The Other Miss Derwent

by Patricia M. Ashley

  When they had met at Derwent Place she had felt something pass between them, she was sure. Why had he changed towards her? And why was he so fixed in his idea that she wished to marry Robin Carstares, not because she loved him, but for gain; or worse, that she was keeping him in reserve while she searched for a wealthier husband!

  She wondered what in her behaviour had given him such a low opinion of her character, and sighed dismally. It must have begun when he rescued her on the road to London — she remembered that he had said much the same things to her then, but she had thought him just angry with her for being so foolhardy.

  She sighed again, and, wishing Louisa joy of him, resolved to flirt all she could with Robin when he brought his Mama up to Town. Thus having finally and irrevocably washed her hands of his Lordship she cried herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

  That day brought several callers to Lady Dunford’s elegant, porticoed mansion, amongst them Mrs Carstares and her son, the former wreathed in smiles and apparently overjoyed to see her dearest Anastasia again, and to renew her acquaintance with Lady Dunford.

  Robin found Anastasia and Georgiana the centre of an admiring circle in which ardent young men seemed to predominate.

  The sight of his familiar face made Anastasia smile and invite him to sit beside her. She introduced him to her cousin.

  “Why Robin, you have wasted no time in bringing your Mama up to Town!”

  “We arrived yesterday,” he said, adding in low tones for her ear only: “You know why I have come, Anastasia!”

  This was her opportunity to make good her resolve to flirt with him in the face of Lord Silverfield’s opinion; but one look at his undeniably handsome face, made slightly silly by the besotted expression it wore, withered her resolution at the start.

  He was a lamb to the slaughter, her childhood friend, and she simply could not raise hopes that she had neither the inclination or resolve to fulfill.

  He looked at her expectantly.

  “Well, I am sure I am very glad to see you,” she said in kindly, matter-of-fact tones. “Do you and your Mama mean to go about?”

  “Oh yes! She means to take up all her old friends again. It is very strange, for I have heard her say time and again that she hated London and was never happier than in the country!”

  She bit back a laugh. If he could not see that his Mama’s intention was to let him run after her until his calf-love waned, she would not be the one to enlighten him! And with no encouragement, she thought he would very soon tire of imagining himself in love with her.

  “I daresay she just felt like a change, Robin! People do.”

  “Perhaps. Oh Lord, there’s Morley! He hasn’t given up, then?”

  “No indeed! I think he means to woo me in form, and overcome me at length by sheer charm and perseverance!”

  Sir Montagu came up, and Robin eyed him in acute dislike. Anastasia greeted him with cold politeness, and an awkward little three-sided conversation took place as the circle of young visitors about them took their leave and departed.

  Georgiana removed from her chair and came to sit on the sofa beside her cousin, Robin taking a chair nearby.

  Anastasia hastened to break a silence that had already lasted too long: “We go to the soirée at Mrs Smythe’s this evening, do we not, Georgiana?”

  “Yes, though I don’t think it will be very amusing. I think an evening is wasted when there is no dancing! But Madame Catalani has been persuaded to sing, and everybody will be there.”

  She smiled innocently up at Sir Montagu. “Will you be there. Sir Montagu?”

  “Certainly, and I will look forward to seeing you and your charming cousin there!” he replied.

  Anastasia had nothing to say to this, and he shortly afterwards moved away to take his leave of Lady Dunford who was sitting deep in conversation with Mrs Carstares.

  “Horrible man!” said Georgiana, surprising her cousin, who had begun to be afraid that she was rather taken with him. “I used to think him both handsome and charming, but now I have seen more of him I see just what you mean, Anastasia! His manner is so excessively oily, and his eyes have a way of looking at one that is most disquieting in an unpleasant way.”

  Robin scowled at the Baronet’s retreating back. “I can’t think why your brother should try to marry you to him in the first place. Ana!”

  “Oh, for money, I suppose!” she said blithely. “It usually is money with James. They must have come to some agreement, I think.”

