An Unconventional Miss

by Dorothy Elbury

  Fashioned in the palest of figure-hugging green satins, with three deep flounces at its hem, its off-the-shoulder design sported a décolletage cut a good dealer lower than those of her other evening gowns. In fitting Jessica for the gown, however, Madame Devy had assured her cousin that, for a major occasion such as the Duchess of Conyngham’s ball, a more daring style was positively de rigueur!

  In the light of this highly auspicious occasion, Matt had been prevailed upon to splash out an enormous sum to have the famed modiste, whose creations were much in demand, fashion something slightly out of the ordinary for the two females in his life. Sadly, Imogen’s lovely outfit was now in the depths of her wardrobe, still nestling in its muslin wrapper but when, earlier that evening, Jessica had tripped into her brother’s study to show off her own finery, his summer-blue eyes had shone with pride and, putting his hands on her shoulders, he had held her away from him and, looking down at her, had said, somewhat huskily, ‘There is little doubt who will be the belle of this ball, dear child! Off you go and enjoy yourself and…’ He had then paused, hesitating, before adding, more severely, ‘I am counting on you to remember your promise, Jess. Keep with Miss Draycott’s set and try to behave yourself as Imogen would wish you to!’

  But, despite her trepidation at the thought of stirring up the not-easily-forgotten might of her brother’s wrath, Jessica, in the sure and certain knowledge that this evening looked set to affording her with her one and only opportunity to tackle Wyvern, was more determined than ever to proceed with her quest. To leave London without ever having discovered whether the earl’s apparent regard for her had been anything other than transient, was more than she could contemplate. Nevertheless, she resolved, should it transpire that she had been totally wrong in her supposition that Lord Wyvern was secretly harbouring some sort of tendre for her then, although she knew that the ache in her heart would remain with her for ever, she would return home and endeavour to put the handsome but dastardly rogue out of her mind.

  ‘You are singularly quiet, Miss Beresford,’ remarked her current partner, Mr Pevensey, as he led her through the arches of clasped hands in the second set of country dances for which he had engaged her that evening. ‘Not another headache, I trust?’

  Summoning up some semblance of a smile, Jessica shook her head. ‘Not at all,’ she replied brightly. ‘I was merely concentrating on the steps—it is so easy to lose count and mistake one’s next movement.’

  Since they had, by this time, reached their appointed positions in their respective lines, whereupon a relatively complicated manoeuvre whose steps consisted of much twirling and cross-handing with the pair standing next to them ensued, Pevensey could only smile and nod his agreement, leaving Jessica to her thoughts.

  To her deepening disappointment, there had been no sign of Wyvern, even though the evening was already well advanced. Was she going to have to return to Thornfield without ever setting eyes on him again? she wondered dejectedly as, almost without thinking, she went through the tedious process of clapping the next couple around the outside of the set before reaching up to her partner’s hands in order to form an arch for the couple to make its way back down the set.

  Much to her relief, however, the music drew to a close at the end of that movement, whereupon, after tucking her hand into his elbow, Pevensey escorted her back to their group. Having performed the requisite two dances with him, Jessica was not in the least bit sorry that the Honourable Gerald had done his duty by her for, without a single sight of the earl, her initial excitement at being present at such a grand affair was beginning to wane. And, although, for Lady Sarah’s sake, she drew the line at pretending another headache, which would have obliged her escort to take them both home, the thought that there were still almost two more hours to endure before the entertainments were brought to a close was more than enough to bring on a real one!

  Hearing Felicity’s sudden sibilant hiss in her ear, she was jolted out of her reverie. ‘Do wake up, Jessica,’ whispered the other girl, from behind her fan. ‘The Dowager Countess of Wyvern has been trying to attract your attention for the past several minutes! What can her ladyship want of you, I wonder?’

