Miss Jesmond's Heir

Later, she was to regret the violence with which she had answered him, but he had touched a nerve by reproving her for wearing breeches. She had endured quite enough of that from Caro! Her anger was the greater precisely because for the first time she was beginning to think that Caro, foolish though she usually was, had some right on her side.

But, faced with this attractive stranger who was speaking to her as though she were a naughty child, her temper ran away with her. ‘For your information,’ she continued, her voice as cutting as she could make it, ‘my mother and father are both dead, and I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

She turned away from him before he could answer her, calling peremptorily, ‘Gus, Annie, please pull up the stump at once, and bring the bat and ball to me. We are leaving immediately.’

Jess said in his usual mild way, ‘One moment, if you please.’

‘No moments at all,’ she flung at him, incontinent, something which back at Pomfret Hall she was to recall with growing shame, ‘for we shall be gone in a moment.’

‘No,’ Jess said, stung at last into abandoning his normal equable manner. ‘You will tell me your name and where I may find you. Someone near to you may be pervious to sense and try to control you.’

‘Oh, indeed,’ she returned fiercely, thinking of Caro and her whining. ‘There certainly is someone, and you may find her—and the three of us—at Pomfret Hall. I bid you good day. I trust that you are sufficient of a gentleman not to try to detain me.’

He stepped back. She had breached his resolve always to conduct himself with quiet dignity, a resolve which dated back to his earliest days with Ben Wolfe.

‘Oh, indeed,’ he informed her through gritted teeth. ‘I have not the slightest wish to detain such a termagant in breeches. I bid you good day—and may the future invest you with a little more common sense.’

All the way back to the Hall, Georgie blushed with shame every time she thought of her recent encounter with Jesmond House’s new owner. What on earth could have possessed her to make her behave so badly, so completely outside the bounds of a young gentlewoman’s normal conduct?

She could find no useful answer to her own self-questioning, for what she did not wish to admit was that at first sight she had been bowled over by Miss Jesmond’s heir, only to have him treat her like a foolish child who needed advising and reprimanding! Her pride and her vanity were alike hurt. The second did not matter, but the first did.

And the worst thing of all was that, although he had been right to warn her, it was his refusal to see her as anything but a silly chit which hurt the most.

Chapter Two

‘You’re quiet tonight, Georgina. Is anything wrong?’

Caro, after a great deal of complaining, had played cards with Gus, Annie and Georgie before an early supper. After it she had retired to her favourite position on the sofa in order to read, but The Forest Lovers did not interest her, even though it was by her favourite author, who had written Sophia.

Georgina was repairing Annie’s doll’s dress, which had been torn by Caro’s pug Cassius in an unusual fit of temper. He was usually as sleepy as his mistress.

She said nothing in reply until Caro came out with, ‘Really, Georgina, you might be civil enough to answer a reasonable question.’

‘Forgive me, I’m somewhat distraite tonight,’ Georgie said with a sigh after removing some pins from her mouth. She had been wondering a little wildly how best to answer her sister-in-law since she really ought to have informed her earlier of her meeting with Jesmond Fitzroy. In the normal course of events, she would have done so immediately on returning home.

Gus and Annie, who had heard nothing of her final encounter with him, had babbled to their mother about meeting a strange man in the paddock, but Caro had been too full of her own affairs at the time to take much notice of them.

Something of Georgie’s disquiet must have affected Caro; she said anxiously, ‘I do hope you’re not sickening for a chill. It would be most inconvenient, for I should not like to catch it. Dr Meadows has often said that in my delicate state I ought to avoid having anything to do with anyone affected by any form of ill health.’

‘No, I’m not sickening for anything—at least, I don’t think I am. It’s just that this afternoon we met Miss Jesmond’s heir when we were playing cricket in her paddock, and I must confess that I think that you were right to advise us not to take advantage of him by trespassing on his grounds.’

Caro sat up sharply, her face a picture. ‘And you said nothing of this until now! Really, Georgina, it’s most inconsiderate of you. So little happens in Netherton, and when it does you invariably keep it to yourself.’

‘Don’t do it too brown, Caro,’ retorted Georgie, a little stung. ‘It’s not three hours since I met him, and until now we’ve not had an opportunity for a private conversation.’

Since she had no answer to make to that Caro said, somewhat stiffly, ‘I take it that he was the gentleman who came to the paddock this afternoon about whom Gus and Annie were prattling.’

‘Indeed. His name is Jesmond Fitzroy. He is Miss Jesmond’s great-nephew.’ It was all Georgie could bring herself to say of him. It was not enough for Caro.

‘But what is he like? How old is he? He is a gentleman, I take it?’

Georgie thought of the perfectly turned-out Mr Jesmond Fitzroy in his exquisite town clothes.

‘Very much a gentleman.’

