From Waif to Gentleman's Wife

by Julia Justiss

  Since Mrs Merrill was obviously still lost in thought about her future, he might as well make a move immediately and determine it for them both. Another guilty little thrill zipped through him, settling into a hardness in his loins.

  But how did one lead a lady astray? He’d never in his life played the rake and wasn’t sure he could pull off the role. Though fortunately for his purpose, he had no need to feign his desire for her.

  When he did advance, would she offer him her lips—or slap his face?

  Chapter Five

  I f she studied her hands long enough, perhaps this whole nightmare would go away. Too exhausted last night to do more than gobble down some soup and fall into the bed to which the distinctly disapproving housekeeper had led her, Joanna had awakened rested and buoyed by a sense of optimism that somehow, things would work out for the best.

  Having just related to Mr Greaves the whole tawdry tale of how she’d come to appear on his doorstep, however, brought back to mind just how deplorable her situation was.Did he even believe her? Arriving as she had, she could hardly blame him if, like the innkeeper in Hazelwick, he thought her a woman of loose morals, her protestations of innocence in the matter of Lord Masters entirely false.

  Still, though he’d been understandably annoyed when she stormed into his room last night, dripping mud all over his Turkey carpet, he’d nonetheless treated her as if she were in fact Greville’s sister, entitled to the respect due a gentlewoman.

  Except…she had caught him inspecting her, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. Oddly enough, despite her recent experience, knowing he found her attractive had not made her uncomfortable or uneasy. Unlike Lord Master’s slack-jawed ogling, Mr Greaves’s heated yet respectful scrutiny had sent a little tingle of anticipation through her, reminding her as it had of the desire she’d read in Thomas’s expression while they’d been courting.

  Mr Greaves was worthy of appreciative glances himself. She’d been too distressed last night to fully notice, but this morning at breakfast she’d been immediately struck by what a tall, broad-shouldered figure of a man he was. Though emanating an aura of power and authority—useful qualities in an estate agent, she presumed—he didn’t seem overbearing or arrogant. His manners were impeccable; he’d waited until she’d taken her seat, her plate filled, before beginning on his own meal, watching to make sure her coffee cup was kept full.

  Even Papa had not been that solicitous.

  A little smile played at her lips. He was certainly handsomer than Papa! Thick, wavy dark hair, one lock of which insisted on curling over his brow no matter how many times he raked it back with his fingers. Honey-brown eyes that watched her intently as he listened. A noble nose and those finely chiseled lips…

  She had a sudden vision of that mouth slanted over hers and a heated bolt of sensation sizzled through her.

  Goodness! she thought, shocked and suddenly overwarm. She’d not experienced such a powerful physical response since leaving Thomas in India. Were Mr Greaves privy to her thoughts just now, he’d believe her wanton for sure.

  Clutching her fingers more tightly together, she put her mind back to trying to decide what to do next. Oh, that she might throw herself on Mr Greaves’s mercy, lay her problem at his feet and appeal for his help in coming up with a solution to her dilemma!

  But, of course, that was impossible. He was merely a kind but chance-met stranger who happened to be inhabiting the house Greville had vacated.

  Why had Greville been summarily discharged? she wondered suddenly. The manor house, she’d noticed since rising this morning, was beautifully managed, the servants skilled and respectful, the house itself gleaming with polish and paint, furniture and curtains well made and of fine quality. By Mr Greaves’s own account, he was but recently come to Blenhem Hill, so its excellent condition must be attributed to Greville’s management.

  Was Lord Englemere capricious, carelessly discharging her brother on a whim, as thoughtless of the well-being of those beneath him as Lord Masters? It certainly appeared that Greville had been turned off in almost as much unseemly haste as she had been harried out of Selbourne Abbey.

  Maybe those upstart colonials in the New World had been right to throw off rule by privilege.

  But the character of Lord Englemere wasn’t her most immediate concern. Damping down her indignation on her own and her brother’s behalf, Joanna had turned her mind once again to unearthing a solution to her present dilemma when she glanced up to see Mr Greaves quietly watching her.

