The Battling Bluestocking (30 page)

Even without looking at Sir Brian, Jessica sensed victory, and with Mr. Abbott’s next words she heard her aunt release an audible sigh of relief.

“Though it is quite true,” Mr. Abbott continued, “that there is no law in England opposing the institution of slavery, there is likewise none which defends it; therefore, whatever inconveniences may follow from this decision, we cannot say the case in question is allowed or approved by English law. It is therefore the decision of this court that no law has been broken. The charges against the defendant being herewith vacated, the clerk will read.”

The ordeal was over, and Lady Susan’s name had not once been mentioned. Feeling Sir Brian’s hand gently upon her own, Jessica looked down and discovered she had been clutching the sleeve of his coat. Guiltily she released it and turned to squeeze her aunt’s hand.

“We’ve won, ma’am.”

“Indeed, my love, and Albert is free at last.”

“Devil a bit,” Andrew put in cheerfully from her other side. “The main thing is that
you
are free.”

Lady Susan chuckled. “Very true. However, I was persuaded, you know, that right would prevail. I am merely thankful that Sir Reginald was able to achieve his victory so quickly, and without bandying my name about the courts. He is a very clever man, I think.”

A moment later, as the clerk called for the next case, Basingstoke, accompanied by Mr. Wychbold, stepped up to Sir Brian and suggested that they all move out into the vestibule. As Jessica walked beside Sir Brian in the wake of the two lawyers, she noticed a plump, veiled figure slipping out of the room ahead of them, and had little difficulty recognizing Lady Prodmore.

Lady Susan, walking behind the others with Andrew, made a small sound in her throat that made Jessica look back at her quickly. Even through the dark veil shading the older woman’s face, she was able to see the triumphant little smile that flickered across her lips.

In the rapidly emptying vestibule, Mr. Wychbold spoke first, to Lady Susan. “I feel it is incumbent upon me, my lady, to inform you that you now have an excellent case against Lady Prodmore for defamation of character. I would be pleased to prepare the arguments for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wychbold,” said her ladyship kindly, “but I have no desire to pursue the matter. We have already provided enough meat to keep the scandalmongers from starving for a twelvemonth, at least. Indeed, were the Season not rapidly drawing to a close, I confess I should be strongly tempted to repair to Paris or Vienna for several months until the furor has died away. However, the Season
is
drawing to a close, and I daresay that dreadful woman will not dare to show her face in polite society, so I expect the rest of us will rub along tolerably well without resorting to drastic measures.” The flickering little smile danced upon her lips again, and Jessica knew her aunt wasn’t the least concerned about the scandal, but only about the victory she had won. Lady Susan’s smile widened as she held out her hand to Sir Reginald. “I must thank you, sir, with all my heart. And you, too, Mr. Wychbold, of course,” she added.

“It is Sir Brian,” said the barrister, “who deserves your thanks, my lady, for it was he who actually discovered the particular point of Elizabethan law upon which we decided to base our arguments.”

Sir Brian immediately denied that he had done anything more than discover a fact that would have been useless to any but the most talented of barristers, and insisted that it had more than likely been the numerous precedents unearthed by the tireless Mr. Wychbold that had tilted the scales of justice in Lady Susan’s favor. When the discussion rapidly showed signs of dwindling into an agreeable debate among the gentlemen as to who it was who had contributed the most toward gaining Lady Susan’s freedom, it was Andrew who put a stop to it by suggesting tactfully that the ladies were no doubt a trife weary after so long and difficult a morning.

Immediately the other three gentlemen expressed contrition at having kept them standing, and within moments both ladies were tucked up comfortably in the unicorn-crested coach, bowling across London Bridge to Thames Street, up the Strand, then through the Haymarket to Piccadilly. It was then but a short distance to Old Bond Street, George Street, and home. Upon their arrival, Sir Brian and Andrew accompanied the ladies to the front hall but refused to linger, saying they knew both Lady Susan and Jessica would prefer to rest. However, they were not allowed to take their departure until her ladyship had extracted a promise from them to dine that evening in Hanover Square.

