Nevertheless, Wyvern was loath to avail himself of his friend’s generous offer. Having seen other close friendships founder under similar well-meant circumstances and knowing that, as things stood at present, he had absolutely no hope of ever being able to repay such a loan, he could not bring himself to opt for a course that, in the end, could well jeopardise his long-term friendship with his ex-comrade-in-arms.
All of which led him to the only available alternative, highly distasteful though it might be! In the absence of any other salvation and since it was clear that the situation was beginning to grow somewhat desperate, it would seem that coupling his name with one or other of the heiresses on Lady Lavinia’s list looked to be the only option left to him!
In spite of his long absence from town, he was sufficiently versed in the ways of its inhabitants to know that any received impression that a gentleman might soon be about to benefit from a sudden increase in his fortune, either through inheritance or by marriage, was enough to hold his creditors at bay. Indeed, given that a debtor’s future prospects were deemed to be more or less cut and dried and of sufficiently generous proportions, a great many of those creditors were often inclined to press their client into borrowing even more money from them.
Several days had passed since the visit to the opera, during which time he had not only paid two morning visits to Felicity, but had also accompanied her to a musical evening given by one of her mother’s acquaintances. Having cast his eyes over the few remaining names on his grandmother’s list, he had been obliged to conclude that, despite her obvious drawbacks, it was clear that Sir Jonathan Draycott’s daughter was the best of a very dismal bunch!
He had seldom allowed thoughts of marriage to intrude on his carefree bachelor life, particularly after Theo and Sophie had secured the Ashcroft lineage by obligingly producing a son. But he was finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that he, who, scarcely six months previously, might have had the pick of the Season’s tastiest offerings, now appeared to be considerably restricted as to choice!
As he cast his mind back over his not-unimpressive string of past conquests, he could not help but heave a deep sigh of regret. He then had to take himself severely to task, reminding himself that marrying for love, amongst persons of his rank and status, was hardly an option. Marriage, as far as members of the aristocracy were concerned, was simply a convenient method of increasing land assets whilst, at the same time, preserving the quality of long-established pedigrees. In this sense, Felicity Draycott, despite her lack of any discernible charisma, was perfectly acceptable and, in the general way, all that a countess needed to be. Added to which, since the lady—according to his grandmother—seemed to hold him in a certain amount of esteem and, it appeared, had turned down more than one prospective suitor during his prolonged absence, it was not unreasonable to assume that she would be willing to accept his proposal—if he could just bring himself to make the offer!
Nonetheless, the thought of having to spend the rest of his days—not to mention the nights, as he reminded himself with a wry grimace!—in such uninspiring company filled him with despair. The idea of finding himself part of that sad little company of disillusioned husbands who, with increasing regularity, chose to spend most of their lives in one club or another, or in the clandestine company of a series of other females, was too sickening to contemplate.
On returning to his desk, his attention was caught by a glint from the green glass paperweight in front of him. All at once, the recurring memory of a pair of sparkling green eyes invaded his thoughts. Now there was a girl who had no difficulty in expressing an opinion, he reflected, as his lips curved in a whimsical smile. Had he been a gambling man, he would have been prepared to lay odds that Jessica Beresford was the sort who would always give as good as she got! He suspected that life with that little spitfire would be anything but boring!
Sadly, however, any further contemplation of Miss Beresford’s attributes was forestalled by a light tap on the door and the butler’s subsequent entry, it having transpired that the late earl’s manservant had just arrived in the house and was requesting an immediate audience with his new master.
‘Cranwell?’ frowned Wyvern, returning abruptly to his senses. ‘Show him in at once, Jesmond! Whatever it is must be pretty important to have brought him all this way!’
