“We are going to celebrate,” she said Cheerfully, taking off her veil, “and I know that Lord Gordon and dearest Georgeanne will want to hear all the details of this morning’s business. They did not attend, of course, for Cyril feared that to do so would distress Georgie, and very likely he was in the right of it. But you will need to help us explain matters, sir, and you and Andrew both deserve to have a part in the celebration. I shan’t accept regrets.”
Sir Brian, his gaze meeting Jessica’s, assured Lady Susan that it would be his pleasure to dine with them, but Jessica scarcely heard his words, for there was a look in his dark brown eyes that drove everything else from her head. It was a look so filled with warmth that she knew, for that one brief moment, that he loved her quite as passionately as she loved him. However, he turned back to Lady Susan just then, and the moment was gone. When he bade them adieu, laughingly reminding Andrew that they were pledged to meet Lady St. Erth and her daughter in Rotten Row at five o’clock, Jessica began to fear that she had imagined the look altogether. Nevertheless, for the rest of the afternoon her thoughts seemed to tumble about in her head without direction or logical order.
Lady Susan, having dispatched her invitation to Duke Street, caused a late nuncheon to be served to them in the breakfast parlor, but Jessica could not have said later what she ate or even if she had swallowed a morsel. And when Viscount Woodbury and Jeremy called a half-hour later to collect Albert, though outwardly she was cheerful and polite, she could not recall afterward what had been said or whether she had even remembered to bid the two boys a proper farewell.
Once they had gone, however, Lady Susan, eyeing her niece in a speculative way, suggested that Jessica ought to lie down upon her bed for an hour or so. “I can promise you, my dear, that I mean to do so. This business has placed a strain upon all of us, but I vow that you have borne the brunt of it, though you have made small complaint.”
“I am fine, Aunt Susan.”
“Nevertheless, love, it would please me if you would rest.”
When it was put to her like that, Jessica could scarcely refuse, but once in her bedchamber, she had no desire to sleep. Instead she selected a book at random from the shelf near her bed and carried it to the comfortably pillowed window seat. But upon opening it, she discovered her selection to be Walter Scott’s Marmion, and instead of reading, she found her thoughts winging back to the day on the cliff road when Andrew had held up Lord Gordon’s coach—the day she had first set eyes upon Sir Brian. How little she had known of him then.
The memories danced through her mind as she curled up against the soft pillows. First, there had been her own reaction to the man, of course, a startling reaction for one who had known so many gentlemen and respected so few. For despite the fact that he could stir her temper more easily than anyone else had ever done, she had been fascinated by him. And he, too, had been fascinated by her.
Smiling softly, she recalled the incident in the garden at Gordon Hall. She had surprised him that day, and herself as well. But when he had made it clear that he meant to pursue her, Jessica had eluded his efforts, and then in the aftermath of the bogus princess, she had begun to believe that his resentment when she had criticized him for interfering had quite overcome his romantic interest in her. And even though his presence in Lady Susan’s drawing room upon her arrival in London and his subsequent interest in the Africa Institute had provided Jessica with reason to suspect he had not lost interest altogether, she had been certain that his outrage over her dealings with the sweep had put a period to any of the tenderer emotions he might still have harbored.
More recently, since her aunt’s troubles had begun, his behavior had confused Jessica completely. Though she could not doubt that he had been annoyed to discover that she and Lady Susan had chosen to brave the slings and arrows of the beau monde rather than remain discreetly in seclusion after her ladyship’s release from Bow Street, his anger had been subdued and there had been little sign of his customary arrogance. Indeed, there had been moments since then that she had suspected he was deeply concerned about her. And moments, too, when she had surprised the look of tender affection in his eyes.
Then she remembered the warm glance she had intercepted earlier in the day. In her mind’s eye she could see his expression again, clearly, and it occurred to her for the first time that perhaps Sir Brian was unsure of her. He always seemed so confident, so sure of himself, that it had never before crossed her mind that he might be afraid to declare himself. Still, he had shown her more than once that his ego could be fragile. Perhaps he merely feared rebuff.
