An Unconventional Miss. Dorothy Elbury

as you said in your letter—Theo does appear to have taken his own life.’

      ‘Humphreys gave me to understand that your brother had left a letter for you. I trust that it contains some sort of explanation for his extraordinary behaviour of late?’

      Extracting his brother’s missive from his pocket, Wyvern passed it to her. ‘Nothing of any consequence, I fear—apart from his apology. He was clearly very confused when he wrote it.’

      Leaning back wearily, he ran his fingers through his crisp dark hair, mentally reviewing the singularly odd tenor of his brother’s last words.

      Ben, old chap, the note read, Can’t go on—got myself into an unholy mess—can’t seem to sort it out—mine is yours now—too late for me. Save the Grange, I beg you—relying on you—remember where we used to play when we were lads—forgive me, Theo.

      His forehead puckered in a frown. ‘I am still finding the whole affair almost impossible to comprehend. I was aware that Theo was pretty cut up after losing Sophia and young Edwin, of course, but I had no idea that he was in such a bad case. A fellow officer did hear a rumour that he was drinking heavily, but to learn that he has frittered away the entire family fortune on gambling and profligate living is unbelievable—especially when you consider that he was the one Father was wont to call “old sobersides”!’

      Save for the sonorous ticking of the long-case clock in one corner, the red salon was silent until, suddenly conscious that his grandmother was waiting for him to continue, Wyvern, striving to keep his innermost feelings under control, took a deep breath.

      ‘Nevertheless,’ he managed eventually, ‘it is to his credit that Theo seems to have stopped drinking long enough to recover his senses. But he was clearly not himself when he wrote that note—if everything is as bad as Humphreys has given me to understand, how could Theo possibly have expected me to put it all right?’

      ‘I trust that you do not intend to fall into an emotional stew over this, my boy!’ retorted the countess, eyeing her grandson sharply. ‘Your brother proved himself to be a weakling and, in the end, it appears that he took the coward’s way out, so let us have no more repining over the matter!’

      ‘Hold hard, Grandmama!’ protested Wyvern, altogether taken aback at the countess’s apparent lack of sympathy towards his late brother. ‘You can hardly expect me to agree with your view that Theo was a weakling. Any man might turn to drink after such a tragedy, especially if he holds himself responsible for the death of his family, as Theo clearly must have done—he was driving the carriage, after all! His suffering must have been very great—’

      ‘Pish and tush!’ interrupted his grandmother dismissively. ‘He is not the first person in the world to have been bereaved and left to get on with life—nor will he be the last! I would remind you, young man, that I myself was left a widow at no more than twenty-two when your grandfather was tossed from his horse and broke his neck. Did I fall into a decline and take to drink, I ask you?’

      Since this was clearly a rhetorical question, Wyvern shook his head and did not reply, knowing from past experience that to interrupt his grandmother when she was in full flood was a pointless exercise.

      ‘No, I did not!’ she went on. ‘With an estate to run—as well as two young children to raise—I put aside my grief and tears, buckled down and got on with it, so please do not whimper to me about suffering. It is bad enough that your brother gave in to his demons, but to leave you to deal with the problems that he had created and then decided that he could not cope with, is simply the outside of enough!’

      At her grandson’s continued silence, she tossed back the remains of her drink and gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Well, I have said my piece—you may get up and leave in a huff if you choose but, if you are the man that I take you for, you will pour us both another brandy and let us get down to the business of discussing how we may set about undoing the damage caused by Theodore’s lack of self-discipline!’

      Loath as he was to agree with his grandmother’s harsh observations regarding his much-loved brother, Wyvern had to admit that she did, perhaps, have something of a point and if, in fact, the very perceptive old lady could come up with any useful ideas concerning the rescuing of Ashcroft Grange from its creditors, it would certainly be unwise of him to lock horns with her at this juncture.

      ‘I take it that we have no wealthy relatives of whose existence I have been previously unaware?’ he asked, as he refilled her glass and handed it to her, retrieving at the same time his brother’s note, which the countess had carelessly tossed on to the drum table beside her seat.

      ‘Sadly, no.’ She chuckled, relieved to see that she had not dented his good humour. ‘If your Aunt Fiona’s begging letters are anything to go by, her Irish earl has even less than we have! No, dear boy, it seems to me that what we could really do with at the moment is a rich heiress on the lookout for a peerage!’

      Wyvern stiffened. ‘I had always supposed that I might have some little say in the matter of choosing a bride,’ he demurred.

      She peered at him suspiciously. ‘You are not already promised, I trust?’

      Regretfully setting aside the intrusive images regarding a certain little Parisian opera-dancer he had lately had in his keeping, Wyvern gave a short laugh.

      ‘No such thing, I assure you! However, to return to the point, I am inclined to think it that it is fairly unlikely that even the most pushing of mothers would be willing to marry her daughter off to an absolute “down-and-out”—belted earl or no!’

      ‘Nonsense, Benedict!’ chided his grandmother. ‘The Ashcroft name must still count for something in this country.’

      ‘Not if what Humphreys has told me is anything to go by,’ returned Wyvern bitterly.

      ‘How dare the man!’ exclaimed the countess, lifting her chin and drawing herself up to her full height. ‘What has he been saying?’

      Wyvern shrugged. ‘Well, I certainly received the impression that the Ashcroft name alone no longer carries sufficient weight to get us any more credit with Coutts—Theo, apparently, having exhausted their goodwill! Fortunately, Humphreys has managed to persuade the partners not to press for immediate repayment. Unfortunately, there is still the matter of all the other creditors who, I have little doubt, will soon be baying at our door!’

      Lady Lavinia sipped thoughtfully at her drink.

      ‘Then it is clear that we will need to make a push right away, my boy,’ she said, ‘before the upper echelons get wind of the full extent of your brother’s transgressions—they have been known to close ranks for far less serious demeanours!’

      She paused, contemplating her grandson for a moment, then gave a decisive nod.

      ‘We must set about arranging a soirée!’

      ‘A soirée!’ replied Wyvern, considerably taken aback. ‘But we are in still in mourning!’

      She shrugged. ‘We do not have the time to consider all the social niceties, my boy. I was not thinking of a huge affair—just a few close friends, perhaps—simply to announce our re-entry into society. As for suitable bride material, we could do worse than start with Eulalia Capstick—she has been out for a couple of years now and still no takers! Or, better still, what about Felicity Draycott?’

      Wyvern choked on his drink. ‘Do I take it that you have already drawn up a list of suitable females?’ he demanded in astonishment.

      ‘Not as such,’ replied the countess, with a haughty sniff. ‘But I have always found that it does no harm to keep one’s ear to the ground.’

      ‘And might I be permitted to know the names of the rest of these illustrious females whom you have selected as suitable candidates for my hand?’ asked Wyvern warily. ‘If my memory serves me right, the dumpy Miss Capstick must have at least five Seasons under her belt. And, even though our family has been acquainted with the Draycotts since Felicity was in leading strings, having partnered the lady at dinner on more than