As well as having served as valet to both Wyvern’s father and brother, Cranwell was also the unfortunate servant who, having carried out the late earl’s order to deliver that very puzzling letter into the hands of the solicitor, had returned to Ashcroft Grange to discover his young master’s dead body slumped across the library desk. However, due to the man’s unswerving loyalty to the family over the years—not to mention his advancing years—Wyvern had not yet had the heart to tell the elderly valet that his services were no longer needed. Instead, he had left Cranwell with instructions to put whatever remained of the late Lord Wyvern’s personal effects into some sort of order. This being so, and given that it was barely three days since he himself had returned from Ashcroft, he was at a loss to understand what possible difficulty Cranwell could have encountered that had necessitated him undertaking such a wearisome journey to the capital.
Resuming his seat at the desk, he waited for Jesmond to return with the unexpected visitor. Then, casting an intent look at the elderly manservant, he enquired, kindly, ‘Well, now, Cranwell! What great emergency has brought you all this way—even you cannot possibly have finished sorting out his late lordship’s gear in such a short time, surely?’
A brief smile crossed the man’s face and he shook his head. He had been with the family long enough to recognise when he was being roasted.
‘I’m afraid not, your lordship,’ he replied, in his usual staid accents. ‘I still have plenty to occupy me in that respect. I am here on a rather more pressing matter—Mr Brigham was of the opinion that it needed to be brought to your notice immediately.’
His attention caught, Wyvern leaned forward. ‘Well, out with it, man! What is so pressing that a letter would not have served?’
‘We—ah…um—That is, Mr Brigham and Mr Kirmington and myself, sir—We felt that it would be more advisable to inform you directly, sir. The fact is, your lordship,’ he burst out hurriedly, having perceived the growing impatience on Wyvern’s face, ‘we have reason to believe that the Grange has been broken into!’
‘Broken into!’ returned Wyvern, astounded. ‘Burgled, do you mean?’
‘Well, no, sir, not exactly,’ came the man’s hesitant reply. ‘Things have been moved around—drawers tipped up and so on, but, as far as we can ascertain, nothing has been removed.’ He paused, then added, almost apologetically, ‘As you are aware, my lord, there is very little of value left to be taken and that, sir, is the reason I am here. We do believe, sir—ah…um—Mr Kirm—’
‘Yes, yes, I know!’ cut in Wyvern sharply. ‘You and Brigham and the butler—for pity’s sake, man—what the devil is it that you all believe?’
‘We are all of the opinion that he—They—Whoever—Must have been searching for something, my lord. And, my lord, I would venture a guess that it must be something rather important. As far as we are able to establish, there seem to have been three separate attempts so far, in spite of all our efforts to secure the property!’
Wyvern was mystified. ‘But all the doors and windows are kept locked at night, surely?’
‘Of course, sir,’ affirmed Cranwell. ‘However, we now believe that entry must have been made by way of the pantry window, which, as you may recall, sir, is less than a foot square and has no lock. It was not until Cook complained to Mr Kirmington this very morning that a butter crock had been knocked off the windowsill and several items of food had gone missing, that Mr Kirmington, upon investigation, noticed that the window latch had been forced, leading us to the conclusion that this had been the means of entry.’
Pausing briefly in order to determine whether the frowning earl was still following his argument, he then v
entured, ‘Mr Brigham has subsequently repaired the damage to the window, your lordship, and has taken the precaution of fitting a padlock to the latch.’
Wyvern pursed his lips. ‘And you say that these—break-ins, as you call them—have occurred on three separate occasions?’
Cranwell inclined his head. ‘On each night since your departure, sir. On Monday, the library was ransacked—books pulled from the shelves and thrown about the place. On Tuesday, every single drawer and cupboard was emptied and the contents rummaged through and, last night, those few pictures that we still have left were lifted from the walls and their backings removed! Mr Brigham was of the opinion that, even though he is certain that he has foiled any further attempts to gain access, the matter should be brought to your attention without delay.’ Shooting a questioning glance at his master, he added, ‘Clearly someone in search of something, as I am sure your lordship would agree?’
