Page 6 of A Much Maligned Miss

“What changed your mind? That letter you received last week?” Jeremy guessed. Gervaise nodded. “You never did tell me what it was about. It was from Stoddart, wasn’t it?” he asked, referring to their mutual friend Giles Stoddart Best.

“Yes, but it was the note he enclosed from my uncle George that decided me. The old man sent it care of his place in Hampshire. Presumably he heard I spent last autumn there as a houseguest.”

“And what did the old boy have to say?” Jeremy asked irreverently. He was circling the small of Emmeline’s back again.

“Well, it was hard to make out. Uncle George’s epistolary style is somewhat involved. He seemed to be in some kind of panic to reach me. Lots of exclamation marks and crossings out. Something’s rattled the old boy rather badly. I expect marriage to that frightful girl has not proved to be the boon he once thought it would,” Gervaise mused.

“Which frightful girl?” asked Emmeline with interest.

“Miss Beryl Blessing, the bottled fruit heiress. Last April, Uncle told me if I did not marry her, he would cut me off without a penny. When I turned my nose up, he vowed he would marry her himself and beget a new heir.”

“Good gracious! And pray, how old is Uncle George?” she enquired.

“Sixty-five if he’s a day.”

“And Miss Blessing?”

“A vivacious twenty-one.”

“Poor girl!”

“Poor Uncle,” Gervaise corrected her. “You have not met Miss Blessing. She means to cut a dash about town and will make a far from comfortable wife.” He shuddered. “Still, at the end of the day, I would rather his snowy white head lay on the chopping block than my glossy black one.”

“And he actually married her?”

“I believe so. I saw their engagement announced in the Times last summer. He cannot wriggle out of it now, not without being sued for breach of promise.”

“So, you mean to head for Melbury Square on your return?” Jeremy asked, mentioning the honorable George Langdon’s address.

“I do,” Gervaise agreed affably. “I expect a prodigal son’s welcome. Or that of a prodigal nephew at the very least.”

The coach swerved as it turned up the driveway toward the solid respectability of Benham Hall. Gervaise twitched the curtain aside to take in the view of the expansive Georgian brick facade. He admired the perfect symmetry of its portico and its array of handsome windows.

“One rather dreads to think what entertainment Mrs. Needham might have lined up for us tonight,” Jeremy observed direly.

“Edgar is home at least,” Emmeline commented. “So, she will be all gushing smiles for her beloved son. Maybe that will save Caroline from her claws.”

“Have I met Edgar?” Gervaise asked with a frown, releasing the curtain. “If so, I’ve forgotten him.”

“You did, at our Christmas party,” she responded. “He’s not particularly memorable, though perfectly nice.”

“The most irritating thing about him is his mother’s insistence that he’s the pinnacle of perfection,” Jeremy agreed. “He’s an amiable, modest young man of about three and twenty.”

“He sounds a crushing bore.”

“Well, he’ll never set a room alight with his wit, put it like that,” his friend agreed.

“And what does Master Halperston do?”

“He’s a Needham,” Emmeline corrected him. “He was the son of the second husband.”

“Ah, I see. So, then Edgar Needham is Miss Halperston’s younger half brother.”

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed. “He’s, er, studying something or other in Exeter, I believe.” He turned to his wife expectantly.

“Law. He’s studying law,” she clarified, “but with no particular career in mind. He studies for the pursuit of knowledge alone. His mother is always keen to stress he is a young man of both means and leisure.”

“I wonder that he does not go to London, then,” Gervaise ruminated.