An Unconventional Miss

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!’

Chapter Four

Owing 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?’