  Heavens, what an ill-bred savage he must think her! Feeling the flush rise on her face, she said hastily, ‘Excuse me, sir! How impolite of me to sit here wool-gathering. But you mustn’t think I mean to burden you with my problems. Thanks to your kind hospitality, I’m well nourished and rested, and as soon as the remainder of my garments are dry enough to pack, I shall be on my way.’

  ‘Where do you mean to go?’ And how? the slight rise of his eyebrows said. Since she’d been honest about her current circumstances, he must know she had no money.

  ‘To London, I suppose. ’Tis the easiest route by post and, once there, I may be able to discover Greville’s whereabouts from Papa’s solicitor.’ Which would be an excellent plan, if she but possessed the funds to travel there and maintain herself once she arrived.

  He nodded. ‘Why not join me in the estate office? Perhaps in the account books your brother may have left some hint of where he meant to go when he left Blenhem.’

  Her spirits leapt at that ray of hope. ‘I hadn’t considered that! If you would not mind, I should be very grateful for the opportunity to look through them.’

  They rose and he led her to the estate office, pulled a chair up to his desk, and set the ledgers before her.

  But as she flipped through page after page of Greville’s nearly illegible scrawl, her sparkle of excitement dimmed. Hanging on to her last hope, she kept at it, inspecting every entry, but when she arrived at the last page of the last book, she knew no more about her brother’s probable whereabouts than she had when they’d entered the room.

  She struggled to keep despair from swamping her. Forcing a smile, she said, ‘Well, it was worth trying. Thank you for allowing me to make the attempt. I suppose I should get to that packing now.’

  On numb feet, she rose to drag the chair back, trying to keep her fingers from shaking. Preoccupied with combating the fear and dismay clawing its way into her gut, she only dimly heard Mr Greaves offer his assistance before he took the chair’s heavier side and walked with her to set it in position by the window.

  What am I to do now? she asked herself over and over, her mind running back and forth like a mouse cornered by a cat…life being the cat that was about to devour this mouse, she thought, swallowing an hysterical giggle.

  She could apply for work at the posting inn, though the chances that they would take her on weren’t good. Possessing only the skills of a gentlewoman or a governess, where could she find employment?

  Was she doomed to suffer the fate to which Lady Masters had consigned her after all?

  Suddenly she realised that, though they’d set the chair down, Mr Greaves remained beside her…very close beside her. As he was nearly a head taller, she had to angle her face up to give him a questioning look—and encountered a heated gaze that scorched her to her stays.

  ‘You don’t really need to leave,’ he said softly, his intent gaze never leaving her eyes. ‘You’ve no money for coach fare—and no way to earn any in the village. Why not stay here, write to your father’s solicitor and request him to advance you funds on your father’s account? Or, if you prefer, we might come to…another arrangement.’

  Though half an hour previously she had burned at the thought of kissing him, as he towered over her now, desire in his eyes, she felt only a blind panic.

  He did believe her a doxy! She raised her hands as if to ward him off—though she knew despairingly that if he was bent on taking her, he could do so, for she’d never be able to fight him off
and there was no one here to rescue her.

  ‘P-please, Mr Greaves,’ she stuttered, hot tears of shame dripping down her cheeks. ‘I’m n-not what you think.’

  She must have closed her eyes, bracing herself, but suddenly instead of the warmth of him pressed against her, she felt a chill. She snapped her eyes open, astounded to discover that he’d retreated several steps away her. A flush on his handsome face, he was drawing a handkerchief out of his waistcoat.

  Handing it to her, he said, ‘Pray forgive me, Mrs Merrill! I know my behaviour was unconscionable, but I needed to determine if your character was as you presented it or not.’

  ‘You needed to determine…’ she echoed, relief, disbelief and confusion making her hot, then cold, then dizzy.

