The difference now was that she didn’t need to remember any particular phrase in order to recall the sound of Sir Brian’s voice. She could imagine him saying anything she liked, and she could hear the gentle, deep voice speaking in the slow way he spoke naturally. It was almost eerie, and as she let her fantasies run wild, the things he began to say to her nearly curled her toes. For some moments her mind was completely taken up by the fantasies. During those moments she did not think once of Lady Susan. She merely leaned back with her eyes shut, letting the fantasy figure say and do whatever he liked, while a contented little smile played about her lips.
“Miss Jessica.” The voice was hushed. “Miss Jessica? Are you asleep, miss?”
Jessica’s eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright, experiencing a guilty feeling as though the young footman staring through the gloom into the coach might actually have been able to see what was going on in her mind. All the warmth in her body seemed to rush to her cheeks, and words stuck in her throat. But, reassured that she was now awake, the footman merely held out his hand to assist her from the carriage. She swallowed, placing her hand in his and stretching one neatly shod foot to the step, the other to the pavement. There was no need to say anything.
She took a deep breath, glad that the deepening twilight made it impossible for the footman to have any notion of her undoubtedly high color, then looked up toward the house. As she did, her despondency returned. There were lights in the windows, but they did not seem to welcome her. Instead they were like beacons, awaiting the return of the mistress of the house. Jessica almost wished she had a social engagement, just so that she would be able to take her mind off Lady Susan for a few hours. But of course that was out of the question, although Lord and Lady Gordon, she realized suddenly, must still be observing some social obligations, or Georgeanne would not have had the difficult meeting with Lady Jersey. But Jessica simply could not gad about while her aunt was languishing in jail. Instead, just as she had done the last few nights, she would face a solitary dinner and then retire to her own bedchamber, where she would attempt to concentrate upon at least one chapter of the Gothic romance she was reading. And then she would go to bed to toss and turn and worry until exhaustion claimed her.
With steps that faltered a little, she approached the door and stepped aside automatically to allow the young footman, who had followed her up the stone steps, to open it for her. Then Jessica walked inside and nodded to Bates as he hurried forward and gently took her pelisse from her.
“Good evening, Bates. How long before dinner will be served, please?”
“That is for you to say now, Miss Jessica, as I’ve told you,” he said with a little smile.
“I keep forgetting,” she admitted.
“Well, things ought to be improving right away now, miss,” he confided, his smile widening.
Her spirits lifted magically, for despite the fact that he so clearly meant to surprise her, or perhaps because of it, she had not the slightest doubt of his meaning.
“Where is he? Is he here?”
He gestured with his head. “Upstairs in the drawing room, Miss Jessica, and not a moment before he was wanted, I’d say.”
She only grinned her agreement of the statement before she snatched up her skirts and, without a thought for propriety, raced up the stairs and along the gallery to the open door of the drawing room.
Sir Brian was standing by the hearth, a glass of claret in his hand. He smiled when she appeared so precipitately upon the threshold, her magnificent breasts heaving, her hat askew, and tiny wisps of loosened hair curling about her lovely face.
“I have been informed that you wish to see me,” he said, then scarcely had time to place his glass safely upon the mantelshelf and brace himself before, with tears glistening on her lashes, she flung herself into his arms.
“Oh, Brian, you’re truly here at last,” she sobbed against his shoulder.
“Well, well, well,” murmured Sir Brian to the soft curls tickling his chin as he hugged her tightly.
14
SIR BRIAN HELD JESSICA close for some time without speaking, then removed the tipsy hat from her tousled hair and tossed it onto a nearby straight-legged Kent chair.
“My poor child,” he said then, gently, “you’ve been through a difficult time, have you not?” When she nodded against his shoulder, he gave her a gentle squeeze and set her back upon her heels, saying, “Let us sit down, and you may tell me about it. Andrew’s version was a trifle sketchy.”
“Where have you been?” she demanded instead as he led her to the green-striped settee between the tall windows.
“In Cornwall,” he replied, taking his seat beside her. “I shall tell you about it presently. But first, explain to me, if you please, why Lady Susan is residing at Bow Street and why nothing has yet been done to effect her release.”
Jessica settled back against the softness of plumped striped satin. “It’s that ridiculous Habeas Corpus,” she said with a sigh.
“There is nothing ridiculous about the Habeas Corpus Act,” Sir Brian replied, turning slightly and leaning back into the side curve of the settee. He crossed his legs with the right ankle resting upon his left knee, laid his left arm casually along the back of the settee, then shifted his weight more comfortably, looking into her eyes in such a way as to make her feel a trifle giddy. “If you are referring to the suspension of the act, however, I must agree with you. I collect then that you have tried and failed to obtain her release.”
“Well, Mr. Lionel Wychbold, in whom Cyril seems to repose a good deal of confidence, has attempted all manner of things, I believe, but Aunt Susan is still in that dreadful place, and oh, sir, there is a chance they may remove her to Bridewell!”
“That must not be allowed,” he said firmly.
