Mary Brendan - Regency Mistresses - A Practical Mistress / The Wanton Bride

Helen blinked rapidly, momentarily shocked to speechlessness.

‘I told him you was prior engaged with company, ma’am,’ Betty mumbled, miserably aware of her mistress’s petrified consternation. ‘He don’t never listen. He just pushed past … uncouth he is …’

Samuel Drover was unaffected by that slur on his character. ‘Is this the poor fellow?’ he purred sarcastically. He eyed the imposing gentleman stationed by the mantelpiece, a dark hand braced on pale marble and a faintly bemused expression shaping his beautifully stern features. ‘I must say he don’t look to be on his uppers.’ Mr. Drover subjected Jason to a calculating inspection. ‘I reckon this person could find fifty-three pounds two shillings and five halfpenny in his pocket right now.’ With that he whipped a bill from somewhere inside his coat and begun to stride purposefully forward.

Having finally shaken herself from her daze, Helen said in a quaver, ‘Mr Drover, please wait in the hallway and I will—’ She broke off to skip over the oak boards as Samuel Drover continued his menacing advance towards Jason.

Helen deftly interposed her petite figure between the belligerent grocer and the muscular physique of her new landlord. She stood with her chin elevated and her back to Jason as though she would protect him from assault … or having his pockets picked. With her countenance alternating between shocked pallor and pink mortification, she announced, ‘Mr Drover! Listen to me! This gentleman is most definitely not my brother, I cannot impress on you strongly enough that I resent …’ Helen’s impassioned plea was curtailed as firm hands, gentle as a caress, enclosed her upper arms. Suddenly she was lifted a little way off the ground and then deposited carefully at Jason’s side.

Mr Drover tottered back a step as a broad hand suddenly shot towards him.

‘I don’t think we have been properly introduced. I am Sir Jason Hunter.’

Samuel Drover glared suspiciously at the five elegant digits extended towards him.

Having clapped his eyes on a gentleman with dark hair and a handsome visage, at his ease inside Westlea House, Samuel was impressed enough by the likeness between the couple to have decided this must be the tight-fist to whom Mrs Marlowe was related.

‘How can I be sure you’re not this lady’s brother?’ he queried whilst giving a single pump to Jason’s hand.

‘Should you demand proof, my mother, I think, would attest to my legitimacy, having first planted you a facer.’ It was no empty jest. The Dowager Lady Hunter was renowned for a fiery temperament that remained unabated despite her having recently reached the stately decade of a sexagenarian.

Samuel Drover’s eyes squinted upwards in consideration. Defeated, he muttered, ‘Well, whoever you say you are, I want my cash. And don’t try to pull a fast one and take your custom elsewhere. I’ll tell every other merchant hereabouts to avoid your business. Don’t think I won’t.’

Numb with humiliation Helen could only watch glassily as Jason suddenly took Mr Drover’s shoulder in what looked to be an exceedingly firm grip. Five fingers bit further into brown wool as the man tried to shrug him off.

‘I think you have made your point,’ Jason said.

‘If you’re not Kingston, where is he? Do you know?’ The grocer gave Helen a hard stare. ‘Mrs Marlowe thinks to keep that information from me. I’ll find out his direction and set the duns on him.’

‘I understand your predicament, sir,’ Jason said equably, steering Samuel about with one hand in quite a facile fashion. ‘However, as you can see, Mrs Marlowe’s brother is not here, so you appear to be wasting your time and your threats.’

‘I’ll take back the sack of potatoes, or what’s left of it, that my boy brought here last week.’ Mr Drover aimed that over his shoulder at Helen as Jason propelled him towards the door.

‘I’ll bid you good afternoon, Mrs Marlowe,’ Jason said as he paused for a moment on the threshold. His easy stance seemed in no way affected by the restriction he was imposing on the fidgeting merchant.

Helen fleetingly met his gaze and a flicker of gentleness in his eyes put a peculiar sensation in the pit of her stomach. Don’t pity me! It was a silent, heartfelt demand that threatened to burst the sob swelling in her chest. Quickly she lowered her prickling eyes to her tightly laced fingers. Unaware that Jason had nudged the florid-faced grocer forward into the hallway, she managed an imperceptible nod at an empty doorway. ‘Yes … good day to you, sir….’

‘You look as though you’ve lost a sovereign and found a shilling.’

Jason scowled at his brother as he passed him. By the time Mark Hunter had turned on the sweeping staircase, peered at his brother’s flying heels, then hared after him, Jason had strode the length of a thickly carpeted corridor. He slammed into his study, downed two shots of whisky one after the other and was refilling his glass when Mark appeared.

‘Bad time at the tables?’ Mark’s tone was sympathetic as he speculated on a possible, if unlikely, cause of his brother’s dark disposition. He helped himself to Jason’s decanter and, after a couple of gulps from his glass, realised his commiserations remained unappreciated. He tried a blunter approach. ‘Devil take it, Jay, if you’ve not lost at cards, what’s up with you now? It’s too much, I tell you, having to continually look at your long face. You’ve been odd for weeks.’

Jason let his lean frame drop into the chair positioned behind a grand oak desk. Having settled himself with his boots resting on the table edge, he slanted his brother a stare over the rim of his glass. ‘When did my moods become your damned business? And why is it every time I come home, you’re here? I don’t remember inviting you to move in.’ His brother’s pained expression caused him to blow out his cheeks and gesture apology with a flick of a hand.

‘I know the old goat wants shooting for acting so blasted idiotic,’ Mark intoned with some indignation. ‘But, even if the two women are good friends, it don’t just affect your mistress, y’know. Every bachelor in town is cursing over it, so no need to take it out on me if Diana is being tricky.’

Jason grunted a laugh at his brother’s oblique and garbled reference to a rumour that he’d personally found amusing rather than irritating.

He had heard the talk that his paramour was jealous of her friend Mrs Bertram. That woman had, if gossip was to be believed, secured a promise from Lord Frobisher that he would make an honest woman of her before the year was out, thus making her a lady in name, if not in nature.

Jason carefully placed down his empty glass, feeling a little the worse for alcohol. On the way home he had called in at White’s and loitered, drinking, for an hour or more, hoping that George Kingston might turn up, simply so he could knock down the mean bastard.

‘It’s nothing to do with Diana or any foolish aspirations she might have,’ he told his brother.

‘Relieved to hear it,’ Mark replied with a grin. ‘So what has upset—?’

‘Mark … go away,’ Jason advised with guttural gentility.

Mark noticed a flare of threat in his brother’s eyes and shrugged. He knew from past experience when it was wise to retreat and leave Jason alone to brood. He strolled to the door, whistling.

Jason rested his dark head against the hide chair-back and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. His features were tensely set, but a muscle moving close to his mouth animated his mask-like visage.

His brother’s instinct that a woman was stoking his frustration was quite correct, even if he was ignorant of her identity.

Helen Marlow had unexpectedly come back into his life and he couldn’t chase from his mind the exquisite woman who had emerged from the bonny child he’d known. He wished now that he’d sought to renew their acquaintance sooner. He could have done so, for he’d spied her at a distance on odd occasions. It would have been simple enough to approach her and ask how she fared. But the feud with George had driven a wedge between them years ago when she was still a schoolgirl. Later, when she returned to town as a young widow to live with her father, it seemed too much time had passed and they had slipped back to being virtual strangers.