Dorothy Elbury - An Unconventional Miss

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.