Carola Dunn (19 page)

“She does well for herself,” he said, “but they are truly fond of each other, I believe. I daresay Lady Leighton was right to grant her approval.”

Jessica regarded this as a hopeful sign. The gulf between the son of a marquis and the daughter of a country squire was surely no less than that between a baronet and the daughter of a Cit. All her obstinate brother needed was a push in the right direction.

When next the figures of the dance brought them together, she said, “Lucy’s such an obliging girl—she has offered to keep me company while I sketch the Royal Crescent tomorrow, but I fear she’ll be sadly bored. Drawing is not a favoured pastime with her. If you’re not otherwise engaged, could you happen to pass that way at, say, a quarter past ten, to keep her entertained for me? Otherwise I shall feel rushed and I shan’t be able to do justice to a difficult subject.”

“Purely by chance I just might happen to walk that way,” he assured her, grinning.

Matthew was waiting for her when they returned to Miss Tibbett at the end of the set.

“I thought I should have to come and pry you out of the card room,” she greeted him.

“I’m flattered to think you would even consider such an improper course rather than simply looking for another partner,” he riposted. “But I did not stay long in the card room. I have been watching you and I want to know what you are up to.”

“Up to?” Jessica tried to sound innocent, but cast a hasty glance at Miss Tibbett. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He took her arm and drew her to a pair of empty seats at a little distance. “First, you were unusually taciturn while dancing with Barlow.”

“Mr. Barlow talks quite enough for two. I must tell you about Kitty.”

“Later. Second, you stood up with Lord Alsop, though I know you to be perfectly capable of depressing his pretensions...”

“It is very rude to refuse to stand up with a gentleman.”

“... And you seemed to have no difficulty in finding words enough for him. In fact, it seemed to me that you approached him, rather than the other way about.”

“I found myself near him. I could hardly cut him dead!”

Matthew grinned. “I don’t see why not. He’s too cowardly to call you out.”

“Do you think so?” she asked eagerly. A duel was the one possibility she was worried about. “That is, too cowardly to issue a challenge to a gentleman?”

“So I believe. What are you plotting, Jessica?”

She ignored this impertinent question. “Mr. Barlow said he has as much pluck as a dunghill cock.”

“Mr. Barlow had no business using farmyard language in your presence.” He was openly laughing at her now.

“And I have no business repeating it. It is very shocking, to be sure, but somehow I don’t think you are shocked.”

“I doubt anything you could say to me would shock me, so just cut line and tell me what machinations have put that wicked sparkle in your eyes.”

Jessica turned her head away to hide the wistfulness that drove the mischief from her eyes. How very much she wished she could believe he would not be shocked if—when—she revealed that she was not an heiress. She sniffed unhappily.

“Don’t cry,” said Matthew at once. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Here.” He thrust a handkerchief into her hand.

Jessica caught a glimpse of an embroidered rosebud in the corner before he seized it back and substituted another, a large, masculine square of fine, plain white linen. Any desire to sniff instantly departed, and she smiled to herself as she dabbed unnecessarily at her eyes.

Matthew turned the conversation to the betrothal of Kitty Barlow and Lord Peter Glossop, but he had no intention of leaving the matter there. For the next few days he meant to keep a close watch on Miss Jessica Franklin’s every move. Whatever mischief she was up to, he would be there to save her from the consequences.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I want you to keep an eye on Miss Pearson, Tad,” said Jessica as she and the footman walked up Gay Street, “but whatever happens, don’t interfere unless I call you.”

“Right, Miss Jess.” Tad looked mystified. “Er, what exac’ly was you expecting to happen?”

“I’m sure I cannot guess,” she told him blithely, satisfied with her precautions.

It was not yet ten o’clock when they arrived at the Circus, but the day was already hot. Jessica felt a momentary qualm—Lucy, she recalled, did not care for hot weather. Still, that was a minor discomfort, and after all, the whole plot was for Lucy’s sake as much as Nathan’s.

Lucy was waiting, delicately pretty in white muslin with pale pink ruffles. Her sketching pad and pencils appeared almost as untouched as the day they had been purchased at a superior London shop. Tad added them to his load and followed as the two young ladies strolled along Brock Street, chatting about last night’s assembly. They reached the beginning of the Royal Crescent and paused to admire the splendid building, a sweeping two-hundred-yard arc of Bath stone with Ionic columns framing the windows of the upper stories. On the ledge at the foot of the columns, the inhabitants of some of the houses had put out pots of pink or red geraniums, adding a touch of gaiety.

