She felt a sense of responsibility toward each of those relatives, too. Her younger sister, Madeleine, had always depended upon her and never more so than after the difficult birth of her first child. And despite Lord Gordon’s caustic words, she knew that Madeleine’s husband, the wealthy young Earl of Porth, had greatly appreciated Jessica’s assistance. The earl was one of the very few gentlemen besides her father for whom Jessica had any respect at all. She suspected that Lord Gordon realized that fact and was a bit jealous. He was also jealous of her influence upon his wife. Georgeanne always displayed more courage when Jessica was at hand to support her, and Jessica believed it was not at all good for Lord Gordon always to have his own way about things.
From Gordon Hall her annual round of relations would take her to London, where she looked forward to spending the Season with her mother’s fascinating spinster sister, the Lady Susan Peel. Thinking of Lady Susan always brought a smile to Jessica’s lips, for Lady Susan customarily provided the greatest test of Jessica’s skills. Not that her household required any particular attention. Not at all. Lady Susan’s housekeeper, Mrs. Birdlip, was a veritable jewel, and she was ably assisted by Bates, Lady Susan’s elderly butler. But neither Mrs. Birdlip nor Bates had any influence whatsoever with their mistress beyond the confines of the house itself. And having acquired, despite her solid position in the highest rank of the beau monde, a formidable reputation as a bluestocking, Lady Susan was active in every worthy cause going in the metropolis, sometimes more active than her niece thought she ought to be. At the moment, according to Lady Susan’s letters, she was deeply involved in the defense of a bookseller who had been unfairly charged with libel, which cause seemed to her niece to be fairly harmless. Nonetheless, Jessica always left London for home feeling a little as if she had left a bomb behind her just waiting to explode. So far nothing dreadful had happened, but her visits to the tall, elegant house on the southwest corner of Hanover Square were never dull.
All these thoughts passed through her head now as the carriage rolled smoothly through the thriving hamlet of Marazion and over Raginnis Hill toward the cliffs above Mount Bay, where Gordon Hall was located. For once, Jessica paid scant attention to the breathtaking view and little at all to the cries of the gannets and cormorants that populated the area. Instead she told herself that hers was a busy, complete life, that there was still precious little room in it for romance. Then she felt a rush of warmth to her face as it occurred to her that such a train of thought was an odd one to have been started merely as a result of meeting the master of Shaldon Park.
3
THE NEXT TWO DAYS passed slowly for Jessica. She amused herself by assisting the housekeeper and several maids in turning out all the storage closets and trunks on the third floor of Gordon Hall and in supervising the thorough beating of a wealth of carpets, tapestries, and down comforters. For relaxation she joined her sister in her boudoir for a comfortable coze or strolled with her through the extensive and magnificent gardens, protected from the harsh winds sweeping in from the sea by tall boxwood and yew hedges, and from the sun’s harmful rays by a becoming straw picture hat tied under her firm, rounded chin with lavender ribbons.
But no matter how assiduously she kept herself occupied, her thoughts kept returning to Shaldon Park and the two men who dwelt there. The more she thought about young Andrew, the more she began to think she must have been carried away by her unpredictable temper. Though it was quite true that he had behaved foolishly and without thought for the consequences, and just as true that a man of lesser rank would surely suffer the harshest penalty of the law, it was also true that Andrew had merely behaved in a manner consistent with his age and sex. There had been no malice behind his actions. It was likewise true that she would undeniably have refused to press charges against a man of lower rank who, also meaning no harm, had behaved in a similar fashion.
In fact, Miss Sutton-Drew’s conscience was bothering her. She was beginning to suspect that what at the time had seemed to be a perfectly rational course of action had actually been nothing more than a reaction to Lord Gordon’s immediate acceptance of the nature of things. The thought was a lowering one. Nevertheless, Jessica began to believe that if Andrew had shown proper remorse for his actions, and if Lord Gordon had been the one adamantly demanding justice, she would most likely have championed Sir Brian’s nephew. With the assistance of hindsight she was able to acknowledge that what she had seen as brash cockiness on Andrew’s part was much more likely to have, been mere bravado and the result of uncertainty. She remembered the apprehension she had seen in his eyes whenever his uncle had been mentioned, followed by the growing confidence when Sir Brian had remained so calm. She remembered, too, the fading of that confidence when Sir Brian had taken her part in the discussion. Indeed, as she told herself more and more often in those two days, what she had seen had been a boy uncertain of the probable adult response to his actions, a mere boy whom she had condemned to a trial and possible death, very likely out of spite toward her pompous brother-in-law. Not liking the light in which she saw herself as these thoughts repeated themselves over and over in her head, Jessica began to wonder what was keeping Sir Brian from paying his promised call.