  “Anastasia!” he said in shocked tones. “You should not say such things!”

  “Oh Robin, you are so easily shocked now-a-days! Georgy, he was not always as mealy-mouthed as this!”

  Georgy smiled at the discomfited young man. “Indeed, I think that he shows a very pretty concern for your welfare,” she said kindly.

  “Oh, there is Captain Bladen!” exclaimed Anastasia, diverted. “I must speak with him and find out when and where he became acquainted with Louisa!”

  She darted away, leaving a small silence behind her. It was broken by Georgiana: “Anastasia is so pretty and lively! She tells me that you have been friends all your lives.”

  He turned to her eagerly. “Yes indeed, and she was always a little. . . well, reckless!” He grinned with boyish ruefulness. “Perhaps she is right, and I have become stuffy..... but it is just that I don’t want to see her ruin herself for want of a little discretion.”

  “Oh, I don’t think she will do that, for she has Mama and me to keep an eye on her now, you know.”

  “That is a comfort indeed! I am sure she cannot but profit from the association.”

  She looked demurely down. “I will not let her do anything that I would not do myself!” she promised.

  Since her past pranks had startled her Mama and outraged a succession of governesses, this, had he known her rather better, was not an assurance that would have brought much comfort to his heart.

  Since he did not, he thanked her fervently, and they fell to comfortably discussing those places he might visit on this, his first prolonged stay in London.

  They were to meet again that evening at the soirée, since Mrs Carstares had wasted no time in visiting those of her old friends who were likely to put her quickly back in the swim of things.

  The soirée was too much of a novelty to Anastasia to be likely to bore her, and she much looked forward to hearing Madame Catalani sing; but the evening seemed likely to be blighted by the persistent attentions of Sir Montagu, whose interest in music and discussion could hardly have been less, but whose interest in Anastasia burned ever more brightly.

  Since, whenever he approached her, Robin would also hurry jealously to her side, she began to look harried, and to wish that she had not come.

  Her coldness to Sir Montagu did not seem to deter him in the least, and since she was also trying to treat Robin with a cold friendship which was rapidly turning into exasperation, he began to look aggrieved as well as love-sick.

  She felt that the final touch of doom to a disastrous evening was given when Lord Silverfield loomed up, glass in hand, just as she had snappishly assured Robin that she was not thirsty in the least.

  He greeted them all with a sardonic lift of his black brows. “I thought you looked rather heated. Miss Derwent, so I have brought you some lemonade.”

  He handed her the glass, and automatically her hand came out to receive it.

  Robin made an exasperated noise and positively flounced away without another word. Sir Montagu remained, smiling imperturbably, one hand resting proprietorially on the back of Anastasia’s sofa.

  “Ah – well met, Morley!” said Lord Silverfield. “I trust your friend found you? Such strange friends you have, that I felt no hesitation in giving him your address even though he was not — how shall I put it? — not quite the pink of gentility!”

  “I do not follow you, my Lord. What friend is this?”

  “Did he not find you? He was a country fellow, a young, strongly-built la
d. Now what was his name. . . . . Tom, that’s it. Tom something or other.”

  “I am afraid you are mistaken: I have no acquaintances of that description.”

  “No? He seemed very sure that he knew you. He was searching for someone else – a mutual friend called Kitty — and thought that you might be able to help.”

  Sir Montagu stiffened perceptibly, and Anastasia looked in puzzled inquiry from one face to the other.

  Sir Montagu, rigid with wrath, wordlessly conceded the field. Who this Tom was, he knew not, but Lord Silverfield evidently knew about Kitty and was quite capable of cooking his goose with Anastasia by divulging the facts if the whim took him.

  “Excuse me, Miss Derwent, I see Mrs Blount beckoning me,” he said, and moved away with more speed than style.

  “Dear me! Was it something I said?” said his Lordship blandly, sitting cautiously down beside her on the tiny gilded sofa. It creaked ominously but did not seem about to give way.

