The Battling Bluestocking (4 page)

“I suppose we were,” Sir Brian agreed evenly. “Do I take this to mean then, my lord, that you no longer wish to prefer charges? I assume that is why you came to me in the first place, since you seem not to have known of my relationship with your highwayman?”

“Prefer charges!” Andrew exclaimed before Lord Gordon could speak. “I should think not.” He grinned at his lordship, all his confidence and that cocky arrogance restored. “I knew how it would be the moment I explained,” he said. Then he turned to his uncle. “You must see that it was just a lark, sir. I was afraid I’d be dished if I took off my mask before I got home, because I was certain Lady Gordon would recognize me, and once the other lady had shot me, I feared that when they realized I was your nephew, they might haul me off to some other J.P. before I could explain things. Fearing, you know, that
you
might prefer charges against
her
for shooting me. Only I was persuaded you would do nothing of the sort, and since I’m the only one who suffered”—he indicated his injured shoulder with an insouciant gesture—“why, there’s no harm done to speak of, is there?”

“Surely not, my young friend,” Lord Gordon assured him. “A good prank. A jolly good lark, indeed.”

Jessica had been listening to the interchange with gathering indignation, and she could no longer contain herself. Glaring at her brother-in-law, she informed him flatly that she could not believe her ears. “How can you stand there and behave as if nothing out of the ordinary has occurred here?” she demanded.

“Be silent, Jessica,” Lord Gordon commanded, drawing himself up and hooking a thumb in his waistcoat pocket. “I told you this was no affair for a lady to concern herself with. ’Tis a matter between gentlemen, a mere prank, and not something anyone would expect you to understand. There is nothing more to be said and no reason for us to occupy more of Sir Brian’s time.”

“On the contrary,” Jessica countered, “there is still a great deal to be said, Cyril. I might have expected you to drop the matter this easily, but I cannot do so. It is all very well and good for you and this young prankster of yours to insist that there was no harm done, but that was through no fault of his. And, for that matter, I cannot agree that there was no harm. Lady Gordon,” she informed Sir Brian, getting to her feet in order not to have to speak over her shoulder to him, “was frightened out of her wits. Had she been with child, she might well have miscarried.”

Sir Brian was regarding her now with a good deal more interest than he had hitherto shown, but when he spoke, it was still in that quiet, even tone. “Is she with child, Miss…?”

“Jessica Sutton-Drew,” she supplied. “I am Lady Gordon’s sister, visiting from Gloucestershire. And, no, sir, she is not to my knowledge with child, but that is beside the point.”

“I disagree. It would have been very much to the point, had she been with child.”

“Please, Jessica,” Lord Gordon pleaded, giving up any attempt to bully her. “This conversation is not at all seemly.”

“I apologize if I’ve offended your sensibilities again, Cyril,” she responded promptly. “It would perhaps have been better if I had offered your weak heart as a possibility instead.”

“Does Lord Gordon have a weak heart?” Sir Brian inquired.

“No, he does not,” Jessica replied, incurably honest. The light of amusement in her host’s eyes reminded her forcibly of the same light seen earlier in his nephew’s, and for a scant second she felt a response in her own before anger took over. “That does not matter in the slightest, sir. Your idiotish nephew had no way to know that such a condition did not exist. Furthermore, his pistol was loaded, and when I shot him, he dropped it, causing it to discharge. It was through chance only that no one was injured or even killed.”

“I agree that it was careless of him to drop his pistol,” Sir Brian acknowledged. “It was truly you who shot him?”

“I did.”

“I see. Then he must have been very careless, indeed.” He glanced again at his nephew.

Andrew grinned at him. “No carelessness, sir. She had her pistol hidden in that great muff she carries. I never so much as had an inkling.”

“You must be a most redoubtable young woman, Miss Sutton-Drew. Have you your pistol by you now?”

“I have.”

“May I see it?”

Jessica reached into the muff and removed the little pistol from the pocket which accommodated it. Sir Brian stepped forward to take it from her, and she noted absently that the carving of his signet ring was that of a unicorn’s head.

“Have a care, sir,” she warned as he turned the pistol to examine it. “It is still loaded.”

“I see that it is,” he responded. “A nice little weapon. Did you intend to kill your highwayman?”

“If I had intended to kill him, sir, he would be dead.” Jessica looked Sir Brian straight in the eye. “My father would not allow me to carry that pistol until I could shoot whatever I aimed at. I do not miss easily, and your nephew made a good target. What do you intend to do about this, Sir Brian?”

