From Waif to Gentleman's Wife

by Julia Justiss

  After weeks without adequate sleep, he now went through his days in a weary haze. He’d had to keep special guard over his tongue of late to avoid letting the constant fatigue and the wretched uncertainty about his future spill over into sharp and impatient speech.

  Especially with Mrs Winston, who’d been distraught over her supposed ‘disrespect’ during his tenure as Ned Greaves, behaviour for which she’d apologized several times over. Despite his reassurance that he valued her services too much to ever turn her off, the poor housekeeper still flinched if he so much as frowned in her direction.

  The problem was, he admitted, staring in disgust down at the muddle of figures in the ledger, he couldn’t ride hard enough to escape loneliness or fast enough to outdistance the fear that pierced his gut, sharp as the stubble of wheat left in the field after the scythe. He might fill his days from early dawn until well past midnight, trying to blot out the harrowing possibility that he’d lost Joanna for good, only to be brought up short, like a colt on a training lead, by some unexpected jerk of memory.

  A child’s query about school beginning would bring back to vivid immediacy the image of her silhouetted in the door of the schoolroom. Mrs Winston’s serving a chutney relish with the meat course would recall her expressive face and velvet voice relating stories about life in India.

  The inquiries by everyone from the innkeeper Kirkbride to Granny Cuthbert to Davie about when they could expect her back drew a rapier of doubt across the already bleeding anguish of his soul over whether she would ever return.

  Was the continuing enquiry over her brother all that kept her there? Once that was completed, would she come back and give them another chance?

  Suddenly furious, he jumped up, ledger in hand. He was but a second from tossing it into the fire when rational thought returned.

  Fingers trembling, he set the ledger back on the desk and raked his hands through his hair. He couldn’t go on like this any longer, uncertain and unknowing, poised between hope and despair.

  He’d given her more than a month to reflect and reconsider. If she would not return to Blenhem, he must go to London and discover what her decision would be. Know now whether or not hope was dead and he must somehow reconcile himself to a future without her.

  If she felt honour-bound to return and finish out her teacher’s contract, but not return to him, he might have to leave Blenhem. He didn’t think he could stand knowing she was near, knowing she could never be his.

  He gave a scornful laugh. Who was he trying to fool? He didn’t think he was capable of simply letting her go. Not without trying, with all the tenacity and persistence he possessed, to woo her back.

  He’d pack a bag and leave for London at first light. Just the thought of taking some action to escape from the terrible agony of waiting made his spirits lift.

  Feeling the first flickers of enthusiasm since he’d watched Joanna ride away from Blenhem, Ned strode to the door, heading for the bedchamber he hadn’t visited for days. As he placed his fingers on the latch, however, suddenly it opened and Myles walked in, almost colliding with him.

  ‘Excuse me, Sir Edward,’ the butler exclaimed.

  ‘What the devil are you doing still up?’ Ned said. ‘I’ll snuff out the candles. Get yourself off to bed!’

  ‘Yes, Sir Edward. But first I must tell you that though the hour is very late, there is an importunate Young Person to see you.’

  Before Ned could gather his wits, in a rustle of skirts, Joanna—his Joanna—walked around the butler and curtsied to him.

  ‘Sir Edward, excuse me for intruding upon you so late. At least this time I came in a carriage, so I am not dripping on your carpet.’

  Staring at her in disbelief, Ned couldn’t seem to get his tongue to work. He’d wanted her, longed for her, dreamt of her return for so long, he wasn’t sure the woman before him was real, not just a vision conjured up by desperate imagining.

  He realised suddenly that she was holding out a hand to him. ‘Are you not even going to offer me a greeting?’

  Behind her, Myles, swallowing a grin, cleared his throat loudly. ‘Shall I bring wine, Sir Edward?’

  Still in a daze, Ned nodded.

  The door shut behind the butler. While she stood smiling at him, Ned remained rooted to the spot, seemingly unable to speak to her or move.

  Hope and dread, need and joy had his mind in muddles and his insides churning. All he wanted was to take two giant strides, seize her in his arms, bury his face in her hair and never let go.

  But that might very well not be what she wanted.

  He tried to reassemble his rattled wits and summon some semblance of civility. Not trusting himself to touch even her hand, he waved her to the sofa. ‘Welcome, Mrs Merrill. Won’t you sit by the fire and warm yourself?’

  Nodding, she swept by him, enveloping him as she passed in that unique, spicy scent he loved so well. After closing his eyes for an instant to savour it, he said, ‘Am I allowed to say how very, very glad I am to see you?’

  After seating herself on the sofa, she looked back at him. ‘You may indeed. For I am very, very glad to see you, too.’

  Trying to control a wild surge of hope, Ned took a seat in the wing chair, wanting her so much he didn’t dare place himself any closer. Glad to his toenails that she was here, in his study, smiling at him.