“The combination of curve and perspective is going to be a real challenge,” said Jessica, nearly forgetting her plans in her enthusiasm. She turned and looked down the steep slope of lawn opposite the houses. Two men were at work with scythes, filling the air with the scent of new-mown grass. “I believe the best view will be from the far end. Shall we sit under that oak?” she suggested.

“Oh yes, the shade will be pleasant,” Lucy agreed, so they walked the length of the crescent and settled under the tree.

Tad wandered off to pass the time of day with a maidservant who was scrubbing a doorstep, but he never took his eyes off the ladies for more than a moment, Jessica noted.

She gazed back along the crescent, planning her picture as if it were really the object of the outing. At the other end, too far off to make out the details, an open carriage and pair stood at the corner of Brock Street, the driver lounging at ease. She wished it would come closer so that she could incorporate it into her sketch.

Then she saw Lord Alsop coming towards them. All artistic considerations fled.

She jumped to her feet. “I believe I shall take a closer look at the details of the railings and the heads of the columns before I begin drawing,” she said, and ignoring Lucy’s faint protest, she started off across the grass to meet the baron.

He was wearing a green and white striped coat this morning; his white-topped boots had green tassels and he carried a green-lacquered cane. As Jessica approached, he swept off his top hat and bowed as deeply as his tailor’s and his valet’s work permitted.

“Well met, fair Jessica,” he pronounced meaningfully, and offered her his arm. “Shall we walk a little?”

“I was just going to inspect the details of the columns, my lord.”

“Ah yes, your drawing. An ingenious excuse for a rendezvous.”

“Miss Pearson did agree to come with me, as I expected. She is sitting under that tree, waiting for me.” Jessica indicated the solitary figure. Lucy had stood up and was peering anxiously in their direction. So was Tad, but she doubted whether Lord Alsop would recognize him as her servant at this distance.

“I doubt Miss Pearson will protest at a little dalliance,” said his lordship. He grabbed Jessica, pressed her to his chest, and planted a wet kiss right on her lips.

Outraged, Jessica struggled, turning her head from his foul breath. This was not what was supposed to happen! The wretched baron had got it all wrong: he was meant to persecute Lucy with his unwanted attentions, not her.

He was stronger than he looked. She could not free herself, and he managed to drop another kiss on her right eyebrow. Then he staggered back as she hit him on the nose with the top of her head.

“Really, Miss Franklin,” he gasped, tears starting in his eyes, “I like a girl with a bit of spirit, but this is taking things too...” His voice trailed away as he saw Nathan speeding up the hill with an expression that would have done credit to an avenging Fury.

Without wasting time on words, the outraged brother swung a right fist with all the power of youth and wrath behind it. Lord Alsop stretched his length on the grass.

“Get up so I can hit you again,” Nathan snarled. The baron wisely made no move to obey. “I’ll pick you up if I have to.”

Jessica hung on to Nathan’s arm. He had vastly exceeded the demands of his script, coming to the rescue as intended but with rather more enthusiasm than she had expected. A crowd was gathering, the two mowers panting up the hill and a score of servants swarming down from the Crescent.

Miraculously, Matthew pushed through the crowd and put a restraining hand on Nathan’s shoulder.

Lord Alsop raised his head cautiously and pointed an accusing finger at his attacker. “Assaulting a peer!” he screeched. “I’ll see you transported for this. You are all witnesses.” He gestured to the men with scythes. “You two, arrest him.”

The mowers hesitated. The crowd was murmuring, and a man dressed as a groom stepped forward. “Best take ‘im to the Guildhall,” he advised. “The justice’ll sort it out better nor we can.”

“No!” cried Jessica. “He’s my brother, he was only...”

“I’ll willingly go before the magistrate,” Nathan’s militant voice interrupted. “Doubtless he’ll have something to say about old lechers forcing themselves on innocent girls. Look after her, Walsingham, will you? Come on, fellows.”

The groom helped the baron scramble to his feet as Nathan set off, marching down the hill with the scythers on either side of him. Half a dozen onlookers joined the escort while the others drifted away.

