Free The Battling Bluestocking by Amanda Scott

Warren’s got some devilish nipcheese notions, but everything is all right and tight now. I have seen Janet…that is, Miss St. Erth, a time or two since that day, you know, and she tells me Hayle sought her out, once matters were in hand, to apologize for his rudeness.”
    “Goodness, that must have surprised her,” Jessica said, smiling vaguely but thinking of Sir Brian, wondering how he had managed to make a man like Sir Warren attend to the dangers of his mine.
    “Well, I daresay,” Andrew went on, unaware of her wandering thoughts, “but she is so full of plans for her first Season in London, you know, that she really said very little about it. Isn’t it odd, Miss Sutton-Drew, how girls one once thought of as pests grow up to be rather dashing and pretty?”
    “Miss St. Erth is certainly pretty,” Jessica agreed absently.
    “Well, I should say so,” he returned with fervor. He then went on to read Jessica a catalog of the girl’s points, much as he might have done for a favorite horse, but she managed to keep her countenance and to pretend to listen with keen interest. It occurred to her that she might well be subjected to many such discussions until Lady St. Erth bore her charming daughter off to London, since Andrew had fallen into the habit of calling at Gordon Hall almost daily. However, within two days an event occurred that put Miss St. Erth straight out of the lad’s head.
    Jessica was returning to the house from the stables, having ridden out with her groom for some well-needed exercise, when she heard the quick clatter of hooves on the drive. Turning, she beheld young Mr. Liskeard astride Sailor, balancing what appeared to be a pile of wet laundry across the saddle bow before him. As he drew to a halt beside her, the pile of laundry moved.
    “Andrew, what on earth!”
    The lad was frowning anxiously. “It’s a lady, Miss Sutton-Drew, a young lady. I discovered her, exhausted, lying all aheap on the beach near the south end of Mount’s Bay. She must have nearly drowned.”
    “Merciful heavens. Who is she?”
    “I haven’t the faintest idea. I can’t seem to make her understand a word I say to her, and she hasn’t spoken. Where shall I take her, Miss Sutton-Drew? I can’t take her home. We’re all men there. It wouldn’t be proper. I thought perhaps Lady Gordon—”
    “Good gracious, Andrew, you should have taken the poor thing to the nearest inn. Bring her inside quickly. We’ve got to get her warmed up before she catches her death.”
    With Andrew carrying the stranger, Jessica led the way into the house, directing the housekeeper to show young Mr. Liskeard to a bedchamber where he could deposit his burden and to cause a fire to be kindled there. “Also, you had better find the poor thing some dry clothes, Mrs. Borthwick, and some warm broth, perhaps.”
    Just then the young woman stirred in Andrew’s arms and opened her eyes. They were brown, a few shades lighter than her damp hair. Her skin was darkly tanned, and she appeared to be quite slim, though rather full-bosomed. Her lips were full and well-shaped. As she looked around the entryway of Gordon Hall, her eyes seemed to widen with fear and her lips parted to emit a low cry.
    “You’re safe,” Andrew said gently.
    She gazed up at him, then stared at Jessica, then at plump Mrs. Borthwick, before she began to struggle weakly in Andrew’s arms.
    “Be still,” he said. “You are safe.”
    She did not seem to understand him at all, and a moment later, in a high-pitched, nearly wailing voice, she spoke rapidly. It was the others’ turn to stare, for the words pouring from her mouth were, to their ears, at any rate, complete gibberish.
    Lady Gordon rushed into the hallway from the garden saloon. “What on earth…?” She looked first at Andrew’s burden and then at Jessica.
    “I haven’t the faintest notion,” the latter replied. “Andrew found this young woman on the beach. She is wet and cold, so he brought her here,