Paula Marshall - Miss Jesmond's Heir

He strolled along the street, familiarising himself with its layout before returning to the inn to collect his gig. After he had driven out of the White Lion’s stable-yard, he found himself behind a chaise which followed the road which led to Jesmond House until it turned off into the drive to Pomfret Hall some half-mile before Jess reached his own gates. He noted idly that Mrs Pomfret had visitors and wondered whether he would meet them at supper.

His main preoccupation was with his morning’s work and in particular with Banker Bowlby and with what Mr Crane had—and had not—told him…

‘Garth! What brings you here? And why did you not inform us that you were coming to visit us? Georgie, pray ring for the housekeeper—she must prepare a room for my brother immediately.’

Sir Garth Manning made no attempt to answer his sister’s questions. He was too busy smiling at Georgie, who was, for once, dressed demurely in Quaker’s grey with a high white linen collar trimmed with lace, as were the cuffs of her long sleeves.

‘Oh, don’t fuss, Caro. I never stand on ceremony, you know that. I always do things on impulse. Much the best way—one never knows what or who one may encounter next. And, to prove my point today, I have found your sister-in-law. I had no notion that she was staying with you—which proves my claim about the unexpected being best. You look charming, dear sister—I may call you dear sister, may I not?’

Georgina, who had never cared overmuch for Sir Garth, would have liked to retort to him with ‘No, you may not,’ but her regrets over her recent encounter with Jesmond Fitzroy had made her a little wary about being needlessly rude to gentlemen.

She simply gave him an enigmatic smile which he took for agreement. ‘Sister it shall be then. I cannot be constantly calling you Mrs Herron, most clumsy.’

‘But accurate,’ Georgie could not help retorting.

‘True, true—but how boring the truth often is, you must agree?’

Georgie could scarcely contradict him. Nothing could be more boring than the truth which Jesmond Fitzroy had served up to her the other day. It seemed that thinking of him had almost brought him to life for Caro exclaimed to her brother, who had sat down beside her and was fanning her gently, ‘Oh, Garth, it is most apropos that you have come. We shall now have not one, but two, handsome and unattached men with whom to entertain Netherton!’

‘Two,’ remarked Sir Garth archly. ‘Pray, who is the other? I am not sure whether or not I am pleased to learn that I have a rival.’

It took Georgie all her powers of restraint not to inform him that he and Mr Fitzroy would make a good pair so far as being obnoxious was concerned. Caro, on the other hand, was only too happy to inform her brother of the new owner of Jesmond House.

‘Plenty of tin, has he?’ enquired Sir Garth negligently.

‘So one supposes,’ she said, ‘but I have not yet met him. He is to sup with us this evening and then you may pass judgement on him. At least he has Miss Jesmond’s inheritance, which cannot be small.’

Sir Garth raised dark eyebrows. He was dark altogether, glossy-haired, with a saturnine hawk-like face, rather like, Georgie thought fancifully, a villain in one of Mrs Radcliffe’s Gothic romances.

‘Perhaps,’ he returned enigmatically. ‘The old lady was light in the attic towards the end, was she not? Sold all that land to pay for bad investments. If you want to hook him for yourself, Caro, be sure that you find out exactly how deep his purse is. Another unfortunate marriage—begging your pardon, dear sister Georgie—would be one too many.’

Caro simpered, ‘Oh, seeing that we have not yet met, are you not being a little forward, brother, in handing him to me for a husband?’

‘My habit, Caro dear, is always to further your interests,’ he assured her. ‘It’s a cruel world we live in. One needs to know one’s way about it. All that glisters is not gold.’

Georgie thought that Sir Garth knew whereof he spoke. She wondered cynically if he had arrived in Netherton to lie low at his sister’s expense—or to recoup himself, perhaps. She did not believe that Netherton was at all the sort of place which he would choose to frequent—unless necessity drove him there.

‘It’s your good luck that I am here to inspect him, my dear. I look forward to the evening.’

So, apparently, did Caro. She arrived in the drawing room where Georgie was looking at an album of the Beauties of Britain while waiting for Mr Fitzroy to arrive. She received the full benefit of Caro’s elaborate toilette.

For once her sister-in-law did not immediately make for the sofa, but instead pirouetted in the centre of the room, waving her fan and looking coyly over the top of it.

‘How do I look, Georgie? Will I do?’

Georgie, inspecting her, had to confess that her sister-in-law had seldom looked more enchanting. Her golden hair, her blue eyes and her pink and white prettiness were undiminished although she was nearing thirty.

She was wearing an evening dress of the palest blue trimmed with transparent gauze and decorated with small sprays of silk forget-me-nots. Her fair curls were held in place by a small hoop of the same silken flowers mounted on a ribbon of slightly deeper blue. Her slippers were frail things of white kid.

All in all it seemed that three years of sitting on the sofa doing nothing and letting others worry on her behalf had enhanced rather than marred her good looks. If she had become slightly plumper as a consequence of her lengthy idleness, her figure was so charmingly rounded that most gentlemen, Georgie conceded glumly, would have nothing but admiration for it.

And all this hard work over the past few hours was for Mr Jesmond Fitzroy—as Sir Garth immediately remarked when he entered to find Caro in her glory and Georgie, as usual, feeling eclipsed by it.

Her own green outfit with its cream silk trimmings seemed drab and ordinary, but Sir Garth bowed over her hand as though she were beauty’s self and complimented her on her appearance with, ‘When last I met you, many years ago now, you were only the humble little sister, but time has worked its magic on you to transform you.’

How in the world did one answer anything quite so fulsome? Georgie put down her book and offered him a meek thank-you, and was saved from further extravagant nonsense by the announcement of Mr Jesmond Fitzroy’s arrival.

Any hope that she had possessed that her memory had played her false by enhancing his good looks and his perfect self-command flew away when he entered. If anything, she had under-rated his good lucks and the ease with which he wore his good, but unspectacular, clothes.

She heard Caro draw a sharp breath when he bowed over her hand. Sir Garth, more sophisticated in the ways of the great world, raised his quizzing glass to inspect the visitor more closely, drawling, ‘I thought that we might have come across one another before in town although your name is not familiar, but I see that I was wrong.’

Jess surveyed him coolly. So this was Mrs Pomfret’s brother, the owner of the carriage which he had seen earlier that day. He was a regular London beau with all the hallmarks of one who moved in good society and had been born into it.

‘Oh, I live on the fringes of the ton, as many do, I believe.’

He offered Sir Garth no explanation of who and what he had been, and what he had just said to him was no more, and no less, than the truth.

Caro said suddenly, ‘I believe, Mr Fitzroy, that you have already met my sister-in-law, Mrs Charles Herron, when she was looking after my two children, so no introductions are needed, although to make everything comme il faut, I will offer you a formal one.’

She took Georgie, who had been standing half-hidden behind the brother and sister, by the hand to bring her forward—and Jess found himself facing the hoyden in breeches whom he had rebuked the previous afternoon. Only she wasn’t wearing breeches, but a plainish green frock with few trimmings. Her riotously short russet-coloured hair was held back and half hidden by a black bandeau, and the low collar of her dress and its artful cut left one in no doubt that here was a young woman in her early twenties and not the young girl whom he had thought her. Only her green eyes were the same—but even more defiant and mutinous than they had been the previous afternoon!