Jessica’s head whirled. Matthew was there, supporting her. “Did the brute hurt you?” he asked anxiously. “I came as fast as I could, but this wretched leg of mine...”

“No, no, I’m all right,” she cried. “But it’s all my fault. I must go after them and explain.”

“My curricle’s just a step away, in Brock Street. I shall drive you down to the Guildhall. Was not Miss Pearson with you?”

“Yes, I had forgotten.” Overwhelmed with guilt, Jessica looked around wildly. Lucy had disappeared, but so had Tad. “My footman is with her, she will be quite safe. Oh pray, let us go at once.”

By the time the curricle reached Queen Square, Jessica had recovered her composure sufficiently to begin to wonder just how Matthew happened to be in the right place at the right time.

“What,” she demanded, “was your business in Brock Street this morning?”

“I was keeping watch over a young lady whose eyes were bright with mischief last night.”

“I’ve been wicked,” said Jessica mournfully.

“Tell me.”

The tale poured forth. “You see, Nathan is positively
bat-witted
about Mr. Pearson being a Cit, as though that could possibly matter when he and Lucy love each other. So I thought if I arranged for him to save her from Lord Alsop... I even hoped his lordship would kiss her. I didn’t know it would be so utterly horrid, or I never would have done it. And then the wretched man was not the least bit interested in Lucy!” she ended on a note of indignation.

“I’d like to say that your manifest charms clearly outweigh Miss Pearson’s, but I imagine it was rather a case of a bird in the hand being worth two in the bush,” said Matthew, laughing. “You must admit you appeared to give him every encouragement to believe you willing.”

“The toad! I am afraid that is what he will tell the justice. Nathan couldn’t really be transported, could he?”

“I doubt it. He’s landed gentry, after all, if not a nobleman, and whatever your part in the business, he had provocation. Besides, Lord Alsop’s reputation even here in Bath is hardly spotless.”

Jessica was sure his cheerfulness was forced, to reassure her. Visions of her brother in chains on a convict ship to Australia flitted through her head. Even if it didn’t come to that, a large fine or thirty days in prison would ruin them. And it was all her fault. How could she possibly have been such a knock-in-the-cradle?

The streets were busy by now, and the curricle made slow progress. They reached the Guildhall just in time to see Lord Alsop totter in through the doors, supported by a large footman in blue livery, one of the servants who had taken French leave from the Royal Crescent. As soon as Matthew’s bays drew to a halt, Jessica jumped down and hurried after them.

She found herself in a long, crowded room filled with a murmur of voices. At the far end, behind a table on a low platform, sat the justice of the peace, with his clerk nearby on a high stool at a tall desk. Jessica thought she recognized the magistrate, a small man with a surprisingly loud voice. She heard someone address him as “Alderman,” and then someone else as “Mr. Perrin, sir.” He was the jeweller whose shop in Milsom Street she patronized for her insignificant purchases.

The crowd seemed to have swallowed Nathan. She could see Lord Alsop’s striped coat, but she had no desire to go anywhere near him. The room was divided by wooden barricades, and she didn’t know which way to go.

She felt a hand on her arm and turned to find Matthew at her side.

“Oh dear,” he said, surveying her ruefully. “I wonder if I have a comb in my pocket.”

“I have one in my reticule.”

The nearby members of the crowd watched indifferently as he removed her straw hat and tidied her hair. She shivered at his touch.

“Are you cold? A shawl would lend credibility to your claim to be a respectable young lady, but I fear there is nothing to be done about that now.”

She replaced her hat; he straightened it and tied the yellow ribbons beneath her chin. Looking up into his grey eyes, she wondered at how warm a colour grey could be.

“Bound over to Assizes,” boomed Alderman Perrin, and thumped with his gavel on the table.

“Next case,” said the clerk in a bored voice, scribbling madly with his quill.

“I demand immediate justice,” cried Lord Alsop. “I am a Peer of the Realm.”

Mr. Perrin conferred with his clerk. The crowd shifted and parted as the baron and his escort pushed forward. Matthew took Jessica’s hand and led her in their wake. His clasp was firm and reassuring. When they reached the last wooden railing, Nathan was already there, looking handsome, young, and full of righteous wrath. Lord Alsop was nearby, leaning feebly on the footman’s arm as if he were at death’s door.