An Unconventional Miss

‘Your brother is recovering from his shock, I trust?’ he asked pleasantly.

‘He appears to be doing very nicely, thank you, sir,’ replied Jessica, without turning her head. Keeping her eyes firmly on the road ahead, she was pondering the man’s remark. How was it that he knew her name and how could he have known that Nicholas was her brother? That this man—whoever he might be—seemed to be in possession of so much information about their circumstances concerned and puzzled her greatly.

But then, as the silence between them continued at length, Jessica’s conscience began to smite her as, somewhat belatedly, it occurred to her that she had made no attempt to offer the man her gratitude for his timely intervention.

‘I fear that we are greatly in your debt, sir,’ she began primly, only to be interrupted by his smothered laugh. Swinging her head sideways, she glared at him. ‘Have I said something to amuse you, sir?’

‘Not at all, ma’am,’ he returned promptly. ‘I am glad that I was able to be of some service!’

Although his face was not turned in her direction, it was not difficult to see that it was creased in a wide grin. In the midst of her outrage, she was astonished to find herself thinking what a devilishly handsome creature he was when he smiled. Biting her lip in exasperation, she racked her brains to find a less stilted way of expressing her gratitude.

‘I simply cannot imagine why those men should have chosen to waylay us,’ she eventually managed. ‘I should not have thought that this shabby carriage was the sort of vehicle that would lend itself to a hold-up!’

‘It possibly had more to do with the way in which you were flashing your blunt, back at the Rose and Crown,’ he offered.

‘Flashing my…!’ For a moment, Jessica was lost for words, but then, as a most disturbing thought entered her head, she found herself filled with a desperate need to vanquish her sudden suspicions.

‘I take it, then,’ she said carefully, ‘that your arrival back there was not just some lucky coincidence?’

‘Hardly!’ was his astonishing reply. ‘I was right behind you from the moment you left the inn!’

Her heart sank. ‘W-why was that?’ she asked, unable to prevent the tremble in her voice.

‘Because of those two fellows,’ he replied casually. ‘I was aware that they had been watching you for some little while in the inn’s stable yard and then, when I saw them make off through the back woods, it seemed pretty clear to me what they were about.’

A flicker of relief ran through her, but then, ‘But why did you not see fit to warn us about them?’ she demanded indignantly.

There was a moment’s silence. ‘I rather got the impression that you were not the sort of young lady who would take kindly to a piece of friendly advice from a total stranger,’ he replied at last.

Now thoroughly affronted, Jessica snapped, ‘What utter nonsense! If you knew that a felony was about to be committed, it was your duty to inform us!’

‘Well, it is not exactly true to say that I knew they were up to no good,’ he retorted, his hackles rising. ‘Their furtive behaviour merely led me to believe they might well be—which is why I followed your carriage!’

‘And then waited until they had attacked us!’ was her withering retort.

Taking a deep breath, the man gave a brief nod. ‘That was an unfortunate error on my part,’ he admitted stiffly. ‘I had not expected violence—their kind is, usually, only in it for the pickings. They like to terrify their victims into a quick surrender of their valuables and then make off, as fast as they can. Insofar as I have been led to believe, they tend to pick upon travellers who do not look as though they are able to take care of themselves—such as your brother and yourself. I doubt that they were prepared for retaliation.’

Just as she herself had supposed at the time, thought Jessica ruefully. If only Nicky had kept quiet! But then, another thought flashed into her mind.

‘You were perfectly content to see us robbed, then?’ she flung at him.

His face darkened. ‘If you will go round flourishing bundles of notes under people’s noses,’ he replied calmly, ‘you can hardly complain when the inevitable occurs!’

Hurriedly recalling her efforts to persuade the gig’s owner to part with his carriage, Jessica’s cheeks reddened. Although she was bound to admit that there might be some slight glimmer of truth in what the man was saying, she was not at all happy to have received such a thorough set-down from him. With the exception of her half-brother, Matt, the majority of men with whom she came into contact were usually so dazzled by her fairy-tale beauty that they were more inclined to grovel at her feet than find any fault with her behaviour.