By the morning of the third day she had reached the point of attempting to decide whether she ought to order out her sister’s carriage and return to Shaldon Park. The mental vision of Andrew wearing irons and sitting in a dank cell redolent of stable odors nearly decided her in favor of such an outing, but the rather mind-shaking notion that Andrew might not be her sole reason for wishing to meet Sir Brian again stopped her cold. It was a ridiculous notion. Sir Brian was merely a man like any other man. She had no reason for thinking otherwise. Still, the notion nagged at her until she gave up all thought of visiting Shaldon Park. Sir Brian had mentioned that he would not convene the assize court for two weeks, so if he did not come to call within another day or so, there would still be ample time for her to swallow her pride and tell Lord Gordon to inform him that she had decided to drop the charges. It would certainly not hurt Andrew to cool his heels for another two days.
Nevertheless there was relief in her eyes that very afternoon when her ladyship’s butler entered the cozy yellow morning room on the second floor of Gordon Hall to inform Miss Sutton-Drew that Sir Brian Gregory awaited her pleasure in the first-floor drawing room.
“Thank you, Borthwick. I shall go down to him at once.” She arose from the comfortable armchair near the window and set the book she had been reading down upon a side table after carefully marking her place with a striped ribbon. Then, with a quick, appraising glance in the gilt-framed mirror above the chimneypiece, she decided, after smoothing a strand of light brown hair back into place in the coil at the crown of her head and twisting one of the tendrils in front of her shapely ears into a tighter curl, that her appearance was satisfactory. Shaking out the skirts of her pale blue afternoon frock, she descended the wide stairway to the first floor. Sir Brian turned from one of the red-and-white-draped drawing room windows when she entered.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sutton-Drew,” he said. “Will your sister be joining us?”
“Good afternoon, sir,” she replied, smiling. “She is resting, and there is no need to disturb her, for I am well beyond the age of needing a chaperon, I assure you.”
“I am delighted to hear you say so. I was just admiring the gardens. They appear to be in magnificent form at the moment.”
Jessica recognized the hint, telling herself that he no doubt wished to discuss his nephew where there would be the least likelihood of their being overheard. It could not be very pleasant for him to realize that a good part of Cornwall probably already knew he harbored a felon in his household.
“Would you like to walk outside, sir?” she asked. “The gardens are indeed very pleasant, and it was clear from our visit to your home that you appreciate natural beauty.”
He looked directly at her. “I do, indeed, Miss Sutton-Drew.” There was a little pause du
ring which Jessica sought unsuccessfully for something witty to say before his expression relaxed into a smile and his dark brown eyes began to twinkle. “I should very much like to walk in the gardens,” he said.
“As you wish, sir.” She turned quickly so that he would not see the color she felt rushing to her face, but she was aware of him walking behind her as she led the way down the wide, curving stairway to the ground floor and through a large salon decorated in green, blue, and white, colors which seemed to make the room almost an extension of the lovely garden beyond the French doors on its far side. Jessica could hear Sir Brian’s footsteps behind her. She even seemed to be aware of his breathing. The sensation was an odd one. She could not remember ever having been so conscious of a man’s nearness as she was of his. Anticipating the very moment when he would step past her to open the French doors, she moved aside as though he had spoken to her, and the flesh on her left arm seemed to prickle as his passing stirred the air near it. Jessica looked down at her arm, expecting to see goose bumps, but it looked perfectly normal. Looking up again, she found Sir Brian grinning as he waited for her to pass through the open door.