‘So it would seem,’ acknowledged Wyvern, his brow puckering. Having spent the best part of his three-day sojourn at the Grange collecting every available scrap of paperwork he could lay his hands on, he was reasonably confident that nothing of moment could have been left behind. ‘However, what does rather puzzle me is how all of this somewhat destructive activity could have occurred without any of you servants being aware of it!’
‘Begging your lordship’s pardon, sir,’ returned Cranwell, nervously shifting his stance, ‘but, in view of the fact that the house staff has been reduced to a mere half-dozen or so—not to mention the fact that male and female staff are housed in separate attic wings…’ He flushed uncomfortably and his voice petered out.
‘Point taken, Cranwell,’ replied Wyvern heavily, as he called to mind the complicated warren of rooms, stairways and corridors that comprised the Grange, which was situated at the foot of a shallow escarpment, on the ridge of which could still be seen the ruins of what had once been the Cistercian monastery of Wyvern Abbey. Following his Act of Dissolution, Henry VIII had gifted the abbey, along with its considerable acreage of land, to Sir Cedric Ashcroft, in reward for his support during the previous year’s rebellions. Sir Cedric, created First Earl of Wyvern, had plundered the buff-coloured limestone from the decaying monastery to make extensive alterations to what had been, originally, the Abbey’s farmhouse. The present dwelling, due to successive earls having continued to alter, reshape and impose their own ideas on the original property, was now an impressive house, some four storeys high, winged on either side of its magnificent frontage by two lofty extensions.
Unfortunately, the building had grown into a structure of such rambling proportions that Wyvern was bound to concede that the idea of anyone situated in one of its attic rooms being able to hear intruders in another part of the house was, to say the least, somewhat unreasonable.
Rising to his feet, he tugged at the bell cord. ‘You travelled up by the mail, I take it?’ he asked the manservant.
Cranwell shook his head. ‘No, my lord,’ he replied. ‘In view of the urgency of the situation, I took the liberty of hiring a chaise.’
‘Very wise of you, Cranwell,’ returned Wyvern. Then, allowing himself a slight smile, he added, encouragingly, ‘It was perfectly correct of you to bring this matter to my attention. Jesmond will see that you are given some refreshments and, as soon as you are sufficiently rested, I shall accompany you back to the Grange. We must see if we cannot put a stop to all this nonsense!’
After he had delivered the weary but now considerably relieved Cranwell into the butler’s competent hands, the frowning Wyvern returned to his seat at the desk.
Yet another problem to add to an already quite formidable list, he thought grimly, as he endeavoured to apply his mind to the question of who could have broken into Ashcroft Grange and, rather more to the point, for what could these intruders have been searching?
Chapter Six
Although Jessica made every effort to banish the dilemma of Wyvern’s indifference from her thoughts, the highly provoking subject continued to plague her.
She found it hard to believe that the man could be so high in the instep as to regard her family as beneath his touch. Thanks to Imogen’s godmother, Lady Sydenham, having successfully paved the way for them, the Beresford family had been extremely well received by the beau monde. Imogen and Matt were well liked, and Jessica herself, as she could hardly have remained unaware, was extremely popular, not only with most of the young men about town, but also with quite a few of their female counterparts.
Back home in Kirton Priors, she had always reigned supreme in the popularity stakes. Here in the capital of the fashionable world, however, it had not taken her very long to discover that holding such an undisputed position in one’s own small neighbourhood was, in reality, of rather small consequence when one found oneself surrounded by a not inconsiderable number of other very attractive young ladies. Consequently, she had taken Imogen’s advice and had gone out of her way to make friends with many of her fellow debutantes—with the possible exception of the somewhat stuffy coterie to which Miss Felicity Draycott belonged!