Straightening suddenly, Jessica laid the book aside and got to her feet, striding to pull the bell cord near the bed. When the wiry Mellin entered the room breathlessly in response to the hearty summons, Jessica ordered a bath and announced that she meant to wash her hair.
“Before dinner, Miss Jessica?” Mellin was shocked. “It’ll never dry, miss. Not by eight o’clock, and that’s when my Lord and Lady Gordon be expected.”
“Well, kindle a fire in here, then,” Jessica ordered briskly. “’Tis cool enough, and at least it won’t smoke. And, Mellin, do you go to my aunt’s woman and ask if I may use some of Aunt Susan’s French soap. Now, hurry!”
17
BY EIGHT O’CLOCK, THOUGH she smelled delightfully of French jasmine, despite all of Mellin’s strenuous brushing before the crackling fire, Jessica’s hair was still a trifle damp when she descended the stairs to the drawing room. Mellin had styled the long, light brown tresses with a central, arrow-straight part leading to a neat, shining coil at the back of Jessica’s head, leaving wispy tendrils to curl about her face, neck and ears. Jessica’s color was high, for she knew she looked very well indeed in the slim-skirted, puff-sleeved gown of clinging lavender silk. A narrow trimming of gold lace banded the high waist and edged the deep décolletage, and dainty golden slippers peeped out from beneath the scalloped hemline as she walked. She wore long gold net gloves on her slender arms and carried an elegant pink-and-gilt Oriental fan. Besides the gold bobs in her ears, her only jewelry was a simple amethyst pendant on a delicate gold chain.
As she paused upon the drawing-room threshold, her eyes darted swiftly over the room’s occupants, and she felt a surge of disappointment. Though her aunt and Lord and Lady Gordon were there, as was General Potterby, whom she had not expected to see, the person she sought was absent.
“Is it your intention to bar the door to latecomers, my girl?”
The words, softly spoken behind her, nearly caused Jessica to jump out of her skin. She whirled, eyes flashing, to face Sir Brian.
“Have you no manners, sir? To steal up on a person in such a way is enough to cause one to suffer heart failure!”
“Or a miscarriage?” he suggested quizzically. His eyes danced. “You may rest assured that I shall not creep up behind Lady Gordon in such a way. Not that I did creep, mind you, but your thoughts were clearly otherwhere, my dear.”
Flushing delicately, Jessica favored him with a speaking look, which he returned with a slight lifting of one eyebrow. Much as she had wanted to demand a private word with him, she found now that her courage failed her, and she was grateful to hear her aunt’s voice demanding to know whether she meant to keep Sir Brian cooling his heels in the gallery all the evening.
“Thank you, my lady,” Sir Brian said, laughing as he stepped past the silent Jessica. “I had begun to fear that, like the porter at Almack’s, Miss Jessica meant to refuse entrance to those arriving after the prescribed hour. I beg your pardon for my tardiness.”
“And for misplacing your nephew, as well, sir?” Her ladyship regarded him archly. “I seem to recall having issued an invitation to you both.”
“Alas, ma’am, he has cried off, having accepted another invitation instead. I promise you, I combed his hair for his poor manners, but he assured me that you would never miss him.”
“Well, it is of little consequence,” Lady Susan replied with a dry chuckle, “for the g
eneral stopped in late this afternoon and has consented to take potluck with us, so my numbers will not be upset. I collect that Andrew’s second invitation came from Lady St. Erth. Are we to expect an announcement from that quarter in the near future?”
“Good God, I devoutly hope not!” Sir Brian’s dismay was nearly comical, and Jessica, rapidly recovering her equanimity, exchanged an amused look with her aunt. “Miss St. Erth,” said Sir Brian, “is scarcely out of the schoolroom, and Andrew returns to Oxford in August.” He paused reflectively. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they should make a match of it one day, but neither St. Erth nor I would countenance such a thing now.”
