An Unconventional Miss

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!

As the gas lamps in the auditorium were slowly lowered for the start of the second act, an introspective gleam came into his eyes and his lips curved in amusement as he contemplated the possibilities. That softly rounded figure—he could well imagine how that would feel in his arms! And those eyes! He would swear that a man might drown in those glorious pools and be only too glad to do so! A sudden clash of cymbals from the orchestra pit jolted him out of this agreeable reverie and thrust him rudely back to his senses. A deep frown puckered his brow. What, in the name of thunder, had got into him? As if he didn’t have more than enough complications in his life already!

Having spent the past few days investigating the true state of affairs at Ashcroft Grange, he had discovered that, to his considerable relief, the situation was not nearly as hopeless as the solicitor, Humphreys, had led him to believe. Many valuable artefacts had disappeared, it was true, but Wyvern was soon to learn that the handful of dedicated servants still in residence had been more than anxious to restore the property to its former glory and had worked very hard to repair the damage that had been caused by his brother’s in-continent associates.

Brigham, the elderly land agent, had informed his new master that there was still sufficient revenue coming in from the four tenant farmers to keep the estate ticking over for several months, given that nothing out of the way occurred in the meantime. This being so, Wyvern was reasonably confident that, for the moment, at any rate, the interest from what was left of his own small capital would just about cover the servants’ wages and his own day-to-day expenses.

And, even though he had never felt the slightest inclination to involve himself in the running of the rambling estate, the intricate workings of which were still something of a mystery to him, these findings were of some comfort to him. Even more so to his grandmother, perhaps, who had spent the entire period of Wyvern’s absence in a continual fret as to what news he would impart to her on his return from Brentford.

There still remained, however, the formidable dilemma of how to lay his hands on the prodigious amount of money needed to satisfy the late earl’s creditors who, as soon as the news of Wyvern’s arrival back in the capital had reached their ears, were already starting to clamour for satisfaction.

It was entirely as a result of his deep concern regarding this seemingly insurmountable problem that he had finally agreed to accompany his grandmother on a pre-arranged call to Draycott House that very morning.

His dark eyes slid over to the young lady who was seated at his right. With her hands folded primly into her lap, her whole attention appeared to be focussed on the stage below. Having spent the entire obligatory half-hour of the morning visit attempting to engage her in some sort of conversation, it had not taken him very long to realise that, since she had failed to express a single opinion on any of the many topics he had raised, Miss Draycott was apparently still quite incapable of forming one! In addition, she seemed to have developed the most disconcerting habit of demurely lowering her eyes and glancing to one side whenever she spoke, thus avoiding any direct confrontation. And, whilst any other man might find this coy mannerism rather appealing, to Wyvern it was starting to be a distinct irritation.

As a soft sigh escaped his lips, he felt the countess’s hand on his arm. Turning to face her, he gave a rueful shake of his head, having decided that, despite all of the Draycotts’ obvious wealth and background, he might well be forced to look elsewhere for his family’s salvation.

Across the auditorium, the entire second half of the performance passed completely over Jessica’s head, so stunned was she at Wyvern’s rebuff. Had he walked into the box and slapped her across the face she could hardly have been more mortified. She bit hard on her lip to prevent the tears from forming. To think that she had been prepared—even eager, as she recalled in embarrassment—to put that first unfortunate encounter with Wyvern behind her and begin anew. After all, she reasoned, how could she possibly have known that the man who had come to their aid was an earl? He had not introduced himself properly and he certainly had not behaved as one might have expected a member of the aristocracy to behave. In fact, as she recalled, having failed to dismount in order to assist her from the carriage, the man had been singularly discourteous!

Straightening her shoulders, she furtively wiped away the single tear that had managed to find its way on to her cheek and vowed to put the beastly man out of her mind. It was hardly as though she was short of beaux, she reminded herself crossly. She could name more than a dozen hopefuls who would happily cut off their right arms just for one dance with her! But then, as a sudden vision of that rather unpleasant spectacle presented itself to her, she gave a little shudder and, conscious of Stevenage’s anxious eyes upon her, she turned and bestowed such a sweet smile upon the young lieutenant that he was totally overcome.

Chapter Five

Wearily tossing aside yet another demand for immediate reimbursement of one of the many outstanding debts incurred by his brother, Wyvern leaned back in his chair. Closing his eyes, he raked his fingers through his thick, dark hair, endeavouring to make some sense of the seemingly hopeless mess that had been bequeathed to him.

Although he was reasonably confident in the knowledge that Brigham, the Grange’s highly competent manager, was doing his best to return the estate to something of its former excellence, the hiring of the extra labour required had made considerable inroads into what was left of Wyvern’s available funds. Added to which, the lavish affair that his grandmother had insisted upon throwing the following Friday looked set to deplete them even further. More than once this week already, a highly embarrassed Jesmond had been obliged to draw the earl’s attention to the disturbing fact that several of the family’s long-standing suppliers had taken to requesting cash payments for the innumerable items that Lady Lavinia had ordered to mark the family’s re-entry into society. She, however, had been loftily unrepentant, having pointed out that it would hardly do to give their guests even the slightest hint that the family might be in some sort of financial difficulty.

