"I do not know precisely." Amy wished that she did. In times past, there would not have been any secrets between mother and daughter. However, ever since Amy's father had departed on his latest trip, there had been an underlying current of secrecy, however slight. It was clear that Theodosia did not want her daughter discovering how she spent her days. "She closets herself away for much of the morning, not receiving callers until very late in the day. In the past, we traditionally kept some appointments in the morning, such as visits to the modiste, but now we make those visits in the afternoon, if we go at all."
Gibson frowned in confusion. "And this is not like your mother or her typical schedule?" He hated to admit that he no longer knew much about aristocratic households or their operations, especially where women were concerned.
Shaking her head, Amy fought the urge to twist her hands in fear. Other than his brief grasping of her ungloved hand, Gibson had given her no real indication that they still shared the same closeness they had once enjoyed, and she did not want to press him, even though she longed for the comfort he could offer. "We have never been strictly traditional, despite our royal ties. We rise earlier than most households, keep morning appointments when it suits us, and, in general, do as we please." When he simply looked at her, she shrugged. "When you are at the very top of the social circle, much is forgiven. You remember that much, at least, I am certain."
"I do." He simply preferred not to think about what might have been if he could help it; it was far too painful. He was about to ask another question when he heard a throat being clear behind him.
"Perhaps I can be of some help. Doctor. My lady." Towson stood at the drawing room doors, straight as an arrow and yet still somehow uncomfortable. He had been rushing about ever since his mistress had returned home unconscious, and now, apparently, he had taken to eavesdropping. Amy really couldn't scold him for it, however. She would have done the same in his place.
"Do you know what Lady Evanston has been doing as of late that has caused her to ignore her health? As her physician, I need as much information as you can provide." Gibson rose and drew himself up to his full height just as he had back at the ball, needing Towson to see him as someone worthy of trust. A family's butler was the gatekeeper of all, something that Gibson remembered all too well from his own youth.
"She has been managing everything. All of it. Down to the last and most insignificant detail." There was a note of pride in the butler's voice, mixed with a strong amount of worry as well.
"All of what precisely?" Gibson couldn't imagine that the Earl of Cheltenham would simply gallivant off to God-knows-where, even at the behest of the Home Office or Prinny, and leave his wife to fend for herself for such a long period of time. He would not ask her to run all of the households and the earldom as well. Would he? Surely not.
"The estates. And whatever else running the earldom entails. I do not know the specifics. It is not my place." Towson sniffed a bit officiously, his lips twitching with something Gibson recognized as fear that he had overstepped his bounds. He saw the same nervous tic in himself at times. "I have voiced my concerns to the countess many times, but she dismisses me as a worrisome old man." He raised an eyebrow haughtily. "Perhaps I was right."
"There is no perhaps about it," Gibson sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The situation was far worse than he had imagined. "It has clearly been too much for her, and her health has suffered greatly."
At that moment, a bell rang from somewhere deep inside the house, and Towson cast an annoyed glance at the door. "I must go. Someone else needs me." He gave Amy a sad look followed by a low bow. "I am sorry, my lady. I wish I could tell you more, but that is all I know. Your mother was not exactly forthcoming with information, nor was it my place to ask. All I know is that your father left, knowing that he would be gone for some time, and made certain that the staff knew that Lady Evanston was in charge of it all."
"And me?" Amy lived in the house as well. She felt her temper rise a bit at the deliberate exclusion. Why did she not know any of this?
"I cannot say for certain, Lady Amy." Towson was extremely uncomfortable now, shifting slightly from foot to foot. "I only know that neither of them wanted you to worry, for they both knew that was precisely what you would do. Rather, they wanted you to concentrate on your season, perhaps even finding a husband." Her offered her an apologetic expression as if he sympathized with her plight.
This focus on husband hunting by her parents was not news, precisely, though it was still annoying. "I see." Truly, she did, better than the old butler probably realized. Thea had not made a secret of her desire for Amy to marry, and soon, but was her mother so focused on possible matrimony that she would deliberately keep important information of this nature from her own daughter? It appeared so. "Thank you, Towson." Amy swallowed hard and stiffened her spine. "That will be all for now."
"Very good, my lady." He bowed again slightly and began backing out of the room. "Please ring if you need anything else."
When he was gone, Amy turned around to find Gibson watching her through hooded eyes. Was that displeasure she saw in his golden gaze or was it her imagination? Or was it, dare she hope, anger at the thought of her marrying another?
"So are congratulations soon to be in order?" Gibson was not about to allow Amy to see the jealousy that snaked through him and gnawed at his gut. Not only was it not proper, but it ate at the secret place inside of him that he did his best to keep hidden from the world. Amy included.
