The Battling Bluestocking (11 page)

Giving herself an admonitory shake each time that particular line of thought plagued her, Jessica would firmly put all notions of Sir Brian from her mind and plunge more heartily than ever into the preparations for removal to the metropolis.

The day of departure arrived at last. Lord Gordon fussed pompously all through breakfast, and Lady Gordon wondered vaguely from time to time what there was of any importance that might have been left undone. When she wondered for the third time whether her woman might not have forgotten to put her favorite French perfume into her dressing case, Jessica laughed at her.

“Don’t put yourself in a taking, Georgie. Your dresser is a very efficient woman, and has very likely remembered a good many things that have never so much as crossed your mind.”

“Very true,” Lord Gordon said testily as he forked a pile of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He chewed quickly, swallowed, then observed that if anything
had
been forgotten, a replacement could always be purchased in London, like as not. “Daresay you’ll be wasting the ready as you generally do, my love, and won’t wear half of the stuff you’re taking with you. Upon my word, I’ve already ordered two coaches for the baggage alone.”

“Well, you might just as well order up a third, Cyril,” Jessica told him, “not for baggage but for servants, for Georgie decided this morning that, besides her dresser, your man, and my Mellin, she wants to take two of the housemaids and the youngest footman along.”

“Upon my word,” his lordship muttered, “we’re going to look like an army caravan before you’ve done. That’s five carriages, plus our own.”

“We could put black plumes up and hire a mute and pretend we’re a funeral cortege,” Jessica said wickedly.

“Jess, don’t even suggest such a thing,” her sister expostulated. “I’m sure even to mention funerals must be bad luck.”

Jessica apologized, saying she didn’t know what sort of giddiness had overcome her, and applied her attention to her breakfast. Later, in the lead coach, however, she found her spirits rising with every passing mile. Never since the days of her come-out had she looked forward to her

London visit with such enthusiasm. Since Lord Gordon did not believe in rapid travel, however, the journey occupied four days’ time. They stopped the first night in Exeter, the second in Salisbury, and the third at a charming little inn in Woking, but by early afternoon of the fourth day, the coach was rolling along under warm, sunny skies through the cobbled streets of London. They traveled through Knightsbridge, up Piccadilly to Bond Street, then along Conduit Street to George Street, and finally drew up before Lady Susan Peel’s tall, elegantly appointed house on the southwest corner of Hanover Square.

The house was built of brown brick with red-brick lintels and window dressings, and a roof of glazed tile. Its porch and cornices displayed magnificent Portland stonework; however, the main architectural feature of Lady Susan’s house as well as that of its neighbors was the way the windows of each floor were made to look as though they were connected to those above and below in long vertical strips by means of connecting “aprons” of rusticated stone. The windows themselves were glazed with Crown glass from Newcastle, which had a sheen on the surface and a faint bluish tinge that gave them the look of polished mirrors.

Jessica loved the house and its setting. The square was beautiful, its central wrought-iron-railed garden lushly green and mellowed with age, and the view down George Street, boasting as it did the magnificent projection of the portico of St. George’s Church across the way, she thought particularly pleasant. She let out a little sigh of pleasure as a Gordon footman opened the carriage door, let down the steps, and assisted her to alight.

Lord Gordon also expressed relief at the journey’s end. “Upon my word, here we are at last. You must be glad you will soon be able to refresh yourself, my dear. Not that it’s more than a skip and a jump to Duke Street from here. Though it is not my habit, I can tell you, I am looking forward to a bit of a catnap before dinner.”

Looking up at the house as her maid and baggage were set down upon the flagway from two of the coaches following in their wake, Jessica realized that someone had been set to watch for her arrival, for a number of green-liveried servants emerged at once and hurried down the stone steps to deal with her boxes and trunks. Turning back to the carriage, she said her good-byes and thanked her sister and brother-in-law for their hospitality.

“Well, but you must come to visit us in Duke Street, too, Jess,” her sister insisted.

“Of course I shall. But I’ll give you and Cyril a day or so to find your feet before I do. No doubt Aunt Susan will have made a good many plans for my entertainment.”

Lady Gordon wrinkled her little nose. “Not merely the Africa Institute and climbing boys this year, Jessica. Do try to take part in more of the Season’s activities. I’m sure I can get vouchers for Almack’s if you’d attend one of the subscription balls with me.”

