An Unconventional Miss (4 page)

At her grandson's continued silence, she tossed back the remains of her drink and gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Well, I have said my piece—you may get up and leave in a huff if you choose but, if you are the man that I take you for, you will pour us both another brandy and let us get down to the business of discussing how we may set about undoing the damage caused by Theodore's lack of self-discipline!'

Loath as he was to agree with his grandmother's harsh observations regarding his much-loved brother, Wyvern had to admit that she did, perhaps, have something of a point and if, in fact, the very perceptive old lady could come up with any useful ideas concerning the rescuing of Ashcroft Grange from its creditors, it would certainly be unwise of him to lock horns with her at this juncture.

‘I take it that we have no wealthy relatives of whose existence I have been previously unaware?' he asked, as he refilled her glass and handed it to her, retrieving at the same time his brother's note, which the countess had carelessly tossed on to the drum table beside her seat.

‘Sadly, no.' She chuckled, relieved to see that she had not dented his good humour. ‘If your Aunt Fiona's begging letters are anything to go by, her Irish earl has even less than we have! No, dear boy, it seems to me that what we could really do with at the moment is a rich heiress on the lookout for a peerage!'

Wyvern stiffened. ‘I had always supposed that I might have some little say in the matter of choosing a bride,' he demurred.

She peered at him suspiciously. ‘You are not already promised, I trust?'

Regretfully setting aside the intrusive images regarding a certain little Parisian opera-dancer he had lately had in his keeping, Wyvern gave a short laugh.

‘No such thing, I assure you! However, to return to the point, I am inclined to think it that it is fairly unlikely that even the most pushing of mothers would be willing to marry her daughter off to an absolute “down-and-out”—belted earl or no!'

‘Nonsense, Benedict!' chided his grandmother. ‘The Ashcroft name must still count for something in this country.'

‘Not if what Humphreys has told me is anything to go by,' returned Wyvern bitterly.

‘How dare the man!' exclaimed the countess, lifting her chin and drawing herself up to her full height. ‘What has he been saying?'

Wyvern shrugged. ‘Well, I certainly received the impression that the Ashcroft name alone no longer carries sufficient weight to get us any more credit with Coutts—Theo, apparently, having exhausted their goodwill! Fortunately, Humphreys has managed to persuade the partners not to press for immediate repayment. Unfortunately, there is still the matter of all the other creditors who, I have little doubt, will soon be baying at our door!'

Lady Lavinia sipped thoughtfully at her drink.

‘Then it is clear that we will need to make a push right away, my boy,' she said, ‘before the upper echelons get wind of the full extent of your brother's transgressions—they have been known to close ranks for far less serious demeanours!'

She paused, contemplating her grandson for a moment, then gave a decisive nod.

‘We must set about arranging a soirée!'

‘A soirée!' replied Wyvern, considerably taken aback. ‘But we are in still in mourning!'

She shrugged. ‘We do not have the time to consider all the social niceties, my boy. I was not thinking of a huge affair—just a few close friends, perhaps—simply to announce our re-entry into society. As for suitable bride material, we could do worse than start with Eulalia Capstick—she has been out for a couple of years now and still no takers! Or, better still, what about Felicity Draycott?'

Wyvern choked on his drink. ‘Do I take it that you have already drawn up a list of suitable females?' he demanded in astonishment.

‘Not as such,' replied the countess, with a haughty sniff. ‘But I have always found that it does no harm to keep one's ear to the ground.'

‘And might I be permitted to know the names of the rest of these illustrious females whom you have selected as suitable candidates for my hand?' asked Wyvern warily. ‘If my memory serves me right, the dumpy Miss Capstick must have at least five Seasons under her belt. And, even though our family has been acquainted with the Draycotts since Felicity was in leading strings, having partnered the lady at dinner on more than one occasion in the past, I can assure you that she is totally without conversation!'

‘Hardly a matter of the greatest consequence!' grunted Lady Lavinia, waving her hand dismissively. ‘The gal comes with a dowry of fifty thousand pounds, as well as being sole heir to her father's estates—one of which, if you recall, borders the most westerly side of Ashcroft. It would be hard to hit upon a more satisfactory solution to our difficulties! In addition to which, rumour has it that she has been carrying the torch for you ever since you were at Cambridge!'