  He seized her arm—but gently, protectively—and eased her to the sofa. ‘Sit, I beg you!’ he said, urging her down on its edge. ‘Don’t want you swooning on me again. I’ve been considering plans for your future—which do not, I assure you, include having you assume a horizontal position for me or anyone else. However, to implement them I needed to know with absolute assurance that you are in fact the lady of blameless character you’ve just shown yourself to be.’

  She blotted her eyes and handed him back his handkerchief. ‘You mean,’ she asked incredulously, ‘you were…testing me?’

  His cheeks reddened again. ‘Well…yes,’ he admitted.

  She was torn between shrieking with laughter—and slapping him for scaring her so. ‘And here I’d been thinking what an exemplary gentleman you were! You are a brigand, sir! A bully and a brigand!’ she fumed.

  ‘You are quite justified in abusing me. I assure you, I believe that a man who takes advantage of an unwilling lady is a cur who deserves to be horsewhipped. I don’t have a whip handy, but you may strike me if you like.’ He angled his face towards her.

  ‘You should be more careful what you offer,’ she said tartly. ‘I grappled with my brother growing up and could plant you a facer that would leave you bruised for a week. Indeed, had I not been so cast down by the dreadful events of the last few days, I should have done so when you made your insulting offer.’

  ‘Please, don’t remind me!’ he groaned. ‘I deserve that fate and more. Although if I were truly a brigand, I’d not have let you go,’ he added.

  His tone was light—but a heated something flared between them that she felt right down to her bones. Only this time, she was not afraid.

  She had been right on both accounts, it seemed. He did desire her. But Mr Greaves was no Lord Masters, plundering where he would.

  He was truly the gentleman she’d thought him—if a devious one! A man with whom, except for that single moment he’d towered over her, she felt safe, even though she was virtually alone with him in his house, with neither friends nor family to defend her.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ he asked, recalling her.

  ‘You think I require something to settle my nerves?’

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I do, and it wouldn’t be polite to drink alone. Though at this moment you probably don’t believe me, I’ve never before tried to debauch a gentlewoman. ’Twas a deucedly disturbing experience.’

  She chuckled, sure his levity was meant to set her at ease. ‘Very well, I’ll take a glass. To be polite, so you may settle your nerves.’

  After he poured the wine and took a chair a respectful distance away, she said, ‘What are these plans you mentioned? Though it is indeed kind of you to be concerned, I have no claim upon you. There is no reason whatsoever for you to concern yourself with my predicament.’

  ‘Perhaps I have no claim on you, but there is another, much more important than me, who does. I was given to understand that your brother is Lord Englemere’s cousin?’

  When she nodded, he continued, ‘Which, of course, makes you his cousin as well. I am certain that, once he is apprised of your situation, Lord Englemere will wish to assist you.’

  All the indignation she’d previously felt on her brother’s behalf returned in a rush. ‘Indeed? And whatever could have led you to that astounding conclusion? Need I remind you that Lord Englemere recently discharged my brother from a position he no doubt counted on filling for the rest of his days? My brother, who served his country valiantly at Waterloo?’

  Once begun, she couldn’t seem to stop. ‘Oh, you don’t know him,’ she rushed on, ‘but I assure you, Greville possesses the most agreeable and obliging of temperaments. I cannot imagine anyone being vexed with him! He was the kindest elder brother a girl could wish for.’

  ‘And look around you!’ she demanded, her tone strident as she gestured towards the spotless, orderly room. ‘How could any reasonable employer fault Greville’s management of this house? I begin to believe that all gentlemen of high rank are as venal as Lord Masters! In any event, if Lord Englemere had no compunction about summarily discharging my brother, why should he trouble himself about my fate? Nor do I wish him to. I would as soon throw myself on the charity of the man who ruined my brother’s career as I would play the doxy for him.’

  Her tirade over, suddenly she realised poor Mr Greaves was just sitting there staring at her, surprise and dismay on his face. Heavens, what had possessed her to run on in such a fashion?

  ‘I beg you will excuse me,’ she began again quietly, embarrassed by her outburst. ‘Truly, I am not normally so intemperate. Perhaps the events of this last week have disordered my sensibilities more than I’d thought.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Mr Greaves said drily. ‘I recommend the wine. ’Tis a fine vintage.’