  “Who are this Tom and ..... did you say Kitty?”

  “As to who they are, I’m afraid I can’t tell you. A young country fellow accosted me in the street yesterday when I had just exchanged brief — very brief I assure you! — nods with Sir Montagu in passing, and enquired of me his address. I asked him if he had business with him, and he said that he had, and ‘would know the whereabouts of Kitty if he died in the attempt!’ Very intriguing.”

  “How very strange! I wonder who this Kitty can be?”

  “Better not to ask, perhaps!” he said outrageously.

  She blushed hotly. “Sir!..... But do you really suppose...? But then, perhaps it is just that he has bought a horse, or some such thing from him, and the man wants paying for it.”

  “Perhaps. But never mind that. Are you glad that I sent Morley off? I am afraid that you disposed of your other admirer yourself – you should cure yourself of snapping at him if you want to keep him, for he looked decidedly miffed when he walked away! Shall I go away myself, and hope that he will return?”

  “No, for then Sir Montagu might also return, and you, Sir, are the least of two evils!”

  “Little cat!” he said amicably.

  “Louisa is here tonight, you know. Do you not wish rather to go and pay your attentions to her?” She smiled innocently at him.

  An expression of profound gloom crossed his face. “I have already seen her tonight, thank you! But tell me, who is the military-looking man hanging about her? Sandy hair and a determined expression.”

  She had no difficulty in recognising the description. “Oh, that is Captain Bladen. Is he not charming? He was in love with Louisa when she first came out, but he had just his army pay, you know, and my brother did not think it a good enough match.”

  He looked broodingly into space.

  “You had best be careful!” she continued teasingly, “Or you will be quite cut out. You cannot afford to lose her!”

  “You believe in giving as good as you get, don’t you, Miss Derwent? But I don’t think your Captain will be good enough for her even now, in the face of marrying a Lord.”

  “Not to James, perhaps,” she conceded. “Though Captain Bladen has come into a very tidy property since, I have heard. But Louisa...... Louisa is not seventeen any more, and will, I think, make her own mind up. So you had best beware!”

  “Thank you for the warning! I am obliged to you!” he said sardonically. “But now I am afraid I must forsake your delightful company, for it would look too particular if I were to remain by your side much longer, and people might say that you were trying to cut your niece out!”

  She raised her brows. “I hope they would credit me with more sense! Your prospective fortune might sweeten you in Louisa’s eyes, but you have only an empty title to tempt me with!”

  This parting shot she immediately regretted, but it was out, and looking frankly murderous he moved away before she could say anything more.

  She watched his tall figure until it vanished into the next room, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. Then she got up and went to join the circle round her Aunt, noticing in passing that Robin seemed to be entertaining Georgiana very well, and that Sir Montagu was nowhere in sight.

  She thanked heaven for that small mercy, at least.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the weeks following, Anastasia was absorbed into the busy round of shopping, visiting, balls, routs and assemblies that formed her fashionable Aunt’s normal mode of life. Each day brought a fresh sheaf of printed invitation cards, for events as diverse as a grand ball at Melbourne House and a select party to watch a balloon ascent at Richmond Park.

  Her youth and high spirits made her optimistic about the pleasure to be gained from each new entertainment, and the forming of a circle of admirers about her whenever she appeared could not but gratify her, even though Lord Silverfield assured her that they were drawn entirely by curiosity at the fact of her being his latest flirt.

  They were dancing at Almack’s when he made this remark.

  “Appearing to be your flirt!” she amended. “For you do not flirt with me in the slightest, but rather set out to make me lose my temper with your very slighting remarks! Indeed,” she added, a touch of challenge in her voice, “I don’t know why you wish to be in my company at all!”

  To this he made no answer except to smile his most infuriatingly inscrutable smile.

  In truth, he did not know himself why he was so constantly drawn to her side, or why, once there, the devil of jealousy should draw him to be so abominably rude to her.