An expression of acute displeasure crossed Wyvern's face. ‘If it's all the same to you,' he returned hurriedly, ‘I would just as soon not further my acquaintance with Miss Draycott.'

Shaking her head, the countess rapped him sharply on the wrist with her fan. ‘You are in no position to be overly particular, Benedict,' she said sharply. ‘Gals who are both wealthy
and
comely tend to have their pick of the town's beaux! And, unfortunately for us, the market appears to have conjured up very few pretty faces this Season—apart from the Beresford chit, of course, but she—'

Wyvern's ears immediately pricked up. ‘Beresford?' he asked, his eyes agleam with curiosity.

His grandmother shrugged an elegant shoulder. ‘Jessica Beresford, current Belle of all the Balls!' she said carelessly. ‘A cit's daughter, of course, but
he
was one of those nabobs who came back from India positively dripping in lard. I once met the man, Sir Matthew Beresford—dead now, so I'm informed—encroaching little nobody he was, especially after he got his knighthood! Married an Emily Herrington, then took her off to India, where she died giving birth to the gal's half-brother—who, I understand, is also Matthew by name.'

‘Half-brother?' frowned Wyvern who, having found his attention all at once diverted by the most vivid memory of a pair of flashing green eyes, was desperately trying to keep up with his grandparent's mercurial change of direction.

Lady Lavinia nodded. ‘The present Mr Beresford,' she told him. ‘Seems the father would have nothing to do with the boy—blamed him for his wife's death or some such nonsense! Anyway, Sir Matthew married again, a Blanche Deveril—I am not familiar with the family—and
that
marriage produced a further two offspring. Then, last year,
this
Mr Beresford turned up and laid claim to his dead father's estate, married his stepmother's niece and is now the Jessica chit's guardian!'

Pausing for breath, she cast an inquisitive glance in her grandson's direction, but then, having registered the riveted expression on his face, shook her head.

‘Jessica Beresford is not for you, Benedict,' she said decisively. ‘I am reliably informed that her half-brother has inherited the bulk of Sir Matthew's estate. The girl is worth a mere five thousand a year and, whilst such a sum may be sufficient to have half the town's swells beating a path to her front door, it is not nearly enough for our purpose!'

‘Calm yourself, Grandmama,' returned Wyvern, with a wry grin. ‘I assure you that I have no intention of joining the ranks of those ramshackle bucks! I have already had the dubious pleasure of meeting the young lady in question and find myself singularly disinclined to pursue the acquaintance.'

But then, having recalled his odd action regarding Jessica's handkerchief, he flushed slightly and, in order to redirect his grandmother's attention, queried, ‘Who else do you have in mind for this grand scheme of yours?'

The countess's brow furrowed. ‘Well, there are one or two other heiresses worthy of consideration, plus the usual smattering of rich widows, for instance—if you have no objection to an older woman?'

‘From where I'm standing,' remarked Wyvern dryly, ‘even the two-headed, bearded lady from Astley's Circus is beginning to sound quite plausible—provided that she has the necessary wherewithal, of course!'

‘Now you are just being ridiculous,' sighed the dowager, then, glaring at her grandson, added, ‘Do you mean to try to save the Grange or don't you?'

Wyvern ran his fingers distractedly through his crisp dark hair. ‘I mean to do my best,' he replied stiffly. ‘There are other avenues I might explore.'

‘Such as?'

He shrugged. ‘I will need to return to Ashcroft and take a look for myself—assess the damage and so on. It is possible that things may not be quite as bad as Humphreys has led me to believe—he has always been something of a doom merchant, as I recall!'

‘Anything is possible, I suppose,' retorted his grandmother. ‘Nevertheless, you must certainly go there as soon as possible—there are still several members of staff in residence. I dare say I might manage to rake up sufficient funds to pay them something of what they are owed.'

Wyvern froze. It had completely slipped his mind that the countess had already met the cost of his brother's funeral and other sundry expenses while awaiting his return from Paris, where he had been serving with the Army of Occupation. For several minutes he studied her closed expression then, making up his mind, he said diffidently, ‘I suppose it would do no harm to pay a courtesy visit to the Draycotts—our families were on quite good terms at one time, as I recall.'