“Mr. Wilberforce would no doubt disagree with you,” she told him bitterly, whereupon he demanded to know what the devil Mr. Wilberforce had to do with the matter. Jessica explained in the same bitter tone, “The secretary of the Africa Institute told Andrew that the precious Institute must not be involved in the matter. On account of all the bad publicity they received during the Hatchard affair, you know. So Andrew went to see Mr. Wilberforce.”
“Did he, indeed?” Sir Brian seemed properly impressed.
Jessica sighed. “He did, but it was to no avail. Mr. Wilberforce actually said Aunt Susan would do the abolitionist cause more good locked up than if she were free. He would do nothing to help, either.”
“And Grosvenor? Did Andrew then beard the duke in his den?”
“No, for he is out of town and his servants say they do not know where he has gone. Andrew says your servants often do the same.”
“They do,” Sir Brian admitted. “As does the highly trained hall porter at my club whenever I request such prevarication from him. ’Tis a time-honored tradition amongst those of us who would enjoy the occasional odd moment of privacy. But Grosvenor should know of this business as soon as possible. With matters of law suffering the absurd state of disorder our august legislators have managed to create, the best possible recourse in an instance such as this one is a weighty dose of political and financial influence. And the worthy duke wields a good deal of both. As does old Potterby. Odd that he has done nothing.”
“The general? We never thought to inform him, and as yet, thankfully, there has been very little in the papers.”
“Nevertheless, Potterby enjoys the dubious distinction of membership in the Regent’s set, where the mainstay of life is petty gossip. And whether or not the papers have made a nine-day wonder of your aunt’s affair, I should certainly imagine the details have been bruited about town by now.”
“Indeed, they have. Poor Georgie has already suffered several cuts direct and a most annoying interview with Lady Jersey.”
“Silence prodded your sister for the facts of the case, did she?”
“Yes, and she is the most unconscionable gossip. I know she is well thought of, but she can be a dreadful nuisanc
e. As for the general,” Jessica added, “if he is with the Regent, then he is at Brighton, for the Carlton House set left town a day or so after you did.”
“Well, never mind, my dear. I am persuaded we shall find a way out of all this business. Who has Wychbold got to speak for your aunt before the King’s Bench?”
“A barrister named Sir Reginald Basingstoke.”
“Excellent. I know him well. That man can run rings around anyone who speaks for the prosecution. Why, I’ve seen him make—”
“Apples appear to be oranges,” Jessica interjected, smiling for the first time since she had begun explaining matters to him. “I know. Mr. Wychbold and Cyril have said the same thing.”
Sir Brian grinned. “It’s perfectly true, nonetheless. If anyone can get her off, he can. So you needn’t worry anymore.”
She nodded, realizing that she already felt better. It was odd, she mused, gazing at him, how his mere presence relaxed her and made her feel as though there were truly nothing further to bother her head about. Lady Susan was still languishing at Bow Street, and all he had said was that she mustn’t be allowed to remain there. He had offered no solution to the problem, yet Jessica had faith that he would set things right again, that she could depend upon him entirely. It was a most unusual sensation for one who had been accustomed to depending only upon herself, but she was rapidly discovering the sensation to be a comforting one.
“Shall I tell you now what took me to Cornwall?” he asked gently.
Despite the gentleness of his tone, she thought he was looking rather smug, and her curiosity was piqued. “If you please, sir,” she said. “You were gone a very long time.”
“I have been to Woodbury Manor.”
Jessica knitted her brow. “Is the name supposed to mean something to me? I fear it does not sound familiar.”
“Not to you, perhaps, but it may strike a familiar chord in young Jeremy’s cockloft.”
“Merciful heavens, have you found his family, then? Is Jeremy’s surname Woodbury?”
“No, not Woodbury. His surname is Ashwater, but he is the second son of Viscount Woodbury.”
Jessica stared at him as though he had accomplished something magical. “How? That is, how did you find them? We inserted advertisements in every paper we could think of, but there hasn’t been the whisper of a response.”
“Woodbury must not have seen it,” Sir Brian replied. “Can’t say I did myself. I didn’t do anything truly spectacular, however. It was the lad’s constant reference to familiar objects that should not have been in the least familiar to a sweep’s boy. Saw some of it myself, you know, and then Lady Susan mentioned at the de Lieven affair that there had been other incidents. It was pretty clear that your Jeremy had had experiences that were a deal above the touch of a back-slum climbing boy. Then, there was the name Jeremy itself. That struck a familiar note, but it took me a day or two to remember why it did. It was while I was mulling over something someone had said to me about the exploitation of young children in mines that it came to me.”
He paused briefly, and Jessica shot him a rueful look from under her lashes. “Aunt Susan says I must discuss that matter with you more fully, sir. It appears that I have been laboring under certain misconceptions.”
“A good many of them, actually,” he agreed, smiling. “Not that it was entirely your fault, however. I realized you had got the wrong sow by the ear some time ago, and I did nothing to correct matters. However, we shall attend to that later, and you have little cause to regret those words, for they were directly responsible for stirring my memory to life, causing me to recall a gentleman who came to see me nearly seven years ago, looking for his son.”