“Something wrong?” he asked. She shook her head quickly and moved past him, almost skipping down the flagstone steps of the broad terrace in her hurry to regain control of herself. He followed behind her at a leisurely pace, and she was forced to wait for him on the privet-lined gravel path at the bottom of the steps. As she took stock of herself, she realized that her breathing seemed perfectly normal and that there seemed to be no sensation such as that of blood racing through her veins or of her heart pounding against her chest. She was being a ninny, she decided. In a state merely because she was nervous of revealing how foolishly she had behaved over the matter of Andrew.
“Shall we walk through the rose garden?” she suggested. “Because the outer hedges protect it from the wind, we get an early spring here, and many of our roses are in full bloom.” Her voice was perfectly steady, and assured that she was in full control of herself once more, she looked up into the deep brown eyes above hers with gathering confidence. When she realized he had been waiting for her to look up, her confidence suffered a slight setback and she looked away again, self-consciously awaiting his reply.
With a chuckle in his voice Sir Brian agreed that a stroll through the rose garden would be very pleasant. Then, except for the sound of their feet upon the gravel, silence descended between them as they walked along the path, which was separated from the soft, well-cultivated soil of the gardens by a single-layer brick-and-masonry edging as well as by the low, neatly trimmed privet hedges that framed each bed. The silence grew, and Jessica, with a clear knowledge that she was avoiding the topic on both their minds, occasionally pointed out one or another of the more magnificent blooms. Each time she spoke, however, the silence, instead of breaking, seemed to grow and deepen, until finally Sir Brian cleared his throat and spoke firmly.
“I had a purpose in coming here today, Miss Sutton-Drew.”
“I know you did, sir,” she replied, relieved despite herself that he had finally brought matters to a head. “You want to hear more about the episode the other day, and I confess I have a few things I wish to say on that subject myself.”
“Yes, I’ve not the slightest doubt of that,” he agreed. “You certainly must have realized by now that I cannot possibly prosecute my nephew for what was clearly a prank and nothing more. I must say that I admire those principles of yours that prompted you, however unwisely, to bring Andrew to book for his actions, but while I agree that fear of prosecution has no doubt provided the lad with a well-deserved lesson, I am likewise certain that you have come to your senses by now and realize that your brother-in-law was quite right in wishing to drop the matter.”
Whether it was his unfortunate choice of words, the mention of Lord Gordon’s wishes, or simply the arrogance he displayed in daring to assume anything whatsoever about her thought processes, Jessica found her temper rising and all her good intentions fleeing before her. Instead of agreeing that she had been wrong, as she had fully intended to do, she heard herself telling him that he was in error.
“I haven’t the slightest intention of withdrawing my charges against your idiotish nephew, sir,” she stated indignantly.
“You are merely being obstinate, Miss Sutton-Drew.”
“How dare you!”
But Sir Brian had a temper of his own, and although he did not raise his voice, she could not doubt from the spark in his eye and the visible control he exerted over himself that he was very angry indeed. In the moments that followed, Jessica began to feel much as if she were someone else watching from a short distance away while two people argued with each other. They had come to a halt on the pathway, and after some moments of point and counterpoint, facing him, hand on her hips, Jessica heard herself telling him, her voice adrip with icy scorn, that his precious nephew deserved whatever was coming to him.
“As you choose, Miss Equal Justice,” Sir Brian snapped, glaring back at her. “And once the jury finds him guilty, will you insist that I sentence him to hang for his dastardly misdeeds, or will you be satisfied if I merely banish him forever to my West Indian estates?”
Instead of being abashed by his words, as he so clearly expected her to be, Jessica seized upon them. “Estates, indeed,” she retorted. “I have heard of your estates. Sir Brian. Plantations. Sugar plantations, undoubtedly manned by slave labor. And here in England you own mines—dozens of them in three counties, my brother-in-law said—and no doubt every one of them worked by women and children, exploited so that you and your nephew might live high and well. I had not thought it out previously, sir, but I know now what kind of man you are, and I ought to have realized that you can have little sense of true justice and would therefore defend your wretched nephew, no matter how depraved he might be. No,” she commanded fiercely when he opened his mouth to speak, “do not say a word. It will do you no good at all, for I must tell you that I, like my aunt, the Lady Susan Peel, and our good friend the Duke of Grosvenor, am a member of the Africa Institute and am therefore determined to do all I can to eliminate human exploitation altogether. There is nothing you can say now, sir, that will effect a change in my determination to pursue this matter. I have no wish to see your nephew hanged, but I have likewise no doubt whatsoever that you can prevent that from happening in the unlikely event that a jury ever recommends such a course. Until that moment, I do wish him to know what it
would be like to be someone other than who he is, perhaps one of your own mine workers!”