All of which made Wyvern’s complete lack of interest in seeking any sort of introduction very difficult for her to comprehend. Eventually, however, after having forced herself to review their first encounter, she was obliged to admit that her own conduct towards the helpful stranger had not been all that it might have been, in the circumstances. Moreover, the longer she thought about it, despite all arguments to the contrary, it became increasingly obvious to her that the reason she had behaved so badly at the time was that Wyvern had managed to discompose her in a way that few men of her acquaintance had ever succeeded in doing.
Throughout the whole of that miserable journey back to town, she could have sworn that she had felt his eyes burning into the back of her head. Added to which, that high-handed, matter-of-fact tone of voice he had insisted on employing had merely served to increase her annoyance and, at the same time, helped foster her conviction that he was, in reality, enjoying some sort of private joke at her expense! Not forgetting the fact that he had virtually accused her of being responsible for the entire fiasco! It was small wonder that she had allowed herself to become slightly riled, she thought resentfully.
But then, when she recalled the childish way in which she had flounced off into the house that evening, her cheeks grew quite hot and she found herself admitting that, in the light of that shocking display of bad manners, Wyvern’s subsequent indifference was hardly surprising.
Nevertheless, she was at a loss to understand why his lordship’s lack of interest should have put her into such a state of restlessness for, no matter how much she tried to avoid thinking about it, the vexing subject would persist in returning to disturb her peace. She had already lost a good many hours’ sleep pondering over the problem, causing Imogen to remark about the dark shadows under her eyes.
‘You are beginning to look quite peaky,’ her cousin commented, anxiously studying Jessica’s wan expression. ‘Too many late nights, I fear! Perhaps we had better start turning down a few of these,’ she added, motioning to the pile of invitations at her elbow.
Summoning up a smile, Jessica replied, ‘No, please don’t, Imo. I have a slight headache, that is all. A little walk in the garden will soon have me back to rights!’
Since her brother and cousin had gone to so much trouble in order to provide her with this Season in London, Jessica could not bring herself to confess to having discovered that her former excitement at the constant round of morning visits, musical evenings, assemblies, and the like, was beginning to pall.
In order to appease her cousin, she took a few turns around the garden, wondering what she could do to prevent her thoughts from wandering back to that relentlessly invasive dilemma. What she really needed, she thought despondently, was some sort of distraction—but what?
As it happened, Nicholas was soon to provide his sister with such a diversion when, shortly after breakfast, he announced his intention of visiting the British M
useum, in order to view the recently installed pieces of marble that Lord Elgin had recovered from the Greek Parthenon.
Not that Jessica was especially fascinated by the sort of erudite topic that held her bookish brother spellbound but, having heard a good deal of gossip concerning these particular ancient relics, she had to own to a certain curiosity about them. She therefore informed her astonished brother that, provided that he had no objections, she would be glad to accompany him on his outing.
Since Matt found that, due to a prior engagement, he himself would be unable to escort the pair to their chosen destination, a note was sent round to Stevenage’s quarters to enquire whether Harry and Olivia would care to join the proposed expedition.
Sadly, as it turned out, the young lieutenant’s duties at the barracks prevented him from accompanying the youngsters. And, since Matt was reluctant to agree to them going off on their own, it was beginning to look as though their proposed jaunt was in danger of being axed. Nicholas, however, having reminded his brother that there were only a few more days left of his Easter break from school, was quick to point out that, if he did not go today, it was doubtful if another such opportunity would be likely to present itself.
Stifling any misgivings that he might have felt, Matt eventually agreed to put Cartwright and the chaise at their disposal.
‘He will drop you off in Montague Place and return there to pick you up at a pre-arranged time,’ he told Nicholas. ‘However, you must promise me that you will be at the appointed place, sharp on the dot.’ He hesitated, then looked the youngster squarely in the eye. ‘I want no repetition of last week’s fiasco, Nicky. I take it that I can rely on you to keep your sister in line?’
‘You have my word, Matt,’ his brother assured him then, with a slight grin, added, ‘Although, I am inclined to think that even Jess would think twice before kicking up a fuss in the British Museum!’
An Unconventional Miss Page 6