  With an fascinated gleam in her eye, Jessica looked across the ballroom and there, on the dowager’s podium, seated at the forefront of a group of the most senior and highly regarded members of the aristocracy, was the rather grand old lady whose soirée had brought about that rather memorable incident with Wyvern in the ladies’ retiring room. The dowager was crooking her finger, imperiously beckoning Jessica to attend her. Her cheeks flushing in discomfiture, Jessica lowered her eyes and turned her head away.

  ‘Well, she can beckon as much as she likes,’ she replied mutinously. ‘I barely know the lady and I certainly don’t care for her high-handed attitude.’

  Wide-eyed with astonishment, Felicity shot her a warning look. ‘But, of course you must go to her, Jessica,’ she cried. ‘Lady Lavinia is the Dowager Countess of Wyvern—it would not do to ignore such a summons!’

  With a deep sigh and doing her best to hide her exasperation at the discovery of yet another of London’s upper set’s, apparently, inflexible rules, Jessica rose to her feet and made her way across the floor to the podium. Dropping a polite curtsy, she raised her eyes up to the elderly dowager and asked, in the most dulcet of tones, how she might serve her ladyship.

  ‘Come up here beside me,’ replied Lady Lavinia, tapping the empty chair at her side with her fan. ‘I wish to speak with you.’

  With a slight sinking of the heart, Jessica acceded to her ladyship’s request, which, as far as she was concerned, had been rather more in the nature of a full-blown command than a polite invitation. Having spoken to the dowager only very briefly on that earlier occasion, she could not begin to imagine what Lady Lavinia could want with her.

  Hardly waiting for her guest to settle herself into her chair and arrange the skirts of her gown, the dowager leaned towards her and, raising her lorgnette, scrutinised Jessica carefully from head to toe.

  ‘Well, you are certainly all they claim you to be,’ she said as, with a haughty sniff, she snapped close her glasses and returned them to her reticule. ‘I dare say you have your pick of all of the Season’s available young bachelors—no doubt you have received any number of offers?’

  At this rather surprising enquiry, a wary look crept into Jessica’s eyes. ‘I must assure your ladyship that I did not come to London to find myself a husband,’ she replied cautiously. She had been long enough in London to have learned that, no matter how outraged she might feel at being questioned in such an impertinent manner, it would hardly do for her cross swords with a peeress of the realm, especially not in full view of a room packed with all the dignitaries and most notable members of the capital’s high society!

  Lady Lavinia let out a disdainful bark of laughter. ‘Oh, really!’ she retorted, scornfully. ‘Then, perhaps, my girl, you might care to explain why you have been seen casting out your lures to my grandson!’

  Jessica let out a gasp of disbelief and her cheeks turned scarlet with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment but, before she could utter a word, the countess nodded her head in satisfaction.

  ‘You may well blush and squirm, young lady, but, let me tell you, here and now, that your scheming little machinations will avail you naught—not if I have anything to do with it!’

  Now thoroughly affronted, Jessica made as if to rise from her chair, determined to make as dignified an exit from the podium as she could reasonably manage, in such uncomfortable circumstances. The countess, however, leaned across and placed one hand on her knee, thereby effectively preventing her reluctant young companion from getting up. Her ladyship, it was clear, had not yet finished with her!

  ‘Wyvern is not for you,’ continued Lady Lavinia, her tone full of warning. ‘He is all but betrothed to another. Whatever sweet nothings he may have whispered in your ear and whatever promises he might have made to you, you must undertake to put them all
out of your mind. If you have any sense at all, my dear Miss Beresford—and I am advised that you have a great deal—you will undertake to set your cap in quite another direction! Do I make myself clear?’

  Throughout this unjustified diatribe, Jessica had been doing her level best to keep control of her temper. Sweet nothings and promises, indeed! It would appear that the old witch was accusing her of having sordid assignations with her blessed grandson, when, in reality, she had scarcely spoken more than a couple of dozen or so words with the man! By taking several slow, deep breaths, she eventually managed to stop herself from flying into one of her past rages but, no matter how hard she tried, no amount of self-restraint could prevent her from rudely thrusting away the dowager’s hand from her knee and rising to her feet in one swift movement.