Having arrived in the capital some six weeks earlier, it had taken her no time at all to become the year’s Toast of the Town. Under the aegis of Lady Sydenham—her cousin Imogen’s godmother—she had been given entrée to all of the best houses, and now no fashionable gathering was considered complete if the lovely Miss Beresford was not in attendance—especially since her magnetic presence practically guaranteed that a good many of the available men-about-town would gladly forfeit a night at the gaming tables and put in an appearance, merely on the off-chance of a smile and a kind word from the beauty!

At first, having spent the previous year and a half desperately craving a Season in the capital, Jessica had revelled in all the attention that the ton saw fit to bestow upon her. However, the feverish excitement that she had felt at the onset was beginning to subside, only to be replaced by a kind of uninterested apathy. A great many of the most prestigious assemblies to which she had been invited had proved to be boring in the extreme and, even though she had already received at least a half a dozen proposals of marriage, she had been singularly unimpressed with every one of her intending suitors.

Gentlemen about town, it seemed to her, were very much of a muchness. They drank far too much, indulged in inexplicable sports like cock-fighting and bare-knuckle boxing and, when they weren’t off to the fencing salons or the race-course, they spent a good deal of their time in smoky gambling rooms or other questionable dens of iniquity. And, even when they did deign to turn up to some function or other, the obsequious insincerity with which they fawned over every single one of the affluent and unattached females present—regardless of their looks—seemed to suggest to Jessica that the majority of these coxcombs were merely seeking to palm themselves off on to some unsuspecting heiress, with an eye to lining their own pockets!

The failed abduction of the previous year had taught her an invaluable lesson regarding the wily behaviour of the predatory male and, thanks to her own valiant endeavours to model her conduct on that of her more decorous cousin Imogen, Jessica was now far less likely to be moved by mere sycophantic flattery.

Nevertheless, having had her radiant loveliness constantly remarked upon for practically the whole of her nineteen years—and despite all of her recent efforts to curb any repetition of the vulgar displays of vanity that had been all too common until Matt’s arrival—it was hardly surprising that she should feel just a little piqued that their rescuer who, despite having spoken so few words to her throughout the entire journey, had managed to succeed in giving her the distinct impression that he was totally impervious to her appearance. In point of fact, his very indifference was making Jessica feel quite self-conscious—a most unusual state of affairs for the highly sought-after Miss Beresford!

Still deeply offended by the stranger’s criticisms, it was with some considerable relief that she gradually became aware of the fact that the volume of traffic about them was beginning to increase and, as the carriage swung out of the King’s Road into Kensington, she realised that they were at last approaching an area of which she was fairly cognisant.

Turning her face towards their escort, with the express intent of demolishing his pretentiousness with the full benefit of one of her most dazzling smiles, she said prettily, ‘Since we seem to be nearing the park, sir, there is really no need for you to trouble yourself any further. I am very well acquainted with this part of town.’

‘I have no that doubt you are, ma’am,’ was his non-committal reply. ‘However, I believe that it behoves me to see you to your door.’

Had Jessica not been seated in a rocking gig, she would have stamped her foot, just as she had been frequently wont to do in one of her old furies. Instead, having spotted a narrow opening in the considerable crush of traffic ahead of them, she curled her fingers tightly about the reins and, giving them a quick flick, urged the horse forward, in the hopes of giving the stranger the slip.

The sudden lurching of the little gig caused Nicholas, who had been dozing on and off for most of the journey, to fling open his eyes in alarm. Whereupon he let out a warning gasp. ‘Take care, Jess!’

Then, before she had time to realise what he was about, their escort had shot out a hand, caught hold of the left-hand rein and, with some considerable effort, had managed to haul the mare out of the path of a rapidly approaching curricle.

‘Not a very clever manoeuvre, if I may say so,’ he observed dryly, as the gig rocked to a standstill. ‘Always best to keep out of the path of fast-moving traffic, I’ve found.’

Jessica, who was shaking from head to toe, was unable to discern whether the trembling was due to her pent-up fury or as a result of the near miss. She fixed the stranger with a look of such rancour that, in the normal way, would have had its recipient reeling back in dismay at its ferocity.

‘How dare you, sir!’ she ground out, her green eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Let go of my rein this instant!’