  His friends looked askance at this unprecedented forsaking of his usual pursuits for the company of a girl who was neither a great heiress, nor the sort of woman he usually set up as a flirt.

  “I told you so,” commented Arthur Cole one day to Nat Wesley, with gloomy satisfaction. “He’s in love with her!”

  His friend shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t say you may not be right. But damme it, Arthur, she’s the wrong Miss Derwent, ain’t she? It’s the other one that comes with the money-bags!”

  “Well, that Bladen fellow seems to be front-favourite there, so George had better watch out or he will be cut out entirely!”

  Lady Dunford had also, with increasing frequency, begun to represent to her niece the folly of losing her heart to a penniless young man who must, of necessity, marry Louisa or fall into penury – and who in any case was well-known for a rank flirt, and who was just amusing himself and setting the town in a bustle, by this pursuit other.

  Anastasia listened and agreed, and pretended complete indifference to him; only to Georgiana did she finally confess the true state of her heart.

  “I guessed ages ago!” said Georgy.

  “Guessed!” She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. “Oh, can I have been so obvious?”

  “No, no!” soothed Georgy hastily. “It is just that something you once said made me wonder. . . . though it is not as if you were pleasant to one another when you meet! But I think what really gives you away is the way in which you look swiftly round the room when you arrive anywhere, to see if he is there – and if he is, the way that you do not look in his direction again!”

  “Oh Georgy!” she exclaimed, throwing herself down on the day-bed, “I am so very miserable! Sir Montagu is still hounding me, no matter how disagreeable I am to him, and if it were not for your kindness in engaging Robin’s attention sometimes, I think I could scream!”

  “It is not really kindness, for I like him.” She shot a considering look at her cousin from under her eyelashes, and fiddled with the jars and pots on her dressing-table.

  “Anastasia, do you really not want to marry Robin? He is so very handsome and – and agreeable!”

  Ana wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. “I know, and it seems very strange to me..... but — well, he is just Robin who I saw fall off his pony, and out of trees, and into the lake! I just cannot think of him romantically at all!”

  “He would make an infinitely preferable husband to Sir Montagu!”
<
br />   “Undoubtedly, but not for me. I do not think I will ever marry,” said Anastasia tragically. “James will send me home at the end of the season, and I will dwindle into an old maid.”

  “You have several other admirers,” pointed out Georgy comfortingly. “Why, Mr Mountjoy, for instance, is very particular in his attentions!”

  “He is as bandy as an ostler!” she replied crudely. “Anyway, I have resigned myself to staying a spinster, so that is that!”

  “And what of Lord Silverfield? I can’t see that he pays the slightest attention to Louisa, beyond a word and a bow in passing, and it is plain to everyone with eyes in their head that she and Captain Bladen are in love!”

  “Yes, poor Louisa! James does not like it, that is plain, with the prospect of her becoming my Lady Silverfield. If it were not for that awful will I daresay he would be quite pleased.”

  “Lord Silverfield had better make his move, then, if he does intend to marry her and comply with the will. But myself, I do not think he has any intention of doing so!”

  “But he will be quite penniless if he does not!”

  Georgy shrugged. “Perhaps he will enlist, then, or go and vegetate on his country estate. But Ana, I am sure he cares for you!”

  “Cares for me? Why, I think he hates me, and only delights in taunting me. His opinion of me is that I am very willing to marry anyone for advantage, and to be keeping Robin in thrall to fall back on if all else fails! That is what he thinks of me!”

  “Jealousy!” pronounced Georgy sagely. “When he comes into a room he looks about him just as you do, and then he makes his way to your side as quickly as he can without calling too much attention to himself!”

  Anastasia was unconvinced. “I think he just enjoys making me lose my temper, for he never says anything that could lead me to believe that he cares for me! And even if he were in love with me, which he is not, nor ever likely to be, he still could not marry me for he would then be penniless!”

  “Not penniless, surely, or how could he live now as he does?”

  “I do not know, but I must suppose on his expectations, for he has told me that his estates are grossly encumbered!”