  Not until she’d obediently swallowed a sip did it occur to her that the personage she’d just roundly abused was Mr Greaves’s employer, the man to whom he owed his position and his loyalty. ‘Excuse me as well for insulting your patron,’ she added hastily. ‘Admittedly I know nothing of the circumstances surrounding Greville’s discharge. Lord Englemere awarded you this post and you may well think highly of him.’

  Looking troubled, Mr Greaves opened his lips, closed them, then finally said, ‘I am…sorry for your brother’s circumstances. Though at present my regard for Lord Englemere may seem inexplicable, yes, I do esteem him very highly.’

  ‘I’m sure you have your reasons. Let’s simply agree to speak no more of him.’

  ‘Then you absolutely would not consent to my contacting the Marquess on your behalf?’

  ‘I want nothing to do with him,’ she said flatly.

  ‘I see.’ Mr Greaves sipped his wine, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he said, ‘Very well, then, we shall have to come up with another plan.’

  That reminder of her grim and still unresolved circumstances abruptly drained the high spirits engendered by their verbal sparring. ‘Coming up with a solution is my task,’ she emphasised again, as if to armour herself against the temptation to rely on him. ‘Though I do appreciate your concern.’

  He nodded absently, setting down his glass and gazing into the distance, his brow creased in concentration. Determined to enjoy the last few moments of his company before she must pack her things and say goodbye, Joanna pushed the worry from her mind and contented herself with simply sipping her wine and watching the play of thoughts over his handsome face.

  Odd, she thought with a little pang, realising how much she was going to miss someone whom this time yesterday she had not even known existed.

  Suddenly Mr Greaves straightened. ‘I have it!’ he announced, triumph on his face. ‘You recently worked as a governess, correct?’

  ‘Yes. Though I’d never been formally employed as one before, I have three younger sisters. My mother having died after the youngest’s birth, I taught them all as they grew up.’

  He nodded. ‘Then perhaps I have a situation for you. One of my aims here is to establish a school for the children of the tenants and the village. As enclosures continue, fewer and fewer of them will end up becoming farmers. Even if they remain on the land, knowing how to read, write and do sums will help them with their accou
nts, while a rudimentary knowledge of science will make them better farmers. If they must or choose to leave to look for work in town, possessing such skills will enable them to more easily find employment.’

  She gave him a speculative look. ‘Just how long has establishing a school here been one of your aims?’

  ‘’Tis a worthy aspiration,’ he replied, not answering her question.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said softly, sudden emotion flooding her. She would bet her few remaining worldly possessions that a school for the village children was an idea he’d come up with but a moment ago. His kindness in proposing to create a respectable position that would allow her to extract herself honourably from her current predicament brought a lump to her throat.

  ‘I’m sure. I have to confess, I’ve been here but two days and have done nothing as yet towards the establishment of a school. You would be doing me—and the children around Blenhem, of course—a great favour in organising and initiating such an enterprise.’

  Would she enjoy running a school of her own? Was she even capable of it? But how much harder could it be than teaching her sisters or the little daughters of Lady Masters?

  She’d have children to care about and instruct, to surround her with their chatter and tears and laughter. That wouldn’t fully assuage the anguish of knowing she would never cradle a child of her own…but it would be a useful way to employ her time while she worked out what to do next.

  A useful and honourable way.

  It wasn’t as if she had someone or something more pressing awaiting her elsewhere.

  While she sat, considering, he rushed on, ‘If you aren’t sure yet what you mean to do, you could just get the school started and teach until another mistress is found. The position would allow you to accumulate funds while you attempt to contact your brother or your family in India and consider what you wish to do permanently.’

  Despite his assurances, she knew any service she performed for the school and its children didn’t compare to the one he did her in offering respectable employment to the indigent female who’d landed at his doorstep. Whatever else befell her, she would always consider Mr Greaves the kindest, most thoughtful gentleman she’d ever met.