“We are going to celebrate,” she said Cheerfully, taking off her veil, “and I know that Lord Gordon and dearest Georgeanne will want to hear all the details of this morning’s business. They did not attend, of course, for Cyril feared that to do so would distress Georgie, and very likely he was in the right of it. But you will need to help us explain matters, sir, and you and Andrew both deserve to have a part in the celebration. I shan’t accept regrets.”

Sir Brian, his gaze meeting Jessica’s, assured Lady Susan that it would be his pleasure to dine with them, but Jessica scarcely heard his words, for there was a look in his dark brown eyes that drove everything else from her head. It was a look so filled with warmth that she knew, for that one brief moment, that he loved her quite as passionately as she loved him. However, he turned back to Lady Susan just then, and the moment was gone. When he bade them adieu, laughingly reminding Andrew that they were pledged to meet Lady St. Erth and her daughter in Rotten Row at five o’clock, Jessica began to fear that she had imagined the look altogether. Nevertheless, for the rest of the afternoon her thoughts seemed to tumble about in her head without direction or logical order.

Lady Susan, having dispatched her invitation to Duke Street, caused a late nuncheon to be served to them in the breakfast parlor, but Jessica could not have said later what she ate or even if she had swallowed a morsel. And when Viscount Woodbury and Jeremy called a half-hour later to collect Albert, though outwardly she was cheerful and polite, she could not recall afterward what had been said or whether she had even remembered to bid the two boys a proper farewell.

Once they had gone, however, Lady Susan, eyeing her niece in a speculative way, suggested that Jessica ought to lie down upon her bed for an hour or so. “I can promise you, my dear, that I mean to do so. This business has placed a strain upon all of us, but I vow that you have borne the brunt of it, though you have made small complaint.”

“I am fine, Aunt Susan.”

“Nevertheless, love, it would please me if you would rest.”

When it was put to her like that, Jessica could scarcely refuse, but once in her bedchamber, she had no desire to sleep. Instead she selected a book at random from the shelf near her bed and carried it to the comfortably pillowed window seat. But upon opening it, she discovered her selection to be Walter Scott’s
Marmion
, and instead of reading, she found her thoughts winging back to the day on the cliff road when Andrew had held up Lord Gordon’s coach—the day she had first set eyes upon Sir Brian. How little she had known of him then.

The memories danced through her mind as she curled up against the soft pillows. First, there had been her own reaction to the man, of course, a startling reaction for one who had known so many gentlemen and respected so few. For despite the fact that he could stir her temper more easily than anyone else had ever done, she had been fascinated by him. And he, too, had been fascinated by her.

Smiling softly, she recalled the incident in the garden at Gordon Hall. She had surprised him that day, and herself as well. But when he had made it clear that he meant to pursue her, Jessica had eluded his efforts, and then in the aftermath of the bogus princess, she had begun to believe that his resentment when she had criticized him for interfering had quite overcome his romantic interest in her. And even though his presence in Lady Susan’s drawing room upon her arrival in London and his subsequent interest in the Africa Institute had provided Jessica with reason to suspect he had not lost interest altogether, she had been certain that his outrage over her dealings with the sweep had put a period to any of the tenderer emotions he might still have harbored.

More recently, since her aunt’s troubles had begun, his behavior had confused Jessica completely. Though she could not doubt that he had been annoyed to discover that she and Lady Susan had chosen to brave the slings and arrows of the
beau monde
rather than remain discreetly in seclusion after her ladyship’s release from Bow Street, his anger had been subdued and there had been little sign of his customary arrogance. Indeed, there had been moments since then that she had suspected he was deeply concerned about her. And moments, too, when she had surprised the look of tender affection in his eyes.

Then she remembered the warm glance she had intercepted earlier in the day. In her mind’s eye she could see his expression again, clearly, and it occurred to her for the first time that perhaps Sir Brian was unsure of her. He always seemed so confident, so sure of himself, that it had never before crossed her mind that he might be afraid to declare himself. Still, he had shown her more than once that his ego could be fragile. Perhaps he merely feared rebuff.

Straightening suddenly, Jessica laid the book aside and got to her feet, striding to pull the bell cord near the bed. When the wiry Mellin entered the room breathlessly in response to the hearty summons, Jessica ordered a bath and announced that she meant to wash her hair.

