An Unconventional Miss. Dorothy Elbury

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СКАЧАТЬ him in astonishment, she asked, ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

      ‘That fellow’s name,’ he replied, still frowning. ‘I almost had it. Dryden or Brydon or—oh, botheration! It’s gone again!’

      ‘Haydn?’ chorused Jessica and Imogen in unison, whilst Matt simultaneously offered ‘Lydian or Layburn?’ all of which suggestions Nicholas met with a vigorous shake of his head.

      Whereupon, the next ten minutes or so were spent plying Nicholas with every conceivable version of any similar-sounding name that the three of them could call to mind until, finally, as the offerings became more and more nonsensical, Imogen and Jessica collapsed against each other in convulsions of laughter and begged their menfolk to desist.

      ‘How about Reardon or Raven?’ chortled Matt who, totally entranced by his wife’s infectious gurgle, was loath to bring the unexpected merriment to a close.

      Nicholas started to shake his head again, then he stiffened and a faraway look came into his eyes. ‘Raven?’ he mused. ‘Ryvern? Great heavens! That’s it!’ he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright.

      ‘Ryvern?’ chimed his audience, in chorus.

      ‘No, not Ryvern!’ was his gleeful reply. ‘Wyvern! The fellow’s name is Wyvern—hence the dragon on his ring, I suppose!’ he added in triumph.

      There was a long pause, then, ‘Wyvern?’ said Matt thoughtfully. ‘I seem to remember that there was a Viscount Wyvern in my year at Oxford—Theodore Ashcroft by name—no, hang on—I heard that his father, the earl, had died, so I suppose Theo would have inherited the title. About my age, would you say?’

      Uncertain as to the age of the stranger, Nicholas was obliged to admit that he had no idea, but Jessica, who had had greater opportunity to study their rescuer, gave a vehement shake of her head.

      ‘Several years younger, I should have thought,’ she declared. ‘Midtwenties, possibly—and he certainly didn’t strike me as aristocratic! Quite the contrary, if you want my opinion!’

      ‘Nevertheless,’ Matt pointed out, ‘at least it gives us something to go on—no harm in making a few discreet enquiries. The least I can do is to thank the fellow for returning my delinquent sister to the bosom of her family!’

      He ducked as a velvet cushion sailed over his head. ‘Rotten shot!’ he said, as a broad grin formed on his lips. ‘Clearly, all those hours I spent trying to teach you to play cricket were a total waste of time!’

      Chapter Three

      Having deposited his hired mount at the nearest livery stables, the subject of their discussion, recently decommissioned Dragoon Major the Honourable Benedict Ashcroft, now Ninth Earl of Wyvern, set off up South Audley Street to walk the short distance to the family’s Grosvenor Square mansion.

      He had not gone far, however, when he heard himself hailed by a familiar voice.

      ‘Ashcroft! I say! Over here, old chap!’

      On the far side of the road, the driver of a very dashing curricle and pair was waving his whip at him in the most enthusiastic fashion. Instantly recognising his one-time comrade-in-arms, the Honourable Freddy Fitzallan, Wyvern, his face breaking into a broad smile, returned the salute with gusto and nimbly wove his way through the busy traffic to greet his old friend.

      ‘By all that’s wonderful!’ grinned Fitzallan, leaning down to grasp Wyvern’s outstretched hand. ‘Last person I expected to see! Just got back, have you? Where are you off to? Hop up; I’ll give you a lift.’

      ‘Hardly worth your trouble, Freddy,’ said Wyvern with a grin, hoisting himself up beside his friend, nevertheless. ‘But I’m headed for Ashcroft House, if you are of a mind.’

      Fitzallan whipped up his horses and, with considerable expertise, threaded his way back into the stream of vehicles.

      ‘Dreadfully sorry to hear about poor old Theo, Ben,’ he said, shooting a fleeting glance at his friend. ‘Hard to believe someone as experienced as your brother could have been that careless with his weapon!’ He paused for a moment, then added, with a slightly self-conscious air, ‘S’pose we will all have to get into the habit of calling you Wyvern now!’

      ‘So it would seem,’ returned the new earl morosely. ‘And the very last thing I could have wanted, as you must know!’

      Fitzallan gave a sympathetic nod, then, clearing his throat, asked, ‘When did you get back?’

      ‘Managed to get a passage last night—got into Tilbury early this morning. Had to leave Berridge and Taverner to collect up my things and bring the horses and carriage over as best they could—I hired a hack and rode straight to Brentford. Thought it best to get the full details from the solicitor before I saw my grandmother.’

      ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, old chap, I hope you know that you have only to ask!’

      ‘Point taken, Freddy,’ said Wyvern, forcing a smile. ‘But, unless you happen to have the odd thirty thousand going begging, it would appear that there’s not a lot that anyone can do!’

      Fitzallan let out a low whistle. ‘Phew!’ he gasped ‘As bad as that! I had heard the rumours, of course—difficult to avoid them, as you know—but I hadn’t realised…’

      He was silent for a moment, then, somewhat apologetically, went on, ‘’Fraid my pockets are to let, as usual. Had to borrow a score from Holt, only yesterday. Maybe he can help—pretty well loaded, dear old Simon, as you know!’

      Shaking his head, Wyvern replied, ‘I was joking, dear boy—wouldn’t dream of asking either one of you. Apart from which, there would be little point, since I don’t have the means to pay back a loan of that magnitude.’

      Then, as briefly as possible, he outlined the bones of his earlier meeting with the family solicitor, carefully skating over the less savoury aspects of his deceased older sibling’s downfall.

      From the limited information that he had managed to cull from Humphreys, who had been the Ashcroft family’s solicitor for a good many years, Wyvern had endeavoured to piece together something of his late brother’s final days.

      It appeared that, during the two years following the carriage accident in which his young wife and baby son had both lost their lives, the late Lord Wyvern had done his best to drown his sorrows in drink. Unfortunately, to the eventual detriment of Ashcroft Grange, the Wyverns’ family seat in Middlesex, he had also spent a great many of his waking hours frittering away large sums of money at the gaming tables of one or other of the many gambling dens in the capital. Insofar as his younger brother had been able to establish, it would appear that not one person amongst the late earl’s recently acquired circle of friends had felt himself either inclined or able to curtail Theo’s reckless proclivities.

      To make matters worse—if that were at all possible—Humphreys had then discovered that the late earl, having gambled away the bulk of his own not inconsiderable fortune, had begun to make significant inroads into the estate’s ancient assets. In order to fund his spiralling obsession, he had systematically sold off a good many of the cherished silverware collections, along with a quantity of highly prized paintings, irreplaceable tapestries and other such items of value.

      Barely able to meet the look СКАЧАТЬ