Robert Dungarron was on the road to London.
Hunting in the mist, rain and snow of Leicestershire had been dismal, and the society there even less attractive. What was more annoying was the meeting with Hester Perceval…. How strange that he hadn’t recognized her!
When he had first seen her coming around the corner with her cousins she had seemed a different creature altogether. Laughing, animated, capable. It had taken a minute or two to remember what a bore she had been once before—and the devilishly awkward circumstances of their last meeting…. Still, if what she had said about not coming to town for the Season was right, he wouldn’t see her again….
Dungarron settled back more comfortably against the squabs and composed himself for sleep. But sleep eluded him. Memories of Hester Perceval flitted about his mind like ghosts.
An Unreasonable Match
Sylvia Andrew
SYLVIA ANDREW
taught modern languages for years, ending up as a vice-principal of a sixth-form college. She lives in Somerset with two cats, a dog and a husband who has a very necessary sense of humor and a stern approach to punctuation. Sylvia has one daughter, living in London, and they share a lively interest in the theater. She describes herself as an “unrepentant romantic.”
Other books in THE STEEPWOOD SCANDAL series:
Lord Ravensden’s Marriage, by Anne Herries
An Innocent Miss, by Elizabeth Bailey
The Reluctant Bride, by Meg Alexander
A Companion of Quality, by Nicola Cornick
A Most Improper Proposal, by Gail Whitiker
A Noble Man, by Anne Ashley
An Unreasonable Match, by Sylvia Andrew
An Unconventional Duenna, by Paula Marshall
Counterfeit Earl, by Anne Herries
The Captain’s Return, by Elizabeth Bailey
The Guardian’s Dilemma, by Gail Whitiker
Lord Exmouth’s Intentions, by Anne Ashley
Mr. Rushford’s Honour, by Meg Alexander
An Unlikely Suitor, by Nicola Cornick
An Inescapable Match, by Sylvia Andrew
The Missing Marchioness, by Paula Marshall
Contents
Chapter One
1812
Feeling rather like a sheepdog in charge of a flock of very pretty lambs, Hester Perceval ushered her cousins out of Mr Hammond’s draper’s shop in the centre of Northampton. They were all in tearing spirits, exclaiming and laughing as they slipped on the snow-covered street, frantically clutching the parcels which they had adamantly refused to leave to be delivered the next day. Even Hester, normally so sober in public, found it impossible not to laugh at their antics, as she helped first one, then the other to negotiate the busy high street. The gentleman coming from the Receiving Office was enchanted by the picture of the four young ladies as they rounded the corner from Abington Street—rosy, animated faces framed in fur-lined hoods, youthfully slender figures in their warm pelisses, blue, wine-red, russet and green.
Just a few yards from the Peacock, Henrietta, the youngest of the cousins, slipped yet again and lost her balance. Hester managed to save her from falling, but dropped her own parcel in the snow as she did so. The gentleman hurried towards them and picked up the sadly sodden package. He held it for a moment, then said with a charming smile, “I think the damage is superficial. Would you like it, or shall I hand it to the boy at the inn for treatment? I take it that you are making for the Peacock? Your servant is no doubt waiting for you there.”
Hester caught her breath in shock. A deep, drawling voice, a tall, elegant figure. Dungarran. Impossible to forget him, however often she may have wished to. Fortunately, the gentleman had apparently found it perfectly possible to forget her!
“Thank you, sir,” she said, keeping her head down. “Our groom will be here in a few minutes. He has gone to fetch my brother from the Cambridge coach. We have a parlour bespoke in the Peacock, where we shall wait for him.” She turned to follow her cousins.
“Wait a moment!” He came round and stared hard at her. “It’s Miss Perceval, is it not? Hugo Perceval’s sister! Well, well!” He looked at the three girls, standing in amazement behind Hester.
“Are these your sisters?”
“My cousins, Lord Dungarran.”
“But what am I thinking of! You shouldn’t stand on the street in this weather. Come! You must allow me to escort you into the inn. We can talk inside.”
Hester hoped that her dislike of the idea did not show on her face. It was impossible to refuse. He was right to express surprise, however disguised, at the lack of a maid or groom to attend them in such a busy town. It was certainly unheard of in London. And Dungarran, she thought bitterly, was the example par excellence of a London gentleman.
Inside the inn the landlord greeted her party with friendly respect. “The parlour is ready, Miss Perceval, and I’ve laid out some pasties and pies in case you need something to keep you going. Shall I fetch some coffee or tea? Or would you like a drop of negus? It’s cold enough outside, and shopping is thirsty work.”
“Thank you, Mr Watkins.” The innkeeper looked inquiringly at her escort. “Lord Dungarran will join us until my brother arrives.”
“However, I’d like something stronger than negus, landlord. Have you a pint of good ale?”
“The best, my lord! Please to come this way.” He led them into a cheerful room, furnished with a table and cushioned settles, and warmed by a glowing fire. “You’ll be comfortable in here. We’ve sent the boy to Hammond’s to have your parcel rewrapped, Miss Perceval. He should be back in a moment.”
Hester thanked him and he disappeared. There was slight pause, then she said coolly, “Girls, I’d like to present a friend of Hugo’s. Lord Dungarran, my cousins Miss Edwina Perceval,