Unperturbed, the man merely grinned, raising both of his hands to indicate that he no longer had control of her horse. ‘Off you go, my girl!’ he drawled. ‘But do try to steer in a straight line, if you can possibly manage it!’

‘I say, steady on, Jess!’ murmured Nicholas as Jessica, teeth gritted, flicked angrily at the reins to signal the mare to walk on. ‘This is no time to lose your rag—that’s another good turn the chap’s done us and that’s a fact!’

Still fuming, his sister deigned not to reply. With a set face and a stiff back, she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the road in front of her and inched her way back into the fast-moving stream of traffic. Nicholas, having set about disentangling himself from the coils of rope that had held him upright, cast an anxious glance at her rigid expression and, recognising the warning signs, waited in breathless trepidation for the expected outburst which, to his intense surprise, failed to materialise.

The remainder of the journey was completed in total silence until, having reined in the mare outside the front entrance of the elegant Dover Street mansion currently occupied by the Beresford family, Jessica set the wheel brake and nudged her brother to get out of the gig.

For several seconds, she waited in expectation of the stranger dismounting in order to assist her to the ground. He, however, remained in his saddle and made no such move. Seething with frustration, she found herself obliged to shuffle awkwardly along the seat and summon Nicholas to hand her down.

No sooner had her feet reached the pavement than she turned towards the front steps and was just about to mount them when she heard the man call her brother’s name.

‘Master Beresford!’

Swinging round, she was just in time to see the rider extracting a bulging package from his pocket. ‘Here you are, young man! Catch!’

Jessica’s astonished eyes followed the trajectory of the bundle as the startled youth made a valiant but vain attempt to grab it in its flight towards the steps. Having had no difficulty in recognising the item as her own missing reticule, she quickly sidestepped and caught the object neatly between her outstretched hands.

‘My reticule’ she exclaimed and hurriedly examined the interior of the crushed article. ‘But all of the money is still here!’

A suspicious frown appeared on her face and she demanded to know how the rider had come to be into possession of her property.

He inclined his head. ‘It would seem that your attacker dropped it in his haste to escape.’

Suddenly feeling very small and rather foolish, Jessica then found herself confronted with the inescapable fact that, no matter what her own private opinion in regard to this stranger, with his oh-so-toplofty condescension, might be, she was morally bound to express her gratitude for his assistance.

‘I am very much obliged to you, sir,’ she ground out, again making ready to climb the steps. ‘Perhaps you would be so good as to remain with the gig while I acquaint my brother with the details of our unfortunate—escapade? He will, no doubt, wish to reward you for your efforts.’

‘No reward is necessary, Miss Beresford,’ replied the now widely grinning horseman, sweeping off his hat in the most grandiose manner. ‘I am more than happy to have been of assistance, I assure you.’

Choosing to ignore this somewhat sardonic remark, Jessica flounced up the steps and tugged impatiently at the doorbell.

Their rescuer waited until the front door had opened to admit the couple, remaining absolutely motionless until, with a resounding thud, it closed behind them. Then, with an impatient shake of his head, he wheeled his mount around, ready to retrace his steps. Just as he was about to spur his horse into action, however, his attention was caught by a little flash of white on the step of the gig. Curious, he leant down to retrieve the object which, on closer inspection, proved to be Jessica’s handkerchief. He deduced that it must have fallen from the pocket of her pelisse during her somewhat ungainly scramble from the gig, the memory of which brought a reluctant smile to his lips.

After staring down at the little scrap of lace for some moments, he gave a little grunt and was just about to toss it back into the carriage when, on a sudden impulse, he held it up to his nose, thoughtfully inhaling its delicate perfume. Then, with a short laugh, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his riding jacket and rode off in the direction of the park, without a backward glance.

‘And you are telling me that during all that time, this fellow didn’t even give you his name?’ demanded Matt Beresford of his sister, after listening to her stumbling recital.

‘Well—he may have,’ owned Jessica, edging closer to her cousin Imogen, who was seated beside her on the sofa. ‘There was so much confusion—I was worried that Nicky had hurt himself badly—then he—the man, I mean—pushed me out of the way and, by the time we started off again, the opportunity didn’t arise!’