Lady Susan shot another twinkling glance at Jessica, then turned away to speak to the general, and Jessica looked up to find Sir Brian regarding her with a smile in his eyes. As his gaze rested appreciatively upon her, she felt the disconcerting warmth creeping into her cheeks again, but she did not look away. He recollected himself, and nodded toward Lady Susan and the general.
“That looks promising,” he said.
Taking a quick breath to steady herself, Jessica gave a little laugh. “So the general would have us believe,” she said, “but I suspect that Aunt Susan merely wishes him to exert his influence to begin a campaign for prison reform. She was appalled by the conditions at Bow Street, you know, and she means for us to do something to see them improved.”
“Good God,” Sir Brian muttered under his breath.
“Just so, sir. I scarcely dare to imagine what scrape she will next fall into.”
“Jessica, you cannot…that is, I must…” He broke off, looking harassed, and when Bates entered the room just then to announce that dinner was served, Sir Brian’s expression changed to one of mingled frustration and relief.
For a moment Jessica had feared that she had somehow said something to vex him, and she wondered what he had been about to say. But the company was too small for formality, and the conversation at the table became general at once, as they discussed the events of that morning. Thus, there was no immediate opportunity for a private word with him. Afterward, however, Lady Susan informed the gentlemen that since they were dining en famille, they might have their port served in the drawing room if they liked. This invitation being promptly accepted, the company withdrew to the first floor again.
Jessica could wait no longer. As the gentlemen followed the ladies into the drawing room, she took the first opportunity to catch Sir Brian’s attention by the simple expedient of laying her fan upon his sleeve and speaking in a low tone.
“Sir, I must have private speech with you. Will you walk with me in the garden?”
Both eyebrows lifted. “Is the square garden not rather a public place for private speech at this hour, my dear? Surely, even to walk round to the gate would cause comment if we were observed.”
“I was referring to my aunt’s garden,” she said, looking down at her hands and thus missing the twinkle that leapt to his eyes. “Please, sir. ’Tis important.”
“Very well,” he replied, “for I confess, I would also like to have a word with you, but I’ve not the slightest doubt that we shall both be called to account by your aunt for our actions. Come along, then.”
He held open the door for her, and glancing back, Jessica saw that her aunt’s eye was certainly upon them. But there was affectionate amusement in Lady Susan’s expression, and she made no attempt to call them back.
They went downstairs, through the front hall, and along a narrow corridor to the door leading outside to the rear garden. Upon emerging from the house and descending the few shallow steps to the pathway, they discovered a crescent moon and a myriad of twinkling stars overhead that cast an eerie silvery light over the shadowy shrubs and trees. The garden was small but laid out in a formal pattern of gravel paths that wound about through the shrubbery. They had walked for some moments in silence, their feet crunching on the gravel, before Sir Brian said softly that no doubt she would begin, in her own good time, to tell him what was on her mind.
Jessica bit her lip, looking down at the silvery path, quite unable to think what she ought to say first. Suddenly his hand was on her shoulder, and firmly he guided her to a stone bench. Removing his jacket, he placed it on the bench for her to sit upon.
“Oh, sir, I couldn’t,” she protested, looking quickly up at him. “I would ruin your coat.”
“I shan’t regard it,” he assured her, pressing her to sit. “Or do you fear I cannot afford another?”
“No, of course not.” She fell silent again when he sat down beside her. His nearness made it almost impossible for her to think straight.
“What is it that is so important, Jessica?” He spoke quietly, and there was little inflection in his voice. She wished she knew what he was thinking.
“I…I wanted to thank you for all you have done to help us, sir,” she began, speaking with difficulty. Her mouth was dry. “And…and also to apologize for anything I might have done which has vexed you.”
“Your gratitude is misplaced, my dear, and I am not at all vexed with you.”