In reply he glanced again at his nephew, who gazed back at him confidently. “What, do you wish me to do, Miss Sutton-Drew?” Some of Andrew’s confidence faded, but not enough of it to suit Jessica.

“If he were a man of common stock, Sir Brian, he would hang for his little prank.”

“That possibility certainly exists, ma’am. But you do not answer my question.”

“Here now, Jessica,” Lord Gordon interposed hastily, “enough is enough. ’Twas naught more than a boy’s prank, and no harm done. We’ll drop the matter here and now, if you please.”

“But I do not please, Cyril. All this nonsense merely serves to prove how right I was to insist that Georgeanne and I accompany you to Shaldon Park. You and Sir Brian here seem perfectly willing to sweep the whole business under the nearest carpet, and that young jackanapes is sitting there just as pleased as can be with himself. He has no idea of the harm he might have done.”

Andrew looked at her in protest. “Here, I say, ma’am, I’m dreadfully sorry if I frightened you.”

“Pooh,” Jessica retorted. “You know perfectly well that I was not in the least frightened. Not that you gave such a likelihood the smallest vestige of a thought. But I believe in equality,” she went on, turning to face Sir Brian again. “Generally that term seems to suggest a belief in raising the lower orders above their stations. That is not my meaning. Certainly not in this instance. But it is patently unfair, sir, that a farmer’s son who did what your nephew did today—whether as a prank or not—would hang for his mischief, while you and my brother-in-law merely applaud Andrew’s behavior as a very good joke.”

“You may safely believe, Miss Sutton-Drew, that I do not so regard his behavior,” Sir Brian said quietly.

“But you are glad that my brother-in-law has decided not to prefer charges, are you not?”

“I cannot deny that.”

“Well, you will be disappointed then, Sir Brian, for I fully intend to prefer those charges myself.”

“Jessica!” exploded Lord Gordon. “I forbid you to do any such thing.”

“You have no right to forbid me, Cyril. It is rather my right as an English citizen to prefer charges against any felon who assaults me. Is that not so, Sir Brian?”

“Here now, Miss Sutton-Drew, you can’t do such a shabby thing,” protested Andrew, sitting up quickly, then wincing at the pain the movement caused him. “It was only a prank. My word on it.”

“You deserve a hard lesson, young man,” Jessica said, regarding him sternly. “I have no patience with wagers and pranks when they endanger others. Even to endanger yourself is, in my opinion, not only not the least bit manly but witless besides. You did something you ought not to have done, and you deserve to face, the natural consequences of your actions.”

“Jessica, for God’s sake!”

“But, I say, Miss Sutton—”

“Silence, Andrew.”

Jessica regarded Sir Brian steadily. “No doubt, as his uncle, you will refuse to proceed, sir, so perhaps we should seek out another magistrate. It would be unfair to expect you to deal with this.”

“You underestimate me, Miss Sutton-Drew,” he replied, returning her look with equal steadiness. He was still standing quite near her, and though she decided it was no doubt nothing more than his height, there was something nearly overpowering about that nearness. It sent shivers up and down her spine, while at the same time there was a contrasting warmth deep within her. She gave herself a shake, realizing that he was still speaking, that he had just said something about his sense of honor. “I agree that Andrew must face the consequences of his actions,” he told her, still looking deeply into her eyes, “and though I readily admit that I had intended those consequences to be little more than a few warm minutes on the carpet in my bookroom, there is a great deal of truth in what you say.”

“Look here, Sir Brian,” protested Lord Gordon, his man-to-man smile a little forced. “My sister-in-law simply don’t understand these matters between gentlemen. Boy’s merely growing into a man. Certain rituals, don’t you know? Things women never comprehend.”

Jessica turned on him indignantly, but the quiet voice intruded before she could vent her indignation.

“Miss Sutton-Drew makes some telling points, my lord,” Sir Brian said, facing Lord Gordon directly. “The consequences of one’s actions must be confronted, and I am sure that you and I would never wish our position in life to protect us against those consequences when we deserve to face them.”

“N-no, of course not,” his lordship replied doubtfully. “But surely, sir, you cannot intend—”

“I intend that Andrew’s wounds shall be properly seen to,” Sir Brian told him firmly. “Then, since formal charges have been preferred against him, he will be taken to the jail cell near my stables and clapped into irons until I convene the assize court in two weeks’ time.”

“Good lord, man! You’ll never turn him over to a jury. ’Twould be to condemn the lad to death.” Lord Gordon turned again to plead with Jessica. “Use your head, Jessica. You cannot want such a thing.”