‘As a matter of fact,’ interrupted Nicholas who, having had his head bathed and attended to by a sympathetic Imogen, was feeling much more the thing, ‘I do seem to recall that he did introduce himself. It was when he was prodding me around feeling for broken bones and such, but I was in such a state that I’m afraid I failed to properly register much of what he was saying.’

He paused, frowning to himself. ‘He did have a most unusual signet ring, though—I noticed it as he was putting his gloves back on—huge green thing it was—had a sort of dragon on it!’

‘You really should have invited the gentleman in, Jessica,’ said Imogen, shaking her head. ‘It was very remiss of you. Now, unless he chooses to call to find out if you have recovered from your ordeal, it is most unlikely that we will ever be given the opportunity to thank him for coming to your rescue. If he had not turned up when he did, heaven only knows what might have happened! I do wish you had thought to stay at the inn and sent a messenger on. It would have saved so much trouble!’

‘I’m awfully sorry, Imo,’ replied her cousin. ‘I really thought it was for the best. I didn’t mean to upset you, I promise.’

‘Just wait until I lay my hands on young Stevenage!’ Matt ground out wrathfully. ‘If he thinks for one moment that—’

‘No, really, Matt!’ interrupted Jessica in protest. ‘Harry was not to blame—he did try to stop me, but I…’ Her voice faltered and her eyes dropped in confusion as Beresford’s own swivelled angrily towards her.

‘You did just as you always do—which is exactly what suits you! Well, Miss Cleverboots, I’ll have you know that I have had quite enough—!’

He stopped as his wife reached out and laid her hand on his jacket sleeve.

‘As long as they are safe, my love, that’s really all that matters, isn’t it?’

Staring down into her silver-grey eyes, Matt gave a reluctant smile and took her hand in his. ‘I can’t have you getting distressed, sweetheart. This sort of thing cannot be at all good for your condition!’

‘Oh, really, Matt,’ laughed Imogen, patting his hand. ‘How many times must I tell you that I am not an invalid! I am a perfectly healthy young woman who happens to be expecting a baby!’

Unconvinced, Matt shook his head. ‘I should have packed everything up and returned to Thornfield the minute you told me!’ he groaned. ‘Home is always the best place to be at such a time. There, at least, you would not have to put up with this sort of irresponsible upset!’

‘Nonsense, my dear,’ chided his wife gently. ‘And miss the Conyghams’ ball? It is said to be the event of the Season! Surely, you cannot be thinking of denying me the opportunity to show off that glorious confection of Madame Devy’s that has just cost you such an exorbitant amount of money?’ Her eyes twinkled up at him. ‘Whilst it still fits, remember!’

With another reluctant grin, he bent his head and pressed his lips to her forehead.

‘Well, so long as you promise to let me know the minute it all starts getting too much for you.’

She gave him a warm smile. ‘You must know that I would never do anything that might harm either this child, or myself, Matt,’ she returned quietly. ‘I have already given you my word.’

Matt’s lips twisted briefly for one moment then, with a quick nod, he turned away and strode back to his own seat on the other side of the fireplace.

‘I’m really sorry, Matt,’ said Jessica, stepping forward and catching hold of his hand just as he was about to sit down. ‘I promise you that I was trying to avoid any upset—I don’t want Imo getting distressed any more than you do! It was just meant to be a straightforward ride home!’

He took a deep breath, ‘Very well, Jess. I will say no more about it—apart from giving young Stevenage a piece of my mind, that is! You can hardly expect me to think him the most suitable escort for you if he is unable to control your outrageous behaviour!’

Jessica reddened. She was well aware that Harry Stevenage was as putty in her hands but, having grown rather fond of the young lieutenant, she did not care to think of him being chastised on her account.

‘Please, Matt!’ she begged her brother. ‘Harry is not to blame for any of this! Had it not been for the fact that his mind was so distracted with Olivia’s injuries, I am sure that he would have taken a much firmer line!’ And, seeing Matt’s expression soften, she added, encouragingly, ‘He was simply splendid in the way he took charge of everything—quietened down the horses, sent for a doctor and procured rooms for both of the invalids—all in the space of barely an hour!’

‘Well, at any event,’ retorted Matt, partly appeased, ‘it would seem that the lad’s two years with the military have not been entirely wasted. I dare say it will do no harm to give him the benefit of the doubt—this time!’