“Well, I thought perhaps you were before supper, and…well, there have been other times, of course. I know you think I am headstrong, sir, and…and willful, but truly I am neither. I merely have little patience with people who do not meet difficulties straight on.”
“A gentleman must always hesitate to contradict a lady,” he replied gently, “but I do not think you headstrong. Merely a trifle impulsive at times.”
She turned her gaze searchingly upon him, and though the moon cast but dim light, she could see enough to tell her that he was in earnest.
“Yet you resented it when I criticized you for unmasking the princess,” she pointed out. When he did not deny it, she pressed on. “And you were furious when I confronted that sweep without first consulting you.” Sir Brian still said nothing. “Then, too, it must have annoyed you when I was constantly—and I fear, falsely—accusing you of exploiting people in your mines and on your plantations, did it not?”
In answer, Sir Brian put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “I believe my temper must be quite as fiery as your own, my dear, for I cannot deny that you have frequently given me occasion to lose it, but you have never given me cause for more than momentary vexation. If I resented your criticism about the devilish princess business, it was only because I recognized truth in the things you said. And if I lost my temper when you ventured into Cheapside, it was truly out of concern for your safety, although you had cause to disbelieve that. As to the mines and plantations, I can only say that, while I do my poor best to make things as bearable as possible for my people, I know of no acceptable way to make things truly right in your eyes. I do not own vast plantations, only one fairly large one; however, I cannot deny owning slaves. I would offer to sell the lot, but I cannot feel that that would be to their advantage, you know, for there is no telling how their new masters would treat them. And I do not feel that I can merely set them free when there is no good place for them to go, and when they are not trained to care for themselves.”
“I was wrong about your mines,” Jessica said quietly.
“Not entirely. There are certainly dangers, and I do hire both women and children—though not the very young ones—but no one is overworked or mistreated, my dear, and the mines provide quite a good living for my people.”
“Still, I was wrong about a number of things.”
“Yes.”
He was silent, and Jessica felt a niggling exasperation. She had certainly given him every opportunity, if he still wished it, to declare himself. She had not even argued with him over his plantation or his mines. Indeed, she found his explanations completely acceptable. Even with regard to the problem of his slaves, she knew now that they could work together to do whatever was right. Still, he said nothing. She peeped up at him again through her thick lashes.
“Were you wrong, too, sir, when you said you believed I was the exact sort of woman you had searched for all your
life?”
His arm tightened around her shoulders, sending little arrows of fire shooting through her veins. “No, Jessica,” he said softly, “I was not wrong. I think I fell in love with you that first day at Shaldon Park when you demanded poor Andrew’s head on a platter. I knew I was in love the day you planted me in Gordon’s rose garden.”
“Then why have you never asked me to marry you?” she demanded, straightening indignantly.
“I am not such a fool, sweetheart,” he retorted, but in a gentle tone. “You were so damned elusive at first that I feared my suit would never prosper. Later, you showed yourself to be so jealous of your independence that I was certain you would reject me out of sheer contrariness. Then, too, there was a time when I did believe you to be a younger version of your aunt, with your mind too set upon curing the evils of the world to consider marriage. And later, what with the trial looming over us, I could scarcely make a push to convince you to marry me. For one thing, I was afraid you might accept simply because you were vulnerable and needed someone to support your spirits, and second…” He hesitated, shooting her a rueful look. “Second, I was worried lest the trial go wrong. If anything happened to Lady Susan, I was afraid you might hold me responsible, say I had mismanaged her affairs just as I’d mishandled the business of Andrew and his princess.”
“Oh, Brian, I do not think I would have said such a thing,” she protested.
“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “Nonetheless, when I discussed the matter with Lady Susan, she agreed that any declaration on my part could prove hazardous to our future happiness if I did not first assure myself of victory. She recommended that, with that end in view, I ought to treat you casually. I confess, though I thought it excellent advice at the time, there have been moments when it has been well nigh impossible advice to follow.”
The Battling Bluestocking Page 24