“The viscount?”
“The same. He labored under some misconceptions too. Although,” he added with a grimace, “perhaps he was not so wide of the mark as I then rather naively—and, I fear, indignantly—thought. I do not buy children to work my mines. Nor, to the best of my knowledge, does any other mine owner in the West Country. However, I have since learned that it is indeed a common practice with many in the North. Viscount Woodbury—although at the time he was merely the Honorable William Ashwater—thought perhaps whoever had stolen his son had then sold him to work in a mine, and he was visiting every mine owner in the three counties. He also placed advertisements, but there was no response. It never occurred to him that anyone would take young Jeremy all the way to London to dispose of him.”
“Where is the viscount now? I should think he would have come posthaste to recover his son.”
“And so he would have done, except for the fact that his father succumbed to a lingering illness only the day before I located him. That business took me a while, simply because, although I had noted down the child’s description and the father’s name and address at the time, I just stuffed the information into the nearest drawer afterward, so I had the devil’s own time finding it when I returned to Shaldon Park. And there were several pressing matters to attend to at home—as, indeed, there always are when I am available to be pressed—so it was a day or so after that before I was able to set out for Woodbury Manor, which is located in the Brenden Hills in north Devon. The old viscount was to be buried almost at once, and of course Woodbury could not leave until that was accomplished, but though he suggested I remain, I had no wish to do so. I assured him, however, that Jeremy was in the best of hands and would be well cared for until his arrival, which should be within a day or so.” He paused, regarding her searchingly. “If you like, I can take both Jeremy and Albert to Charles Street with me. You are looking a trifle hagged, my dear, and they must be a source of anxiety you would just as lief do without at the moment.”
But although she appreciated the kindness behind the offer, Jessica refused to accept it. She had discovered that the time she spent with the boys each day could take her mind off her troubles more easily than anything else, and she was unwilling to part with either of them.
Sir Brian took his departure shortly thereafter, reassuring her once more that matters would be attended to as quickly as he could manage them. His farewell was friendly, but hardly loverlike, and Jessica felt a nagging disappointment as she saw him on his way. Surely, she thought, he ought to have realized that she would not have spurned another hug or even a kiss. That thought stirred others, as she wondered what his kisses would be like if one allowed oneself to savor them. She remembered the incident in the garden at Gordon Hall and how quickly and naturally she had responded to him there. The memory was a disturbing one, and she found herself perilously near to falling into a reverie similar to the one that had overcome her in the coach on the way home from Duke Street. But the fact that Sir Brian had failed to take advantage of her exuberant welcome disturbed her, too. She had flung herself into his arms, after all, had cried out his name and as good as sobbed out her frustrations on his shoulder. And all he had done was to hold her much as a big brother might have done, and then he had removed her hat and told her to sit down and tell him all about it. Just like her father. That thought nearly stirred her to stamp her feet in frustration. She did not want brotherly or fatherly assistance from the man!
Suddenly she seemed to have reached the brink of considering those emotions she had before now carefully avoided exploring. Nor should she take the time to explore them now, she told herself firmly, for now that Sir Brian was in London, everything was well on the way to being put to rights again, and that was all that must concern her. Lady Susan’s peril must be the primary matter in her thoughts until that matter was satisfactorily resolved. If Sir Brian still meant to make her an offer, he had no doubt had the good sense to realize that he must not press her while she was so vulnerable. Surely that was it. Surely his interest in her had not cooled to mere friendship. Not now that she had finally come to realize how much she loved and needed him.
Annoyed with herself for allowing such a train of thought to continue unchecked, Jessica gave a little shake of her head, picked up her hat from the chair, and strode
purposefully upstairs to her bedchamber, where she chatted determinedly with Mellin until that worthy had seen her safely tucked up in bed for the night. Then, however, with the candles snuffed and the golden light from the streetlamps in Hanover Square sending shadows dancing around the room as a light breeze stirred the curtain at the open window, Jessica found her thoughts involuntarily returning to Sir Brian until, with a tiny sigh of frustration, she drifted at last into restless sleep.
All the following day she awaited word from Charles Street, but by the time she had retired for the night, she had yet to hear anything at all. It was, as a matter of fact, nearly three days before her faith in Sir Brian was justified. During that time, she wrote him more than once, demanding information, but all he would vouchsafe each time in reply was that the matter was well in hand and that she was not to bother her head about it any further. When, to one such note, she had added a postscript, recklessly inviting him and Mr. Liskeard to dine with her that evening, the reply was very polite. Sir Brian and Mr. Liskeard regretted that they had a previous engagement.
Jessica actually breathed a sigh of relief over that one. She had been impulsive, too impulsive. Despite the fact that she was an acknowledged spinster, it would have been highly improper for her to entertain two gentlemen who were quite unrelated to her at her dinner table. Two ladies living together might do such a thing. One alone must not. The rules were clear. No doubt, she told herself, Sir Brian had not wished to embarrass her by pointing out that fact and had chosen instead to be tactful. Or, she mused unhappily, he might actually have had a previous engagement.
The Battling Bluestocking Page 20