Heaving a sigh of relief, Jessica sat down again, but then, noticing a deep frown upon Nicholas’s face, she enquired anxiously if his head was still paining him.

‘No, not really,’ he muttered absently. ‘I know it’s there—somewhere in the back of my mind—almost on the very tip of my tongue.’

Staring at him in astonishment, she asked, ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘That fellow’s name,’ he replied, still frowning. ‘I almost had it. Dryden or Brydon or—oh, botheration! It’s gone again!’

‘Haydn?’ chorused Jessica and Imogen in unison, whilst Matt simultaneously offered ‘Lydian or Layburn?’ all of which suggestions Nicholas met with a vigorous shake of his head.

Whereupon, the next ten minutes or so were spent plying Nicholas with every conceivable version of any similar-sounding name that the three of them could call to mind until, finally, as the offerings became more and more nonsensical, Imogen and Jessica collapsed against each other in convulsions of laughter and begged their menfolk to desist.

‘How about Reardon or Raven?’ chortled Matt who, totally entranced by his wife’s infectious gurgle, was loath to bring the unexpected merriment to a close.

Nicholas started to shake his head again, then he stiffened and a faraway look came into his eyes. ‘Raven?’ he mused. ‘Ryvern? Great heavens! That’s it!’ he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.

‘Ryvern?’ chimed his audience, in chorus.

‘No, not Ryvern!’ was his gleeful reply. ‘Wyvern! The fellow’s name is Wyvern—hence the dragon on his ring, I suppose!’ he added in triumph.

There was a long pause, then, ‘Wyvern?’ said Matt thoughtfully. ‘I seem to remember that there was a Viscount Wyvern in my year at Oxford—Theodore Ashcroft by name—no, hang on—I heard that his father, the earl, had died, so I suppose Theo would have inherited the title. About my age, would you say?’

Uncertain as to the age of the stranger, Nicholas was obliged to admit that he had no idea, but Jessica, who had had greater opportunity to study their rescuer, gave a vehement shake of her head.

‘Several years younger, I should have thought,’ she declared. ‘Midtwenties, possibly—and he certainly didn’t strike me as aristocratic! Quite the contrary, if you want my opinion!’

‘Nevertheless,’ Matt pointed out, ‘at least it gives us something to go on—no harm in making a few discreet enquiries. The least I can do is to thank the fellow for returning my delinquent sister to the bosom of her family!’

He ducked as a velvet cushion sailed over his head. ‘Rotten shot!’ he said, as a broad grin formed on his lips. ‘Clearly, all those hours I spent trying to teach you to play cricket were a total waste of time!’

Chapter Three

Having deposited his hired mount at the nearest livery stables, the subject of their discussion, recently decommissioned Dragoon Major the Honourable Benedict Ashcroft, now Ninth Earl of Wyvern, set off up South Audley Street to walk the short distance to the family’s Grosvenor Square mansion.

He had not gone far, however, when he heard himself hailed by a familiar voice.

‘Ashcroft! I say! Over here, old chap!’

On the far side of the road, the driver of a very dashing curricle and pair was waving his whip at him in the most enthusiastic fashion. Instantly recognising his one-time comrade-in-arms, the Honourable Freddy Fitzallan, Wyvern, his face breaking into a broad smile, returned the salute with gusto and nimbly wove his way through the busy traffic to greet his old friend.

‘By all that’s wonderful!’ grinned Fitzallan, leaning down to grasp Wyvern’s outstretched hand. ‘Last person I expected to see! Just got back, have you? Where are you off to? Hop up; I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Hardly worth your trouble, Freddy,’ said Wyvern with a grin, hoisting himself up beside his friend, nevertheless. ‘But I’m headed for Ashcroft House, if you are of a mind.’

Fitzallan whipped up his horses and, with considerable expertise, threaded his way back into the stream of vehicles.

‘Dreadfully sorry to hear about poor old Theo, Ben,’ he said, shooting a fleeting glance at his friend. ‘Hard to believe someone as experienced as your brother could have been that careless with his weapon!’ He paused for a moment, then added, with a slightly self-conscious air, ‘S’pose we will all have to get into the habit of calling you Wyvern now!’