Free The Battling Bluestocking by Amanda Scott Page B

honor them by wearing evening attire instead of his usual riding dress, and he looked more precise than Jessica had yet seen him, in black trousers and coat, well-polished half-boots, a white shirt, and embroidered waistcoat. He was not dressed nearly so fashionably as Lord Gordon, who sported padded shoulders and a wasp waist to his dark blue coat, worn over yellow cossack trousers that, in Jessica’s opinion, merely gave his lordship the unfortunate appearance of a plump toby jug. By comparison, Sir Brian’s height and regal carriage gave him an air of elegance that no tailor would ever achieve for Lord Gordon.
    The dark brown eyes met hers immediately, and the tall broad-shouldered gentleman smiled. It fascinated her to watch the way the smile lit his eyes as well as his face. In repose his strong features looked almost harsh, but when he smiled, they softened dramatically. Feeling a glow of gentle warmth, Jessica smiled back, little realizing that her own countenance altered nearly as much as his, making her look younger and more vulnerable, while adding a gentleness to her features that was otherwise concealed by her air of dignity.
    Lord Gordon set aside his papers and took snuff. “Welcome,” he said, carefully dusting his sleeve. “I daresay you’ve heard all about our latest excitement. To be sure, you must have done, for young Andrew was no doubt full of his discovery when he returned to Shaldon Park.”
    “He was,” replied Sir Brian. “Good evening, Lady Gordon. I trust my nephew’s imposition upon your good nature has caused no serious problems.”
    “No, indeed, sir,” she answered, blushing a little. “How could she, when she has scarcely wakened since Mrs. Borthwick tucked her up in bed? Do sit down, sir. Cyril, pour out a glass of port for Sir Brian.”
    “You relieve my mind considerably, ma’am,” Sir Brian said, accepting the glass offered by his lordship and taking a seat on the settee next to Jessica, grinning at her when she scrambled in a most undignified fashion to clear away the magazine as well as the odd bits and pieces of her project to make room for him.
    “Were you concerned about our young stranger?” his lordship inquired, frowning a little at his sister-in-law. “I cannot think why you should be. Pretty young thing.”
    “I don’t doubt it,” Sir Brian replied, smiling slightly at him. “You would be well advised to place a guard at her door, however.”
    “A guard! Well, upon my word, sir. Surely you don’t think that poor young thing is in any danger?”
    Lady Gordon’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear,” she murmured.
    “Nothing of the sort,” Sir Brian said. “It is rather the reverse, I fear. You know nothing of her antecedents, after all. This may be no more than a rather complex ploy with your silver as the target, ma’am.”
    “Oh, surely not,” protested her ladyship. “Why, you haven’t seen her, sir. She cannot be more than eighteen at the most. And so innocent and helpless. Why, she does not even speak English. Mrs. Borthwick quite despaired of being able to communicate with her, though she did somehow manage to elicit the information that the poor child’s name is Kara—Kara Boo is what Mrs. Borthwick thought she said, though we cannot help but think that a trifle unlikely. I believe most of their communication is accomplished through the use of hand signals, you know.”
    “No doubt.” Sir Brian’s tone was dry, and he turned to Jessica. “What do you think of the refugee, Miss Sutton-Drew?”
    “So far I have no reason to form any judgment at all, sir,” Jessica returned primly.
    “I doubt that would stop you,” he murmured in an undertone, his eyes dancing. “Will you ride with me tomorrow?”
    Color flooded her cheeks, but as Lord Gordon chose that particular moment to demand to know what Sir Brian would advise him to do in the situation, she was spared the necessity of an immediate reply.
    “I should do what I could to