Miss Jesmond's Heir. Paula Marshall
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he was sure, say and do the right thing—indeed, was busy saying and doing them even while they sat and talked about Netherton and the late Miss Jesmond.
‘I was so fond of the dear old lady,’ sighed Caro untruthfully. She and Miss Jesmond had disliked one another cordially. It had been Georgie who, until her marriage, had provided Jess’s aunt with congenial company. After she had been widowed and had returned to Netherton she had lightened the old lady’s last days with her bright presence until death had claimed Miss Jesmond.
Caro was now giving Jess her version of her friendship with Miss Jesmond—which was an accurate account of Georgie’s transferred to herself.
‘So,’ she ended, smiling sweetly, ‘you may imagine how pleased I am to meet at last the nephew of whom she was so fond.’
Great-nephew, thought Georgie a trifle sourly.
‘And Georgie knew her a little, too,’ Caro sighed. ‘Although none of us was aware that you were her heir.’
‘And nor was I,’ returned Jess, who was enjoying more than a little the attention and admiration of a pretty woman. ‘It is many years since I last visited my aunt, but I believe that I am the only member of her family left—which accounts for the inheritance, I suppose.’
Sir Garth said, ‘I am never sure whether having relatives is a good thing or not, but one is supposed to commiserate with those who have none—so I shall do so.’
Jess bowed his thanks. ‘It leaves one feeling lonely,’ he admitted. ‘However, I can well understand that there are occasions when relatives can be a liability—although I am sure that that term could never be applied to your sister or your sister-in-law.’
‘True,’ replied Sir Garth, ‘and I was spared an unkind father so I am lucky.’
‘And I also,’ sighed Caro. ‘Until I lost my husband,’ she added hastily.
Georgie refused to join this mutual congratulation society. She was more than a little surprised by the resentment aroused in her by Jess’s admiration of Caro. It was not that he was being obvious about it. Indeed, most people would not have been aware of his interest in her, but Georgie was finding that she could read him.
It was her late husband who had tutored her in the art of understanding the unspoken thoughts of men and women, and she was beginning to regret that anger had led her to misread Jess when she had first met him. It was not that she was interested in him—no, not at all, she told herself firmly—but in a small society like Netherton’s she was bound to meet him frequently and it would not do to be at open odds with him, for that might cause unpleasant gossip.
So she said a few moments later, just before the butler came to announce that dinner was served, ‘Have you found the opportunity to visit Netherton yet, Mr Fitzroy?’
‘Indeed. I drove there this morning. I needed to find a bank and Miss Jesmond’s solicitor. Not all my business could be concluded by correspondence before I visited Jesmond House. I was pleasantly surprised by how attractive the little town is—and how busy. I had no notion that there were Assembly Rooms, for example. There were none, I believe, when I visited my aunt over twenty years ago.’
Georgie replied, pleased that they were about to have a civilised conversation at last, ‘They were built about fifteen years ago. My late father and Mr Bowlby headed a committee which thought that Netherton needed to have a more varied social life. They were also responsible for improving the streets and creating the public park and the small Arboretum which lies at the end of the main street. My father was a keen gardener; so, too, was your great-aunt when she was a young woman and they frequently made presents of flowers and plants to both the park and the garden.’
Jess privately noted that Georgie had been careful to refer to Miss Jesmond as his great-aunt rather than his aunt and had also informed him—or rather, reminded him—of her love of the outdoor world. He had already decided to restore the gardens around Jesmond House in celebration of her memory.
He told Georgie so.
Her face lit up. ‘Oh, how pleased she would have been if she had known that! I think she rather feared that once she was gone the gardens might never recover their old glory.’
Caro was privately yawning at this discussion of matters in which she had no interest. So far as she was concerned, flowers and plants were things which the servants collected from the gardeners and placed in bowls and vases around the house for her to admire if she chose to—which wasn’t often.
She was pleased that the butler arrived to announce that supper was ready immediately after she had seconded Georgie’s remark by exclaiming, ‘What a sweet thought. It does you credit, does it not, Garth?’
Sir Garth, whose lack of interest in things botanic was even greater than his sister’s, drawled, ‘Yes, indeed, great credit, I’m sure. I like a tidy garden.’ A remark which would have killed that line of conversation even if the butler had not summoned them to the supper table.
‘I thought,’ Caro said, after they were all seated, ‘that you would prefer a small private supper party with only a few present rather than a formal dinner where you might be overwhelmed by all those wishing to meet you. You must be aware that the whole of Netherton is excited by your arrival—we meet so few strangers.’
Georgie thought drily that she had rarely met anyone less likely to be overwhelmed than Mr Jesmond Fitzroy, whose reply to Caro was a model of tact and charm.
‘Very good of you, madam. Most thoughtful of you. A slow introduction to all the curious would certainly be easier than encountering them en masse.’
Now Mr Jesmond Fitzroy was not being quite truthful in coming out with a remark made primarily to please his hostess. He had long been aware that in war, business and life, early reconnoitring of one’s surroundings and their inhabitants was highly desirable—particularly when those surroundings were new. He would have been perfectly happy had Mrs Caroline Pomfret invited most of Netherton society to meet him, but no one would have guessed it from his manner.
Except for Georgie.
Her instincts were beginning to inform her that their guest was a far more devious person than his bland exterior might suggest. Consequently the eye she turned on him after that little speech was a trifle satiric—and, being devious and alert, Jess immediately read her expression correctly.
So, Mrs Charles Herron was not only a hoyden, she was also a minx! And a cunning one—unlike her artless sister-in-law. Unfortunately for him, his first encounter with Georgie not only had him continually misreading her, it was helping him to misread Caro too. Because she was so obviously Georgie’s opposite, so delightfully conventional in her manner, he was crediting her with virtues which she did not possess.
His instincts were on surer ground with the ineffable Sir Garth, who entertained them over supper with tales of high life. He was, it seemed, a personal friend of all of those in the first stare of London society, throwing nicknames around with abandon. Lord Palmerston was ‘Cupid’, Lord Granville was ‘Beamer’, Lady Jersey was ‘Silence’, and so on…and so on…
Yes, the man was a fraud of some kind, Jess was sure.
If that were so, then what was he doing here in this quiet backwater where some small Assembly Rooms and a miniature park were among the few excitements of the little town?
Jess made a mental note that Sir Garth Manning would bear watching.
And all the time that he was exchanging small talk with Manning and his sister, about the gossip surrounding King George IV’s determination to rid himself of his wife, Queen Caroline, who, when she was Princess of Wales, had been the bane of his life, the Herron minx remained unwontedly quiet. And who, pray, had the late Mr Charles Herron been, who had chosen to marry a redheaded termagant?
Which was being unfair, he knew, for Georgie’s hair was not truly red, and for a termagant she was being uncommonly backward in the assertion department!
Halfway through the