With a resigned sigh, Wyvern rose to his feet and began to pace about the room, racking his brains to find some solution to the problem. No matter how offensive the idea was to him, it was becoming abundantly clear that he would have to apply for a loan of some sort—but to whom could he turn? He had not failed to register Humphreys’s caution that Theo had outrun the patience of all the major banking facilities, so he was fairly sure that, even were he to approach them ‘cap in hand’, so to speak, it was highly improbable that any petition from himself would be likely to find favour amongst that closely-knit brotherhood either.

He was not unmindful of the fact that, should he care to request their assistance, he was extremely fortunate in that he had a great many acquaintances who would not hesitate to come to his rescue. Indeed, every day for the past week, his dearest friend, Sir Simon Holt, had been urgently pressing him to accept loans of quite ridiculous sums of money with no conditions attached. To add grist to his mill and, despite the earl’s protests to the contrary, Holt had not hesitated to point out to his friend that, had it not been for Wyvern’s quick action in the field at Waterloo, he himself would not have survived the battle.

Nevertheless, Wyvern was loath to avail himself of his friend’s generous offer. Having seen other close friendships founder under similar well-meant circumstances and knowing that, as things stood at present, he had absolutely no hope of ever being able to repay such a loan, he could not bring himself to opt for a course that, in the end, could well jeopardise his long-term friendship with his ex-comrade-in-arms.

All of which led him to the only available alternative, highly distasteful though it might be! In the absence of any other salvation and since it was clear that the situation was beginning to grow somewhat desperate, it would seem that coupling his name with one or other of the heiresses on Lady Lavinia’s list looked to be the only option left to him!

In spite of his long absence from town, he was sufficiently versed in the ways of its inhabitants to know that any received impression that a gentleman might soon be about to benefit from a sudden increase in his fortune, either through inheritance or by marriage, was enough to hold his creditors at bay. Indeed, given that a debtor’s future prospects were deemed to be more or less cut and dried and of sufficiently generous proportions, a great many of those creditors were often inclined to press their client into borrowing even more money from them.

Several days had passed since the visit to the opera, during which time he had not only paid two morning visits to Felicity, but had also accompanied her to a musical evening given by one of her mother’s acquaintances. Having cast his eyes over the few remaining names on his grandmother’s list, he had been obliged to conclude that, despite her obvious drawbacks, it was clear that Sir Jonathan Draycott’s daughter was the best of a very dismal bunch!

He had seldom allowed thoughts of marriage to intrude on his carefree bachelor life, particularly after Theo and Sophie had secured the Ashcroft lineage by obligingly producing a son. But he was finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that he, who, scarcely six months previously, might have had the pick of the Season’s tastiest offerings, now appeared to be considerably restricted as to choice!

As he cast his mind back over his not-unimpressive string of past conquests, he could not help but heave a deep sigh of regret. He then had to take himself severely to task, reminding himself that marrying for love, amongst persons of his rank and status, was hardly an option. Marriage, as far as members of the aristocracy were concerned, was simply a convenient method of increasing land assets whilst, at the same time, preserving the quality of long-established pedigrees. In this sense, Felicity Draycott, despite her lack of any discernible charisma, was perfectly acceptable and, in the general way, all that a countess needed to be. Added to which, since the lady—according to his grandmother—seemed to hold him in a certain amount of esteem and, it appeared, had turned down more than one prospective suitor during his prolonged absence, it was not unreasonable to assume that she would be willing to accept his proposal—if he could just bring himself to make the offer!

Nonetheless, the thought of having to spend the rest of his days—not to mention the nights, as he reminded himself with a wry grimace!—in such uninspiring company filled him with despair. The idea of finding himself part of that sad little company of disillusioned husbands who, with increasing regularity, chose to spend most of their lives in one club or another, or in the clandestine company of a series of other females, was too sickening to contemplate.

On returning to his desk, his attention was caught by a glint from the green glass paperweight in front of him. All at once, the recurring memory of a pair of sparkling green eyes invaded his thoughts. Now there was a girl who had no difficulty in expressing an opinion, he reflected, as his lips curved in a whimsical smile. Had he been a gambling man, he would have been prepared to lay odds that Jessica Beresford was the sort who would always give as good as she got! He suspected that life with that little spitfire would be anything but boring!

Sadly, however, any further contemplation of Miss Beresford’s attributes was forestalled by a light tap on the door and the butler’s subsequent entry, it having transpired that the late earl’s manservant had just arrived in the house and was requesting an immediate audience with his new master.

‘Cranwell?’ frowned Wyvern, returning abruptly to his senses. ‘Show him in at once, Jesmond! Whatever it is must be pretty important to have brought him all this way!’

As well as having served as valet to both Wyvern’s father and brother, Cranwell was also the unfortunate servant who, having carried out the late earl’s order to deliver that very puzzling letter into the hands of the solicitor, had returned to Ashcroft Grange to discover his young master’s dead body slumped across the library desk. However, due to the man’s unswerving loyalty to the family over the years—not to mention his advancing years—Wyvern had not yet had the heart to tell the elderly valet that his services were no longer needed. Instead, he had left Cranwell with instructions to put whatever remained of the late Lord Wyvern’s personal effects into some sort of order. This being so, and given that it was barely three days since he himself had returned from Ashcroft, he was at a loss to understand what possible difficulty Cranwell could have encountered that had necessitated him undertaking such a wearisome journey to the capital.