Her eyes softening, his grandmother looked across at him and gave a brisk nod. ‘That is exceedingly sensible of you, Benedict. Saving the estate is far more important than pandering to our own personal likes and dislikes—Ashcroft Grange has been in the family for over three hundred years. It was a hard struggle for me to keep it going sixty years ago and now it is your turn—you simply must not let it go without putting up some sort of a fight!'

Jumping to his feet and crossing the short space that separated them, Wyvern sat down beside his grandmother and grasped her hands.

‘I promise you that I will do whatever it takes, dearest one,' he said, strengthening his resolve. ‘Miss Felicity Draycott will find me to be everything a girl has ever dreamed of, you have my word!'

O
wing to several pressing business engagements, Matt Beresford had been temporarily obliged to shelve the matter of discovering the identity of his siblings' benefactor. He did, however, feel constrained to remonstrate with Lieutenant Stevenage when, three days later, that young man eventually returned to town.

On arriving at the Beresford residence, the lieutenant was shown straight away into the ground-floor study, where a stern-faced Beresford awaited him and, without further ceremony, confronted him with the series of disastrous events that had occurred following Jessica's defiant exit from the inn at Turnham Green.

‘And now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?' demanded Matt, fixing the lieutenant with his most severe frown.

Stevenage's cheeks had grown pale with shock. ‘I really must crave your pardon, Mr Beresford,' he stammered. ‘I begged her not to attempt the journey, but she…'

‘Has a mind of her own?' supplied Matt who, being well acquainted with Jessica's obstinate streak, was not entirely unsympathetic to the young man's plight.

A vivid flush then covered Stevenage's face but, squaring his shoulders and looking his host straight in the eye, he said, ‘Nevertheless, sir, I hold myself entirely responsible for what happened and give you my word that, should such a situation ever occur again, Miss Beresford's welfare will be my primary concern.'

‘Along with your sister's, I trust?' interposed Beresford dryly.

‘Er—yes, but of course,' came Stevenage's hurried response. ‘Both ladies would be of equal concern, naturally!'

Matt's lips began to twitch. ‘And how is Miss Stevenage?' he asked, anxious to save the young man any further embarrassment. ‘I trust that she suffered no great hurt?'

‘Nothing of consequence, sir. I sent a message to my father and he came down with a carriage and took Olivia home—she is fine now, sir.' The lieutenant paused, eyed Matt nervously then, taking a deep breath, went on, ‘I'm truly sorry about the landau, sir. I thought it best to remain at the inn until your coachman recovered, but then he refused to leave until the pole was fixed, which is why I have been out of town for so long—I would not care for you to think that I was fighting shy of facing you!'

There was such an earnest expression on the young lieutenant's face that it was all Matt could do to control the wide grin that threatened. During his short acquaintance with Stevenage, he had found him to be a most honourable young man and, prior to this recent contretemps, had seen no reason to put any obstacle in the way of his growing friendship with Jessica. Matt knew that it would be a good many years before the young man, at barely twenty-two years of age and at the very beginning of his military career, would find himself in any position to support a wife. And, although it was clear that Stevenage was, for the moment at any rate, besotted with his young half-sister, Beresford was reasonably sure that he was not the sort to take liberties. This, along with the fact that Stevenage had a sister of an age with Jessica, made him, as far as both Matt and Imogen were concerned, a safe escort and ideal companion for the girl.

‘Your apology is accepted,' he grunted. ‘I dare say you did the best you could, in the circumstances.' And, gesturing towards the tantalus on his desk, he offered Stevenage a glass of brandy. ‘Luckily for all of us, none of you suffered any serious damage—but take it as a lesson, my boy!'

A few quick sips of the fiery spirit settled the young man's nerves sufficiently for him to pluck up sufficient courage to enquire whether he might be permitted to escort Jessica again, some time in the near future.

‘I believe we have engaged a box at the Drury Lane this evening,' said Matt, after a moment's consideration. ‘Perhaps you and your sister would care to join us?'