  ‘Perfectly clear, your ladyship!’ she retorted, through clenched teeth. ‘And, now, if you will excuse me, I fear that I must hie me away to find some other poor unsuspecting gentleman to lure into my web!’ And, with the most elaborate of curtseys, coupled with the falsest of smiles, she stepped off the podium, inwardly marvelling at her own achievement—despite quite unbelievable provocation—of having succeeded in controlling what had been, until not so long ago, a wild and unmanageable temper.

  Ignoring the countess’s gasp of righteous incredulity and with her head held high, she started to make for the nearest exit to the passageway, having no desire to return to her own group and face the other females’ inevitable questioning. Deciding that she would go and find the retiring room and splash some cold water on her cheeks to cool them down a little, she pulled open the door and found herself face to face with the bête noir of all her waking dreams, the Earl of Wyvern himself!

  Totally unprepared for the unanticipated phenomenon of having the subject of his sleepless nights suddenly cannoning into him at that moment, Wyvern could do little more than reach out his arms to hold her steady. Disregarding his own considerable unsteadiness at the sight of her flushed cheeks and wide viridescent eyes, he gazed down at the appealing curves of her naked shoulders, his eyes slowly travelling to feast upon the irresistible temptation of the soft, creamy orbs rising, in almost unbearable perfection, high above the deep neckline of her satin gown.

  As if they had a will of their own, his hands dropped from her elbows to slide over the satin encasing Jessica’s rounded hips and, had not the warning sound of Holt’s noisy throat-clearing restored him to his senses, it would have been quite impossible for him to prevent himself from pulling her towards him in a needful embrace. Hurriedly putting her away from him, he stepped back from the doorway and politely motioned her to proceed, achingly aware of the violent sensations that were ricocheting around his body.

  ‘Miss Beresford,’ he murmured, inclining his head. Knowing that all would be lost if he looked her in the eyes, he kept his gaze firmly fixed upon her lips. Another mistake, as he soon found to his considerable discomfort, when another pulsating bout caught him in the solar plexus, ripping his breath away.

  Similarly affected by the unexpectedness of the reunion, not to mention the heady excitement of finding herself, once more, held in the arms of the man with whom, to her utter chagrin, she now realised she had fallen deeply in love, Jessica’s initial instinct was to run away and hide herself somewhere where she could lick her wounds in private. But then, as she recalled the unpardonably high-handed remarks of the earl’s grandmother, coupled with her own determination not to leave town without challenging him to explain his actions, her resolve stiffened. Had she been in a position to register Wyvern’s totally unguarded expression of sheer rapture when he had caught hold of her, it was possible that she might have thought better of her next action.

  Taking a deep breath, she conjured up her brightest smile and, flicking open her fan, she plied it coquettishly in front of her face, saying, ‘My goodness, Lord Wyvern, I haven’t seen you for such an age! What have you been doing with yourself all this time?’ Then, fluttering her eyelashes at his two companions, she added, ‘Won’t you introduce me to your friends?’

  Holding back his dismay at Jessica’s extraordinary and quite unexpected behaviour, Wyvern, his jaw rigid with disapproval, presented Fitzallan and Holt to her, sourly noting how they were soon both fawning over her hand like a couple of mooncalves!

  ‘Enchanted, gentlemen,’ came Jessica’s somewhat over-blown response, along with another fluttering of her lashes. ‘But, why have I not seen any of you dancing? I should have thought that ex-military gentlemen such as yourselves would have such expertise as to put a good many others in the room to shame!’

  And then, before the bemused Wyvern had time to collect his wits, she turned to him and, with her head on one side, said impishly, ‘Come, my lord, I see that a waltz is about to begin—shall we take to the floor?’