Laughing, Jessica shook her head. “Almack’s is much too staid and stuffy for Aunt Susan’s taste,” she said, thus dismissing that Olympus of the social world, “and I shouldn’t know how to behave at such an affair anymore, Georgie, so don’t expect to cozen me into going. We don’t live so completely out of the way as you seem to think, but I shan’t go to Almack’s.”

A moment later she left them and ascended the front steps to the entrance of the house. It was not the porter but Bates himself, Lady Susan’s slim, elderly butler, who awaited her, his wrinkled countenance beaming beneath his shining white-fringed pate.

“Miss Jessica, how good to see you again. I trust your journey was a pleasant one.”

She agreed that the journey had been very pleasant, and he ushered her into the two-story entry hall, the floor of which was paved with Purbeck stone laid in squares with little diamonds of black Namur marble at the crossing of the joints. The hall boasted a gay rococo ceiling, and the cream-colored plaster walls were arrayed with a variety of wrought-iron lamp-holders, link extinguishers, and candle sconces. The woodwork had been fashionably painted to match the walls, but the sweeping mahogany handrailing and uncarpeted stairs at the left rear of the hall, as well as the first-floor gallery rail above, had been left their natural color and polished to a high gloss.

“How is my aunt, Bates?” Jessica inquired as he waved a pair of footmen carrying one of her trunks toward the stairs.

“In the pink, miss. Entertaining a guest at the moment, but she said to show you up directly you arrived.”

“Oh, but I should change my dress first. I cannot go to her in all my dirt.”

“Nonsense, Miss Jessica. Her ladyship won’t mind a bit of travel dust, but she said I was not to let you disappear upstairs without first stepping in to see her.”

“Very well, then,” Jessica agreed smiling. “I daresay my poor Mellin won’t have my gowns unpacked or pressed for a good while yet. You may take me to her ladyship.”

She paused to greet Mrs. Birdlip, Lady Susan’s plump and smiling housekeeper, then followed Bates up the wide stairs and around the right side of the gallery to the elegant green-and-gray drawing room. It hadn’t occurred to her amidst the bustling activity of the entry hall to ask who her aunt’s guest was, for she had merely assumed the person to be one of the ladies or gentlemen who pursued the same interests as Lady Susan. Therefore it came as a profound shock to her to see Sir Brian Gregory getting casually to his feet as Bates spoke her name and she stepped across the threshold.

Jessica stopped just inside the doorway as a myriad of emotions threatened to make her dizzy. Sir Brian, having shot a speaking glance at the chinchilla muff, which she carried on her left arm, was now smiling at her in a knowing way, and it occurred to her that he seemed very much at home in her aunt’s house. But she was too stunned to return the smile and not by any means certain that she wanted to do so. Not, at least, until she sorted out the feelings warring through her body. The smile and the odd light in his eyes seemed to indicate that he had quite forgotten the difficulties attending their last meeting, but she had not. On the other hand, she was sincerely delighted to see him and none the less so that he no longer seemed to be angry with her. But what on earth was he doing in Lady Susan’s drawing room?

As these thoughts passed through Jessica’s head, her aunt stood up, speaking rapidly in her musical voice and moving to greet her. “Jessica, dear child, how perfectly enchanting you look. That shade of gray matches your eyes and is particularly becoming to you, and how well the chinchilla trim sets off your hair. Oh, my dear, how delighted I am to see you again.”

Presently enjoying her later middle years, Lady Susan was nearly as tall as her niece, but willowy, and she moved with elegant grace. Her graying blond hair was piled atop her head in a style that might have looked haphazard had she not carried it off with such an air of dignity. Golden tendrils caressed her ears and the back of her long neck, softening her expression. She wore a cream-colored afternoon gown that was high of neck and long of sleeve but which showed every sign of having been designed by a modiste of the very first stare. Lady Susan spent her considerable wealth on many worthy causes, but she did not stint herself. Though her house was more than a hundred years old, it was generally in an excellent state of repair, furnished with taste and elegance, and it boasted a number of modern conveniences, not the least of which was the valve closet in the basement near the kitchen. And Lady Susan herself was always dressed in the first style of elegance.