Initially, Sir Brian’s eyes had flashed and his lips had tightened in response to Jessica’s tirade, but as she had gone on, her tone blistering, his expression had begun to relax, and when she finished, the look on his face was one of wry admiration.
“By heaven,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d meet a woman like you. All beauty and fire, with strong principles, as well. Precisely the sort of wench I’ve searched for all my life and given up hope of finding. You are truly remarkable, my dear, and must forgive me if I take a liberty. I cannot help myself.” And with those words, to Miss Sutten-Drew’s outraged astonishment, Sir Brian took her firmly into his arms and kissed her soundly. Though she struggled briefly, scarcely a moment passed before Jessica found her attention diverted by the incredible warmth and softness of his lips upon hers and felt her body responding to his as though it were guided by some entity beyond herself.
As soon as he felt the movement of that magnificent body against his own, Sir Brian relaxed his hold on her sufficiently to allow one hand to move caressingly across her shoulders and then, tantalizingly down her spine. His fingers seemed almost to be playing some sort of tune upon her body, a tune to which her every nerve responded. As his hand moved gently to the curve of her waist, his lips became more demanding, and Jessica suddenly felt as if her entire body were swelling, growing too big for the gown she wore. She felt dizzy, too, as though all her blood were rushin
g to her head, and once again she seemed to be watching the scene from afar as her arms slipped around him and she rose up onto her tiptoes in order to respond more fully to his kisses.
A moment later, his hands now gentle on her shoulders, Sir Brian set Jessica back upon her heels. For a long moment she stared at his broad chest, still feeling dizzy and a little disoriented. Then, almost shyly, she looked up. She was flushed, and her lips were still parted in a near-childlike expression of wonder. Sir Brian grinned, and his dark eyes began to dance.
“Remarkable, indeed,” he said.
“Oh!” All her outrage returned, and the memory of their argument with it, as deeper color flooded her countenance. “How dare you, sir!” she demanded. When his only response was a wider grin, Jessica’s ready temper leapt beyond control. Her hand formed a fist almost of its own accord, arcing back and then forward again in an upward right cross to Sir Brian’s firm jaw that would have done boxing champion Gentleman Jackson proud at the height of his career. Indeed, her fury seemed to lend the full strength of her body to that one blow, and, catching him completely off guard as it did, it staggered Sir Brian, causing him to take several steps backward, whereupon, catching his heel against one of the bricks lining the pathway, he fell victim to the law of gravity, pitched over the low privet hedge, and landed solidly upon his backside in the soft dirt of the rose garden, the lower part of his legs coming to rest atop the hedge.
Glaring down at him with her hands now upon her hips, totally unaware that she had accomplished anything out of the ordinary, Jessica informed him roundly that she only hoped he might have learned a good lesson. “Some of us,” she added militantly, “refuse to be exploited, sir!”
And with that as a parting shot, she turned upon her heel and strode back to the house. At the top of the terrace steps she turned to see that Sir Brian was still sitting in the rose garden where she had left him, though he had changed his position slightly. Having extricated his feet from the hedge, he had hunched up his knees and was presently resting his forearms upon them as he watched her. Remnants of the astonishment that had invaded his countenance at the moment of impact with the soft dirt lingered until he realized that she had turned to look at him. For a long moment he regarded her steadily, measuringly. Then he grinned again. With an angry flounce Jessica turned and entered the house, hurrying up to her own bedchamber and entering it with an immeasurable sense of gratitude that she had managed to do so without encountering anyone on the way.
The Battling Bluestocking Page 4