  Finding himself under the highly amused and expectant surveillance of his two friends, it was quite beyond Wyvern to drum up a feasible reason to excuse himself from another bout of the exquisite torture that beckoned. So, after promising himself that he would on this occasion, at least as far as was reasonably possible, given the essential convergence that was part of the dance, keep her at arm’s length, he held out his hand and led Jessica over to the ballroom floor, where several other couples were already in the process of assembling.

  As the two of them passed the dowager’s podium, Wyvern, looking across, was puzzled to note the expression of high dudgeon on his grandmother’s face. Dammit! he thought resentfully. It is only a dance! And, taking Jessica’s right hand in his, he placed his other hand lightly on her waist and swung her into the waltz.

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the normal way, being whirled and twirled around the room in the arms of the man she loved would have been more than enough to fill Jessica’s heart with blissful contentment but, after one quick look up at Wyvern’s rigid countenance, her heart descended to her dancing slippers. Superb dancer though her partner was, there was no pleasure to be gained from his skilful execution of the steps as, with almost mechanical perfection, he steered her expertly across the crowded floor and wove his way around less proficient pairs with consummate ease.

  Finding herself being swept past the dowager’s podium for the third time in succession, without a single word having crossed the earl’s compressed lips, Jessica’s dismay increased. And, in a growing alarm, she realised that, unless she thought of something soon, the longed-for opportunity would have come and gone and Wyvern would return her to her companions without giving her a single chance either to explain herself or, more importantly, to discover whether his regard for her was simply a figment of her imagination! Taking a deep breath, she threw back her head and, raising her eyes to the earl’s expressionless face, she said abruptly, ‘I apologise for that appalling scene, your lordship, but I could think of no other way to oblige you to dance with me!’

  At her unexpected words, Wyvern’s heart hammered almost to a stop, causing him to miss his step and necessitating the nearest couple to swing hurriedly out of harm’s way. Stifling his exasperation, the earl corrected his error and guided Jessica to a less populated area of the floor, whilst racking his brains to conjure up some non-committal remark.

  ‘I had not noticed that you were suffering from a dearth of dancing partners, Miss Beresford,’ he managed eventually.

  ‘I cannot imagine how you would know that!’ she flung back at him. ‘You only turn up when it suits you to do so!’

  When he did not immediately respond, Jessica’s indignation increased. ‘Do you dislike me so much that you cannot even bring yourself to converse with me, sir?’ she challenged him.

  ‘I do not dislike you, Miss Beresford,’ he replied heavily as, doing his utmost to ignore the tantalising feel of her soft, warm body beneath his fingers, he strove desperately to focus his attention on the manoeuvres of the dance.

  ‘You went to enormous trouble to replace my broken fan!’ she cried, glaring up at him accusingly. ‘And then—’ she took a deep
breath, unable to still the trembling in her voice ‘—and then, after I had told you how much I missed them, you sent me those lovely violets!’

  Wyvern’s jaw tightened, recalling how, when he had spotted the delicate flowers growing in a clump beneath a tree beside one of the outhouses that he and his two friends had been in the process of searching that morning, Jessica’s words had instantly sprung into his mind. Having had no fine beribboned box into which to lay his gift, he had carefully wrapped the fragile blossoms in a scrap of clean muslin that he had begged from his housekeeper, and had then instructed one of the stable lads to saddle up a fast horse and hotfoot it to Dover Street.

  ‘You must be accustomed to receiving a great many far grander bouquets every day,’ he replied, endeavouring to suppress the swell of satisfaction within his chest upon learning of the deep joy that his gift had given her. ‘My simple offering was scarcely worthy of note.’

  Her sudden stumble forced him to clasp her more tightly and, looking down, he saw, to his dismay, that two large tears had welled up in Jessica’s lovely green eyes.

  ‘You know perfectly well that that is not true,’ she whispered. ‘Your gift meant more to me than I can possibly say!’

  As his heart thudded uncomfortably inside his chest, Wyvern was, once again, lost for words. Every nerve in his body was clamouring at him to be done with the whole hopeless charade, to come to the point and tell her how much he loved her.