The Battling Bluestocking by Amanda Scott

the house. At the top of the terrace steps she turned to see that Sir Brian was still sitting in the rose garden where she had left him, though he had changed his position slightly. Having extricated his feet from the hedge, he had hunched up his knees and was presently resting his forearms upon them as he watched her. Remnants of the astonishment that had invaded his countenance at the moment of impact with the soft dirt lingered until he realized that she had turned to look at him. For a long moment he regarded her steadily, measuringly. Then he grinned again. With an angry flounce Jessica turned and entered the house, hurrying up to her own bedchamber and entering it with an immeasurable sense of gratitude that she had managed to do so without encountering anyone on the way.
    Pouring cool water from the ewer into her china basin, she sponged her heated face until her senses ceased to reel, and within a half-hour she had recovered her equanimity sufficiently to ring for Mellin, her tirewoman, to assist her in changing her gown, and then to go about her usual business. Thus it was that she was able to greet, albeit with somewhat studied calm, the information, conveyed to the first-floor drawing room directly after supper, that Mr. Andrew Liskeard was below, inquiring to know whether Miss Sutton-Drew was at home to late callers.
    Lord Gordon looked up from a stack of estate papers he had been perusing as he sipped his after-dinner port. “Andrew Liskeard?” He turned to regard his sister-in-law curiously. “Did Borthwick say Andrew Liskeard?”
    “He did, Cyril,” she replied, “though I’ve no more notion than you have of what Mr. Liskeard can be doing here. To the best of my knowledge, he should still be in irons.”
    “Well, I daresay I’m the one who’s wanted,” Lord Gordon declared, setting down his glass of port and preparing to raise himself from the comfortable chair. “Odd that Borthwick announced him to you, Jessica. Very odd. I shall speak to him.”
    “Never mind, Cyril. If Mr. Liskeard is indeed below, it is I whom he has come to see. No doubt his uncle sent him. I doubt he has another pistol by him, but if I have need of you, I shall send Borthwick to fetch you.” She smiled sweetly at him, nodded at her sister, who was looking from one to the other of them in bewilderment, and took herself off to meet Andrew Liskeard. She assumed his uncle had sent him in hopes of swaying her from her course, and she was determined to be as firm with the boy as she had been with the man. Indeed, her temper was slightly ruffled at the thought that Sir Brian might think she could be so easily dissuaded that a mere lad scarcely dry behind the ears could accomplish it.
    Andrew awaited her in the garden saloon, and when she entered, he took two steps toward her, then hesitated, watching her warily. “I…I hoped you would see me,” he said hastily.
    There was no sign of the cocky arrogance that had irritated her earlier. Instead, his expression put her so forcibly in mind of a mischievous puppy who knows it had done wrong and isn’t sure whether or not it is to be kicked that Jessica felt her temper melting away.
    “I hope you are completely recovered from your wound,” she said gently.
    He moved his left arm easily. “Scarcely a twinge, ma’am, assure you.”
    Jessica nodded, glad he had not been seriously injured. “Why did you wish to see me?”
    “To apologize,” he answered. “I realize that I was a complete gudgeon, that what I did could have had serious consequences. You were right to be as angry as you were with me.”
    “I daresay your uncle knows you are here,” she said conversationally.
    “He sent me.” The young man met her steady gaze. “I would have come anyway, Miss Sutton-Drew. I’ve had a deal of time to think, over these past few days, and it didn’t take Uncle Brian’s orders to bring me here. I hope you believe that.”
    “I do,” she said, smiling at him. He went on, earnestly