Indeed, she did not want such a thing, but Jessica did not for a moment believe that young Andrew would be put to death. Once he was identified as Sir Brian’s nephew, it was doubtful a jury could be found that would sentence him to death. Nonetheless, she was certain the experience of being locked up and taken to trial would bring home to the lad, as nothing else could, the seriousness of his actions. She did not put these thoughts all into words, but she made it perfectly clear to both her brother-in-law and Sir Brian that she had no intention of withdrawing her charges.

As they prepared at last to take their departure, Sir Brian returned Jessica’s pistol to her. She slipped it back into the little pocket in her muff and turned away.

“Oh, Miss Sutton-Drew, before you leave, there is one more thing.”

She turned toward him again, her gaze rising to meet his. “Yes, Sir Brian?”

“I may have some more questions to put to you about this little matter before it reaches the assize court. May I have leave to call upon you at Gordon Hall one afternoon?”

His expression was unreadable, but once again she sensed some underlying emotion. Not anger this time, but something that was perhaps even more dangerous. Something that made her conscious, once again, of that warmth deep within her. She gave a little shake of her head, as if to clear it, then returned her steady gaze to his.

“If you wish to call, sir, I should not be unwilling to receive you,” she said calmly.

Some moments later, in the carriage, Jessica was completely oblivious as Lord Gordon expostulated upon her impudence in insisting upon pressing charges against the nephew of the wealthiest man in all Cornwall. Instead, she found her thoughts focusing upon that man himself. To say that Sir Brian Gregory had surprised her was to put the matter mildly. However, amazed as she was that he had agreed to proceed against his nephew, she reserved her judgment, for it occurred to her that he might have done so merely to humor her or to prevent her from lodging her charges with another magistrate. Nonetheless, or perhaps even as a result of such thoughts, she could not help suspecting that Sir Brian might be one of those rarest of creatures, a sensible man.

Since the days of her come-out years before, Jessica had learned to accept the effect her beauty had upon others, and even to accept having a good many eligible gentlemen of the
beau monde
practically worship at her feet. She had not once, however, had the slightest inclination to accept any of their most charming advances, for she consistently found the men who pursued her to be both boring and shallow, as well as shockingly easy to intimidate with her forthright manners. Though she secretly yearned for romance, still she tended to despise the stupider heroines in the Gothic literature she so enjoyed reading, and she truly believed she was happiest when running other people’s lives and households. For some years she had cheerfully made the spring-and-summer circuit from one relative to another, feeling sincere pride in the thought that she was contributing something worthwhile to each of their lives and firmly insisting to herself that she was wise not to clutter her own life with romantic nonsense.

She felt a sense of responsibility toward each of those relatives, too. Her younger sister, Madeleine, had always depended upon her and never more so than after the difficult birth of her first child. And despite Lord Gordon’s caustic words, she knew that Madeleine’s husband, the wealthy young Earl of Porth, had greatly appreciated Jessica’s assistance. The earl was one of the very few gentlemen besides her father for whom Jessica had any respect at all. She suspected that Lord Gordon realized that fact and was a bit jealous. He was also jealous of her influence upon his wife. Georgeanne always displayed more courage when Jessica was at hand to support her, and Jessica believed it was not at all good for Lord Gordon always to have his own way about things.

From Gordon Hall her annual round of relations would take her to London, where she looked forward to spending the Season with her mother’s fascinating spinster sister, the Lady Susan Peel. Thinking of Lady Susan always brought a smile to Jessica’s lips, for Lady Susan customarily provided the greatest test of Jessica’s skills. Not that her household required any particular attention. Not at all. Lady Susan’s housekeeper, Mrs. Birdlip, was a veritable jewel, and she was ably assisted by Bates, Lady Susan’s elderly butler. But neither Mrs. Birdlip nor Bates had any influence whatsoever with their mistress beyond the confines of the house itself. And having acquired, despite her solid position in the highest rank of the
beau monde
, a formidable reputation as a bluestocking, Lady Susan was active in every worthy cause going in the metropolis, sometimes more active than her niece thought she ought to be. At the moment, according to Lady Susan’s letters, she was deeply involved in the defense of a bookseller who had been unfairly charged with libel, which cause seemed to her niece to be fairly harmless. Nonetheless, Jessica always left London for home feeling a little as if she had left a bomb behind her just waiting to explode. So far nothing dreadful had happened, but her visits to the tall, elegant house on the southwest corner of Hanover Square were never dull.