“Before dinner, Miss Jessica?” Mellin was shocked. “It’ll never dry, miss. Not by eight o’clock, and that’s when my Lord and Lady Gordon be expected.”

“Well, kindle a fire in here, then,” Jessica ordered briskly. “’Tis cool enough, and at least it won’t smoke. And, Mellin, do you go to my aunt’s woman and ask if I may use some of Aunt Susan’s French soap. Now, hurry!”

B
Y EIGHT O’CLOCK, THOUGH
she smelled delightfully of French jasmine, despite all of Mellin’s strenuous brushing before the crackling fire, Jessica’s hair was still a trifle damp when she descended the stairs to the drawing room. Mellin had styled the long, light brown tresses with a central, arrow-straight part leading to a neat, shining coil at the back of Jessica’s head, leaving wispy tendrils to curl about her face, neck and ears. Jessica’s color was high, for she knew she looked very well indeed in the slim-skirted, puff-sleeved gown of clinging lavender silk. A narrow trimming of gold lace banded the high waist and edged the deep décolletage, and dainty golden slippers peeped out from beneath the scalloped hemline as she walked. She wore long gold net gloves on her slender arms and carried an elegant pink-and-gilt Oriental fan. Besides the gold bobs in her ears, her only jewelry was a simple amethyst pendant on a delicate gold chain.

As she paused upon the drawing-room threshold, her eyes darted swiftly over the room’s occupants, and she felt a surge of disappointment. Though her aunt and Lord and Lady Gordon were there, as was General Potterby, whom she had not expected to see, the person she sought was absent.

“Is it your intention to bar the door to latecomers, my girl?”

The words, softly spoken behind her, nearly caused Jessica to jump out of her skin. She whirled, eyes flashing, to face Sir Brian.

“Have you no manners, sir? To steal up on a person in such a way is enough to cause one to suffer heart failure!”

“Or a miscarriage?” he suggested quizzically. His eyes danced. “You may rest assured that I shall not creep up behind Lady Gordon in such a way. Not that I did creep, mind you, but your thoughts were clearly otherwhere, my dear.”

Flushing delicately, Jessica favored him with a speaking look, which he returned with a slight lifting of one eyebrow. Much as she had wanted to demand a private word with him, she found now that her courage failed her, and she was grateful to hear her aunt’s voice demanding to know whether she meant to keep Sir Brian cooling his heels in the gallery all the evening.

“Thank you, my lady,” Sir Brian said, laughing as he stepped past the silent Jessica. “I had begun to fear that, like the porter at Almack’s, Miss Jessica meant to refuse entrance to those arriving after the prescribed hour. I beg your pardon for my tardiness.”

“And for misplacing your nephew, as well, sir?” Her ladyship regarded him archly. “I seem to recall having issued an invitation to you both.”

“Alas, ma’am, he has cried off, having accepted another invitation instead. I promise you, I combed his hair for his poor manners, but he assured me that you would never miss him.”

“Well, it is of little consequence,” Lady Susan replied with a dry chuckle, “for the general stopped in late this afternoon and has consented to take potluck with us, so my numbers will not be upset. I collect that Andrew’s second invitation came from Lady St. Erth. Are we to expect an announcement from that quarter in the near future?”

“Good God, I devoutly hope not!” Sir Brian’s dismay was nearly comical, and Jessica, rapidly recovering her equanimity, exchanged an amused look with her aunt. “Miss St. Erth,” said Sir Brian, “is scarcely out of the schoolroom, and Andrew returns to Oxford in August.” He paused reflectively. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they should make a match of it one day, but neither St. Erth nor I would countenance such a thing now.”

Lady Susan shot another twinkling glance at Jessica, then turned away to speak to the general, and Jessica looked up to find Sir Brian regarding her with a smile in his eyes. As his gaze rested appreciatively upon her, she felt the disconcerting warmth creeping into her cheeks again, but she did not look away. He recollected himself, and nodded toward Lady Susan and the general.

“That looks promising,” he said.

Taking a quick breath to steady herself, Jessica gave a little laugh. “So the general would have us believe,” she said, “but I suspect that Aunt Susan merely wishes him to exert his influence to begin a campaign for prison reform. She was appalled by the conditions at Bow Street, you know, and she means for us to do something to see them improved.”