, failed to produce the desired result, Wyvern turned his mind to the consideration of all the outdoor venues in which he and his brother had spent their summer months.

The ruined abbey was an obvious choice, of course, but, as it happened, there had been only one especial spot that the boys had favoured for their games—the remains of a small cell in what had once been the monks' living quarters. And that, as he recalled, had been demolished during a violent thunderstorm, subsequent to which he and Theo had found themselves trapped beneath the fallen stonework of the cell's rear wall. Following their rescue, the two brothers had been banned from any future activity within the abbey's crumbling shell.

No, he decided, with a vehement shake of his head, as he ruefully rubbed his left elbow in painful recollection of the fracture that that calamitous escapade had earned him, Theo would never hide anything of import in that particular location! Which left only the woods—an enormous undertaking—and the river, the banks of which provided the estate's eastern boundary.

 

Late on the afternoon on the second day of Wyvern's excursion back to Ashcroft, after the three comrades had retired from their futile exertions of the day, the earl stood at his library window contemplating the extent of the morrow's search, his keen eyes noting that the sun was already well advanced in its downward descent towards the horizon.

‘It's not too late to get back to London, if either of you have a mind,' he said, in a studiedly offhand manner, as he turned back towards his friends, who had installed themselves in a pair of comfortable armchairs, with a small drum table bearing a plentiful supply of liquor positioned handily between them. ‘Take us less than half an hour, if we make good time.'

‘Oh, Lord, no!' protested Fitzallan, easing his shoulders back into his seat. ‘I'm just beginning to get settled—climbing up and down all those loft ladders in your outhouses has been more than enough exercise for one day. A five-mile canter back to town is the last thing I need at this moment!'

‘Just happened to remember that it's the Duchess of Conyngham's ball tonight,' Wyvern persevered diffidently. ‘Looks set to be the biggest function of the Season.'

After reaching out to pour himself another cognac, Sir Simon leaned back and surveyed his friend thoughtfully, having been aware of Wyvern's inward struggle for quite some time now. ‘And one at which, unless I am much mistaken, you are hoping that the fair Miss Beresford will be in attendance,' he observed softly.

A faint tinge of embarrassment coloured the earl's cheeks but, in reply, he merely grunted and, throwing himself down on to a nearby sofa, picked up his own glass.

‘You are going to have to face up to it at some point, old chap,' continued Holt, his eyes filled with sympathy. ‘It's as clear as a pikestaff that you've fallen for the girl hook, line and sinker. What I don't understand is why you seem to be going to the devil's own lengths to stay away from her! You surely don't imagine that the chit is going to give you the cold shoulder?'

Wyvern bristled. ‘You go too far, Simon,' he growled, glaring at his friend fiercely.

‘Not far enough, perhaps,' retorted Holt, unperturbed. ‘You've been mooning over the girl for weeks now, Ben, and Freddy and I can't be the only ones to have taken stock of your partiality. Both of us held our tongues after you pulled out of the Draycott arrangement, because we felt that you deserved our support. As your closest friends, we feel that we have earned the right to be concerned about you! The least you can do is to come clean with us!'

‘Not a lot of point,' said Wyvern as, with a resigned sigh, he swallowed the remains of his drink. ‘Whilst you are perfectly correct in your assumption that I have finally lost my heart—not to mention my head—' he then added, in a bitter afterthought ‘—you must see that there is not a damned thing I can do about it! Unless I can find these confounded documents, I'm ditched. I shall have to resign myself to marrying Draycott's daughter and there's an end to it! Whatever I may feel towards Miss Beresford is of little consequence in the greater scheme of things—besides which,' he then added, with a grim twist of his lips, ‘I have no reason to believe that the young lady regards me as anything more than an over-bearing jackass!'