  Myles returned with a full decanter and bowed himself out. His hands shook as Ned poured her a glass, memories spilling over him of all the evenings they’d spent here. How he hoped to make more!

  ‘Since you’ve returned, I trust the enquiry you’ve been conducting into your brother’s disappearance has finally had results?’

  ‘Yes, the Runners located him. He’s been impressed into the British navy—quite a change for a Wellington army man. Since he has already seen service as a soldier, Lord Englemere is hopeful he may be able to obtain a discharge when Greville’s ship next makes port. At least I know he is alive, and where. But that is not the reason I returned.’

  ‘It isn’t?’ Ned asked, trying to restrain another surge of hope.

  ‘No. I wanted to thank you for allowing me time to think and not trying to force me into a hasty decision. If you had, by the way, I would most certainly have rejected you, rejected your offer to contact the Stanhopes. And thereby missed the chance to meet a lovely lady who has become a dear friend, missed getting to know her adorable son. Forfeited also the chance to obtain Englemere’s assistance in locating my brother, which has proved invaluable, for without his connections, I cannot imagine how long it would have taken to find Greville. I wanted to thank you for obtaining the release of Sergeant Russell and the other men. For your kindness to me—and your rescue, for which I never adequately expressed my appreciation.’

  Glad of her approval, but beginning to feel embarrassed, Ned waved a hand. ‘No need to thank me, especially not for that.’

  ‘Oh, I believe there is. But that is not yet the complete litany of things for which I’m grateful. I’ve left the best, most important for last. Don’t you want to know what it is?’

  Not daring to speak, Ned nodded.

  ‘Though I still feel embarrassed when I think how I blathered on to you, casting insults at the aristocracy along with nuggets about my past, I do understand now why you felt you had to conceal your identity. How once the deception had begun, it became more and more difficult to reveal it.’

  I understand. Could there be two sweeter words in the language? Ned wondered, gladness and relief cascading through him. If she understood, he could hope that one day she might forgive.

  ‘You mustn’t feel constrained about having offered your honest opinions,’ Ned replied. ‘I was enlightened, never offended. And…it was hard. So many times I was tempted to reveal the truth. I wish I had…that last night.’

  Nodding, she blushed. ‘So do I.’

  ‘Would it have made a difference?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I know is it doesn’t matter now. I’ve come to realise that it
took a man of great courage to allow Barksdale to reveal the truth at the hearing, at a moment when such a revelation would be interpreted at its worst. A man of great character to put his standing and honour behind supporting the people of Blenhem; a man of eloquence and passion to argue for their release to the judge. All of which confirmed what I already knew in my heart, that I will no longer let chagrin and embarrassment prevent me from confessing. Finally, I want to thank you for being the man I love with all my soul, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. Ned Greaves, Sir Edward, whatever your name, if you still want me, I am yours.’

  He had her in his arms before she’d finished the last syllable. Clutching her tightly, he rubbed his face against the silk of her hair, savouring the feel, the scent of her. The warmth and fire of her in his arms.

  ‘All I want is you, Joanna. I was so afraid I’d lost you forever. So we may begin again? You’ll allow me to court you?’

  He felt the tremor of her laughter. ‘Heavens, no! We are well beyond courting, don’t you think? Besides—’ she hesitated, pushing him back gently as a shadow passed over her eyes ‘—I must remind you the physicians in India believed it unlikely, after I lost my child, that I would ever conceive again. A gentleman will want an heir, so you mustn’t think it necessary to offer marriage—’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Ned cried, joy and excitement licking in his veins along with hotter, more carnal desires. ‘I’ll have no other woman as my wife. Besides, physicians are not infallible. In this instance—’ he gave her a devilish wink ‘—I shall be inspired to try very hard to prove them wrong. So, let us call the banns! In the interim, do you wish to stay at the cottage or the Hart and Hare? I want everything to be right and proper this time.’

  Leaning back in the circle of his arms, she studied his face for a long moment. ‘You are very sure you want to marry me, regardless?’

  He nodded. ‘With all my heart.’

  Two tears glittered at the corners of her eyes before she dashed them away. ‘I should try harder to dissuade you…but sinner that I am, I cannot. By all means, let us call the banns. Aside from that, however,’ she continued, her tone turning sultry, ‘I don’t want “proper” now any more than I did one magnificent night over a month ago.’

  Lips parted invitingly, she walked her fingers up his chest and traced his lips. ‘Won’t you allow me to stay here…and thank you “properly”?’ she murmured. ‘From this night forward, for the rest of our lives?’

  Joy and the tingling, tempting touch of her fingers almost paralysed his ability to answer. ‘Tonight, and the rest of our lives,’ he said hoarsely. Bending to give her a swift, savage promise of a kiss, he lifted her in his arms, blew out the candles and carried her from the room.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4120-0FROM WAIF TO GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

  Copyright © 2009 by Janet Justiss

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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