Although he was far from being an ardent devotee of the opera, Stevenage accepted his host's offer with alacrity, reasoning that it would be well worth sitting through a few hours of unintelligible caterwauling just for the pleasure of seeing Jessica again. Olivia, he felt certain, would be more than happy to accompany him.

 

When the siblings arrived at the theatre, however, he found Jessica strangely preoccupied. She seemed pleased to see both him and his sister again and even offered him a very pretty apology for ignoring his advice the other day. But then, apart from enquiring after Olivia's health, she seemed disinclined to say much at all and, by the time they had been shown to their box and settled themselves into their appointed seats, the performance was ready to begin. After that, although Stevenage made valiant attempts to catch her eye throughout the first act, the volume of sound issuing from the combined talents of the orchestra and chorus, coupled with the constant hubbub from the patrons in the cheaper seats in the gallery above, pretty well drowned out any real attempt at conversation. Heaving a sigh, and hoping for better luck in the interval, he tried to concentrate his attention on the stage but, after some few minutes, gave this up, having been unable to fathom out what the devil was going on!

As his frustration and boredom increased, his eyelids gradually drooped, then closed and, had not the act climaxed on a sudden, rousing crescendo, he might well have fallen asleep. Instantly on the alert, his eyes flew open and he was up on his feet almost before the curtains closed. Motioning to Nicholas, he was just about to suggest that both they and the two girls might use this opportunity to slip out into the corridor and stretch their legs for a few minutes, when he heard Jessica's excited whisper.

‘Nicky! Nicky!' She was clutching at her brother's arm. ‘Look over there! The third box from the stage! I'm certain that that's him!'

‘Him—who?' Momentarily confused, Nicholas peered across the crowded auditorium. Then, as his eyes settled on the box his sister had indicated, his face cleared. ‘By Jove, I believe you're right!' he exclaimed, and almost fell off his chair in his eagerness to reach his half-brother, in order to point out Jessica's discovery to him. ‘It's that Wyvern fellow, Matt,' he cried jubilantly. ‘Look! Over there! Ought we to go across and speak to him, do you suppose?'

Jessica's emerald eyes were alight with excitement and she could feel her heart beating at the most incredible rate. She had spent the past three days in hourly expectation of the stranger calling to enquire after their welfare. Why this had become such a matter of importance to her, she was at a loss to fathom, especially when she recalled the stranger's high-handed attitude towards her. Yet the very sight of him, sitting a mere twenty-five yards across from her, was causing her to experience a quite extraordinary fluttering in the pit of her stomach.

He was not alone. Seated to one side of him was a very elderly lady, who was one of the most formidable-looking females that Jessica had ever set eyes upon. She could not recollect having been introduced to such an aristocratic dowager at any of the many illustrious events she had attended and, since the lady was hardly the sort of person one could readily forget, she concluded that she, along with her escort, must be newcomers to town.

Sliding her eyes across to the second female in the box, she gave a gasp of dismay. Unless she was much mistaken, the man's other companion was Felicity Draycott, one of a coterie of coolly elegant, but rather haughty, damsels who had spent the greater part of Jessica's time in town offering her the cold shoulder! Not that this had bothered Jessica unduly, since she had been enjoying herself far too much to pay a great deal of attention to their disapproving glances. But, why on earth such a devilishly handsome and elegantly turned-out man would want to waste himself on such a toplofty companion she could not begin to fathom—unless, of course, the Draycott female was some sort of relative of his! Having decided that this was the only reasonable conclusion that could be reached, her lips began to curve, her eyes grew bright and, as she watched Matt enter Wyvern's box, a shudder of excited anticipation ran through her.

Stevenage, who had been observing her growing excitement, demanded to know what all the fuss was about. ‘Why all this sudden interest in Ben Ashcroft?' he asked, somewhat tetchily.

‘Ashcroft?' said Imogen, turning towards him, a bewildered look on her face. ‘I was given to understand that the gentleman's name was Wyvern?'

