She nodded swiftly and, reaching forward, took his hand in both of hers and proceeded to drag him towards the nearby sofa.
Highly amused, he offered no resistance and, at her command, sat down on the sofa beside her. She gave him a little flutter of her lashes before bestowing him with the full benefit of her extraordinarily bewitching eyes.
‘You have been so long in coming,’ she said plaintively, holding his hand in hers and stroking it gently.
The little minx, thought Beresford, grinning inwardly. Barely eighteen years of age and already well on the way to becoming a highly accomplished flirt! He would be prepared to wager that she had broken quite a few hearts amongst the local swains. He turned his head, in order to catch Seymour’s eye in a conspiratorial wink, but blinked in despair as he registered the look on his friend’s face. Oh, Lord, he sighed, here we go again! It was clear that there would be no support from that quarter!
‘England is rather a long way from India,’ was his apologetic reply to his new sister.
She nibbled at her lower lip in the most provocative way. ‘I have been wanting you to come so dreadfully. Everything has been so horrid since Papa died. I have not had a single new gown for over a year—and we missed all of the Victory celebrations in London! I did so want to see the Prince Regent in all his finery!’
Beresford hid the smile that was forming. ‘Well, as you can see, I am here now,’ he said soothingly as he patted her hand. ‘And I am sure we can sort out all your troubles very soon.’
‘And I may have my allowance again?’ Her wide eyes were fixed upon his once more and she clasped her hands together in pleading entreaty.
‘I dare say that can be arranged without a great deal of difficulty,’ he assured her laughingly, as he rose to his feet. ‘But I really do need to speak to your mama without delay—your butler tells me that she is indisposed?’
‘Oh, Mama is always indisposed,’ she retorted, with a careless toss of her silver curls. ‘She will come down soon, I should think, but only to take her nuncheon in the little salon and then she will spend the afternoon resting on the chaise-longue in there.’
‘But she knows I have arrived, surely?’ he asked, perplexed.
Jessica pondered over this, then nodded. ‘I should imagine so,’ she said. ‘Imo will have told her.’
‘Imo?’
Jessica jumped up. ‘Cousin Imo—you know. She is probably the one you will need to talk to, anyway. Mama never concerns herself with household affairs. Imo deals with all that sort of thing.’ She flashed him another of her dazzling smiles. ‘I will go and fetch her for you, if you like,’ she offered, as she darted like quicksilver out of the room.
Beresford gazed after her in despair. What sort of a household had he inherited? A reluctant staff, an inefficient manager, a sister who was, clearly, far more proficient in the art of flirtation than she should be, a sickly stepmother and now, it appeared, some sort of dependant spinster cousin. He grimaced, wondering what on earth the boy, Nicholas, might prove to have amiss with him.
A heavy sigh from Seymour caught his attention and he turned to see his friend gazing soulfully into the far distance.
‘What an absolute beauty!’ his colleague gasped, as he caught Beresford’s enquiring glance. ‘Did you see those eyes?’
‘Stow it, David,’ replied Beresford, somewhat tetchily. ‘I trust that I do not have to remind you that the child is my sister.’
‘Hardly a child, old man,’ Seymour was quick to point out. ‘But I take your meaning—she will come to no harm at my hands, I promise you.’
‘I never thought otherwise,’ said Beresford absently, his mind on more important matters. ‘And now, it would seem that we have no option but to wait here for this Imo woman, whoever she is.’
Chapter Three
I mogen had barely had time to change out of her working garb into a more respectable morning gown when she was summoned by her aunt. Quickly pinning her soft brown curls into a careless twist at the back of her head, she hurried to her aunt’s bedchamber.
‘Oh, Imogen,’ wailed Lady Beresford, wringing her hands. ‘He has come! I feel sure that he will turn us all out! What is to become of us?’
Blanche Beresford was a plumper and more faded replica of her daughter, reluctantly owning to some thirty-eight summers. Sir Matthew had married her at the height of her first Season when she, too, had been an acclaimed beauty. But, unlike Jessica, she had always been of a rather retiring, delicate nature, which, living with the stern and autocratic Sir Matthew, along with the several miscarriages that she had suffered during her marriage, had gradually turned her into a nervous shadow of her former self. Privately she had regarded her husband’s sudden death as something of a welcome reprieve from her marital duties, but the complications of the subsequent legal revelations, followed by the increasing privation, had had the effect of reducing her to a clinging neurotic.
‘Hush, Aunt,’ Imogen soothed her. ‘I am certain that he will do no such thing. He seemed quite a reasonable sort of gentleman.’
‘You promise me that you will not leave Thornfield until we know what the man’s intentions are?’
‘I have no intention of going anywhere until I see that you are perfectly comfortable, Aunt Blanche. Widdy is quite prepared to travel to Kendal without me and I shall join her as soon as it is convenient. Please do not distress yourself any further.’
‘But how I shall ever manage without you I cannot begin to contemplate,’ moaned Lady Beresford, clutching at her niece’s hand.
Imogen gently extracted herself from her aunt’s grip.
‘Now, dearest, you promised me that you would not continue to repine about my leaving. We have discussed the matter many times and you must see that I cannot remain here. Mr Beresford is not my relative and, if he is to be the new master of Thornfield, I have no claim upon his generosity.’ She gave a little grimace. ‘Apart from which, I do not care for the idea that he might easily believe me to be dependent upon him.’
Aghast, her aunt stared at up her. ‘Then you have already judged him to be the tyrant I supposed him?’
Imogen laughed and bent to kiss the other woman’s pale cheek. ‘I hardly had time to form any real opinion of him,’ she said. ‘But I did get the impression that he was not—how shall I put it—unapproachable.’
‘Unlike your uncle,’ exclaimed Lady Beresford bitterly then, closing her eyes, she lay back against her pillows. ‘I have another of my headaches coming on, dearest. I believe I shall remain in my room today. If you could send Francine to me…?’
Sighing with exasperation, Imogen quietly closed the door of Lady Beresford’s bedchamber behind her and walked to the head of the long, curving staircase and stood for some moments with her hand on the balustrade, wondering how she was ever going to persuade her aunt to venture out of her bedchamber long enough to be introduced to her new stepson.
Suddenly, her brow furrowed in a despairing frown as, from her vantage point above the hallway, she was dismayed to observe Jessica dashing headlong out of the library. Her cousin then proceeded to hurl herself up the stairs two at a time, in a most unladylike manner.
‘Oh, there you are, Imo,’ she panted, as Imogen put out her hands to prevent the girl falling at her feet. ‘Why ever did you fail to mention that the man was an absolute Corinthian! Just like one of those Greek gods you see in the paintings and both he and his gentleman friend are so adorably bronzed!’
Imogen shook her head. ‘I do wish you would try for a little more decorum, Jess. All this rushing about is not at all seemly at your age, you know. If Widdy were to have seen you…’
Jessica