Jessica kissed her aunt’s sweet-smelling powdered cheek. “I’m very glad to be here, ma’am. You’ve even managed nice weather for me. The square looked perfectly lovely when we arrived, being so green and so full of flowers this year.”

“Yes, and only wait until you see my gardens,” her aunt agreed, regarding her fondly. But then she recollected herself with a little gesture of dismay. “But we are neglecting my guest. I understand you have previously made Sir Brian’s acquaintance, my dear.”

“Yes, indeed,” Jessica replied, moving forward to greet him properly. “How do you do, sir?”

“Very well, Miss Jessica. London agrees with me.” Unthinkingly, she had held out her right hand, and he promptly took it between his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. She was very conscious of the warmth of his touch, even through her glove, and as she looked up, his eyes met hers, and he smiled the intimate little smile she remembered so well. A lock of the dark blond hair had fallen across his brow, and Jessica’s hand twitched in his as she experienced a strong desire to smooth it back into place.

Determined not to fall victim to his ready charm at least until she had some definition of his present intentions, she straightened, withdrawing her hand and trying to gather her customary dignity around her. Her gray eyes narrowed slightly, challenging him. “And your nephew, sir?” she asked. “Does London agree with him, as well?”

“I’m thankful to say it does, ma’am. By the greatest gift of providence, Lady St. Erth and her charming daughter arrived in town not two days after we did.” He smiled at her, and this time Jessica responded without hesitation.

“Then he has recovered his—”

“His balance?” His eyes quizzed her, and she could feel warmth invading her cheeks when she realized her aunt probably didn’t have the slightest notion what they were talking about. “It would be better, perhaps, to say that he emerged from the sulks with quite satisfactory speed and is presently enjoying his customary sunny temperament.”

“I suppose that is the way
you
would describe matters, sir,” she said tartly before turning to Lady Susan with an apologetic smile. “Sir Brian’s nephew suffered a disturbance of the heart before they left Cornwall,” she explained.

“Oh, yes, Sir Brian has told me all about that scandalous business,” Lady Susan said as she took her seat again, her expressive blue eyes positively sparkling with indignation. “Dreadful the way some folks take to deception as a way of life. And such a shame that young men must always be so vulnerable to the charms of that sort of woman. But sit down, my dear, sit down.”

Realizing that she had underestimated Sir Brian, Jessica turned toward him once she had taken a seat upon one of the comfortable settees that littered the pleasant drawing room. Laying her muff beside her, she removed her gloves as she spoke. “Have you known my aunt long, sir? I do not believe you mentioned the acquaintance when we were in Cornwall.”

“Sir Brian has expressed an interest in the Africa Institute,” her ladyship informed her. “He came to see me about a week ago to discover more about our work, and he has been a frequent visitor since.” She smiled at him. “As I told him, what with Mr. Hatchard’s troubles, as well as all the other little projects we constantly have in train, we need all the assistance we can find.”

“Mr. Hatchard? He is the bookseller you wrote to me about, is he not? Owns that delightful shop in Piccadilly.”

“Indeed, my dear. The same. It is a most unfortunate circumstance. All on account of the Institute’s wretched annual report. He published it, you see, at the end of the year. And now there is such a furor, you wouldn’t believe.”

“Gracious, but what could he have published that was so dreadful? I vow, ma’am, your letters were never very clear on the subject.”

“It was not Hatchard’s doing, precisely,” Sir Brian put in. “He merely printed what had been submitted to him by the directors of the Institute. Unfortunately, the report included an account from Antigua describing the case of an aide-de-camp to the governor, Sir James Leith. Briefly, the aide is said to have flogged a female slave who was with child. The woman then complained to the governor, who reprimanded his aide, who, in turn, is said to have flogged the woman again. The governor then very properly dismissed the aide-de-camp from his service, whereupon the insolent fellow returned his uniform by dressing up one of his slave boys in it and sending him, mounted upon a donkey, to Sir James.”

“Not the most tactful thing to have done under the circumstances, certainly,” put in Lady Susan. “Naturally, Sir James was prodigiously displeased. He ordered an indictment of the aide-de-camp to be presented to the grand jury of the island, but they refused to sanction prosecution. Typical of them, I’m afraid.”