Stevenage shrugged. ‘Yes, well, since he's just inherited his brother's title, I suppose it would be more proper to refer to him as Lord Wyvern,' he replied indifferently. ‘I met him when he was an officer with the 13th Light. Our units were quartered together when I was in Paris last year. He's only just returned home.' He paused momentarily then, turning back to Jessica, he said, ‘Funnily enough, he was at the Rose and Crown the other day, when we were there—he'd stopped to water his horse and have a bite to eat, so he told me.'

‘At the Rose and Crown!' cried Jessica, in astonishment. ‘I don't remember seeing him! And you say you spoke to him? Where was this?'

‘In the taproom,' replied Stevenage, with a puzzled frown. ‘After you and Nicky took off—why so much interest in the fellow?'

‘He's only the chap who saved us from those two thugs!' exploded Nicholas. Then, as a sudden thought occurred to him, he added, ‘I suppose it must have been you who told him who we were?'

Stevenage flushed, remembering that after Jessica and her brother had driven off, instead of returning directly to his sister as he had planned, he had stomped off into the taproom and tossed back quite a large quantity of brandy, in order to try to quell his feelings of helpless frustration.

‘Possibly,' he replied warily. ‘I don't actually recall the entire conversation.'

He did, however, have the most uncomfortable feeling that his exasperation at Jessica's having ignored his advice, coupled with the effects of imbibing a good deal more liquor than was his usual custom, might well have caused him to express his opinions about her cussedness rather more freely than propriety demanded.

‘No sweat, Harry,' said Nicholas absently, his attention still on the box opposite. ‘We just wondered how he came by the information—oh, look! They're shaking hands and Matt is leaving!'

In barely suppressed expectation, Jessica awaited the return of her brother, her mind awhirl with possibilities. Had he invited the stranger—no, Lord Wyvern, now, she reminded herself—to call on them? Or, perhaps, to join them for dinner? She looked over at the earl's box and a little shiver of excitement ran through her as she saw that Wyvern, having returned to his seat, was now looking in their direction. He was even more handsome than she had remembered! Her eyes shone more brightly than ever and, cheeks dimpling, she beamed one of her most enchanting smiles across the auditorium.

When Beresford returned to their box, however, the information that he carried with him was hardly promising. Wyvern had, of course, been everything that he should be. Glad to meet an old acquaintance of his late brother, more than happy to have been of service to the two young travellers, and so on. He had thanked Beresford for his invitations and had assured him that he would do his best to call on the family at some time in the near future but, because of pressing business commitments, he was unable to say when that might be.

 

On the other side of the theatre, Wyvern, in spite of himself, found his gaze drawn to the box opposite. For some inexplicable reason, he found himself more than interested to register Jessica's reaction to her brother's announcement. He did not have long to wait. No sooner had the gist of Matt's words begun to sink in than the dazzling smile was dashed from her lips, only to be replaced by an expression of the most profound disappointment.

Wyvern's brow furrowed; after the girl's rather haughty treatment of him the other day, he could not understand why his negative response to Beresford's invitation should elicit such an extreme reaction from her. But then, he reasoned to himself, given what young Stevenage had, inadvertently, let fall about the lovely Miss Beresford, coupled with the not entirely favourable impression that he himself had formed, it was not beyond the realms of fantasy to conclude that these highly exaggerated mannerisms were merely part of a well-practised routine on her part.

Having seen the astonishingly reckless manner in which she had flourished a bulky wad of banknotes under the stableman's nose—to the considerable interest of a good many onlookers—followed by her total disregard for both her brother's and Stevenage's counsel, it had come as no surprise to Wyvern to discover that Miss Beresford in person was even more pig-headed than he had been given to understand. Clearly used to having things go her way, and heaven help those who had the temerity to cross her!

Well, the little madam could bat her eyelashes at him until the cows came home, thought Wyvern, with a disdainful shrug, but if she really imagined that she could persuade
him
to join the ranks of all those young jackanapes who were dancing to her tune, she was about to discover how very wrong she was! The girl clearly need to be taught some sort of a lesson and, as his mind dwelt upon the various ways in which the condescending Miss Beresford might be brought to heel, it very soon occurred to Wyvern that, had he but had the time at his disposal, he would not have been at all disinclined to take on the job himself! Such a pleasant distraction could well prove to be most gratifying!