Georgie’s reply was short, but it gave her away a little. Perhaps it was its very brevity that was betraying.

Caro said sharply, ‘And that is all? Surely you could tell his age. Was he old or young?’

‘In his thirties.’ Georgie was still brief. ‘He is extremely handsome. Very fair. Tall.’

‘Did he say anything about a wife?’ There was an unwonted eagerness in Caro’s voice which surprised Georgie a little.

‘Our conversation was not a long one, and I did not quiz him about his personal particulars. He was on his own. He did say that we might continue to play cricket in the paddock but, bearing in mind your reservations about that, I am not sure that we ought to accept his invitation.’

‘Nonsense. Of course we must accept such a kindness. A handsome young man—possibly without a wife—will be a great addition to Netherton. I wonder what he is worth. We must be sure to invite him to supper when he is settled in. You must call on him formally.’

And then, a trifle anxiously, ‘Did he notice your breeches? I told you not to wear them.’

Georgie said dryly, ‘He could scarcely not notice them. And, if I do pay him a formal call, I shall be sure to wear skirts.’

‘If? Why if? Of course you will oblige me by calling on him. You have nothing better to do! I grow intolerably bored these days and you would please me greatly by arranging matters so that I may enjoy a little entertainment. I would prefer that we extended the hand of friendship to him before Mrs Bowlby does. She is always to the fore these days. One would not think that I was Mrs John Pomfret of Pomfret Hall!’

Georgie nobly refrained from pointing out that if Caro were to exert herself a little and not perpetually live on her sofa it would be more difficult for Mrs Bowlby to claim to be the grande dame of Netherton, and that it was she, Georgie, who did most of the work which provided Caro with some sort of social life. That she did so willingly was for the sake of Gus and Annie, who would otherwise have been neglected, and in memory of a brother who had been unfailingly kind to her.

‘Very well,’ she said, squirming inwardly at the thought of calling on Mr Jesmond Fitzroy, with or without skirts. ‘On the other hand, if you wish to rival Mrs Bowlby, why do you not make the effort and call on him yourself? After all, he does live virtually next door.’

Caro gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘You know quite well why I go out so little, Georgie. The effort is too much for me. Dr Meadows says it is essential that I take things easily and that does not include running round Netherton extending supper invitations to all and sundry. And you know that you like being busy.’

But not with Mr Jesmond Fitzroy, was Georgie’s dismal response. Oh, dear, who would have thought that Caro would take such an interest in a new neighbour? And then something else struck her: what a slowcoach I must be! John has been dead these three years, she is scarce thirty, and there are few men in this part of Nottinghamshire whom Caro would think fit to marry Mrs John Pomfret.

Hence retiring to the sofa.

But the arrival of a handsome man, who is only a little older than she is, and who must be presumed to have some sort of fortune, is obviously considered by her to be quite a different proposition from the local squires and the odd unmarried poor parson who frequent these parts!

For some odd reason, this new thought distressed Georgie a little. Odd, because her memories of Mr Jesmond Fitzroy were bitter ones. After all, she told herself firmly, he and Caro would make a good pair, united in disapproving soundly of me if in nothing else!

Caro was still talking—it was time Georgie paid some attention to her. ‘So that’s settled,’ she was saying. ‘You will pay him a courtesy visit tomorrow morning before the rest of Netherton stands in line at his doorstep to try to monopolise him. Poor John was the Squire here before he died, even if Banker Bowlby does seem to think he has inherited a position which Gus will fill when he comes of age.’

She sank back against the cushions. ‘You may also invite Mr Fitzroy—and his wife, if he has one—to supper tomorrow evening. It is possible that he has had a long and hard journey and might not wish to visit anyone tonight.’

The last thing Georgie wished to do was to have another lengthy tête-à-tête with her recent tormentor. While not directly contradicting Caro—which would only have resulted in starting a lengthy and complaining argument—she privately decided to send one of the footmen around in the morning with a note asking him to supper on Friday evening, two days hence, which would give him time to find his bearings.

On second thoughts, she decided that, by the look of him, Mr Jesmond Fitzroy would never need time to find his bearings. By his looks and manner he appeared eminently capable of landing on his feet at whatever spot he chose to arrive—whether it be Netherton or elsewhere.

Netherton, being somewhat more than a village, had decided to call itself a town, albeit a small one. It had numerous good shops, two posting inns, a bank, and, although it could not claim to be a genuine spa, possessed a set of impressive Assembly Rooms where one might drink pure, and supposedly health-giving, water brought from a nearby spring which had been dedicated to Saint Anne. Balls were held there and, on two afternoons a week, tea and cakes were served in the Grand Hall to the sound of a string quartet.

The sum of which caused its inhabitants to remark with great satisfaction, ‘We may not call ourselves a spa, but we have all the advantages of one without the disadvantages of large numbers of idle—and sometimes disreputable—visitors.’