Damn it, he should have been a viscount. He should have had the right to court her, to be one of her suitors, and vie for the honor of taking her hand in marriage. And he gathered, from Towson at least, that marriage was exactly what Amy was seeking this season.
Therefore, he was more than a little shocked when she snorted in disgust. "Hardly." Then she rolled her eyes, reminding him of the woman he had glimpsed in the summerhouse, and not the overly cool and polite one he had seen at the museum ball earlier in the season. Perhaps that Amy, the one he held safely in his heart, still existed after all. "No, my mother, well, both of my parents really, are under the illusion that I shall secure a husband by the end of this season. It will not happen. Not now and not ever."
She said the last few words with so much force that Gibson took a few steps backwards. He had no idea what to say, really. He had always assumed that one day, Amy would marry, and that she was merely taking her time in selecting a proper suitor. She was, after all, distantly in line for the throne, and did need to be choosy when selecting a mate. Perhaps that was not the case at all.
"I'm sorry," he finally offered, uncertain of what else to say.
With a sigh of her own, she rose and began to pace the room, her nervous energy over her mother's condition needing to find an outlet somewhere. "Please don't apologize. It is not your fault."
Though in a way, it was. Amy might have been willing to do as her parents so obviously wanted this season if not for that magnificent day the previous August. After that, no man would ever compare to the one standing before her now. "And the issue of marriage is, as my mother said earlier this evening regarding another matter, a discussion for another time. For now, we must deal with her health. That is of the utmost importance."
"And the earldom. Let us not forget that," Gibson reminded her, finally crossing the room to grasp her arms gently, stilling her. Her pacing was making him nervous, and he was afraid that she might wear a hole in the carpet if she continued. Not to mention that he was growing increasingly uneasy about the unsettled state of affairs between them. He wanted to know precisely where they stood with each other, but could not ask. It was not his place, nor the right time, even though it was an immense distraction for him. Instead, he concentrated on what he could control.
"I am afraid that your father's affairs cannot be ignored while your mother recovers. The household and the estates require daily management." Gibson did not want to frighten her, but she did need to know what she was fac
ing. The task of running an earldom was a daunting one. "I know the effort it takes. I was trained for that kind of life, after all."
In that moment, Amy wanted to ask him so many questions about his life, about his family, and what had occurred to put him on the path he was currently traveling through life. She wanted to know if he was angry with her for her cold treatment of him earlier in the season, or if he still cared for her at all. But it was not her place, nor was it the time.
Instead of questioning him further, she pulled away and crossed the room to stand in front of the window overlooking the side garden. It was lovely in the darkness, the light from the house casting gentle shadows over the early blooms, the moon adding its own slivery glow. A lover's garden, one she might have shared with Gibson had things been different.
We can't live on 'what if-s.' His words from that day still echoed through her mind. With a sigh, she braced herself, knowing that she had to move forward and get down to business. No more mooning over Gibson.
"What do I do?" Amy hated to sound so uneducated, but her mother had been very busy as of late, and while her duties were not precisely a secret, she also hadn't been sharing many secrets with her daughter either. Including the information that Thea was managing the family estates as well.
"You must run them in your mother's place if necessary." Gibson hadn't meant to follow Amy across the room, but he found that he could not stay away from her either. His hands longed to reach out and touch her, offer her comfort, but somehow, he managed to keep himself in check. Instead, he merely stared at her reflection in the wavy, bubbled glass, and decided that he had never seen a more beautiful creature in all of his life. "There is no one else. Is there?"
"Not that I am aware of." If there was someone else, Amy did not know about them. "She meets with no one that I am not already acquainted with, and Towson has no reason to lie. No, I am confident that there was no one else helping her."
Gibson considered that for a moment, more than a little appalled at the situation, though he would never tell Amy such a thing. "I see. And what if she became incapacitated? Do you suspect that there were any allowances made for that, for I assure you, your mother will not be able to attend to her regular duties for some time."
When Amy didn't respond immediately, he had his answer. "If there is no one, then it must be you."
Real fear gripped Amy in that moment, and she fought to push it back. Her mother was ill. Very ill, perhaps even likely to die if she continued with her previously busy schedule. However, Amy herself had no idea what to do next. She hadn't been trained to run any of this. She wasn't the earl. She was simply a woman who had been taught to manage a household with the help of an immense staff.
Then she paused and considered the current situation from another vantage point. Somehow, despite everything, including a lack of proper training, her mother had known what to do. As far as Amy knew, Thea's work had been successful. Therefore, it could be done.
"As far as I know, my father had expected to return by now. He's been gone for nearly a month, far longer than any of his other trips for the crown have been." Amy nibbled on the edge of her thumb in worry. "So, no, I do not think he made any other arrangements. If he had, Towson would have known about them. This time was unusual, I think, in many ways. Other times that my father has been gone, we would have had a letter by now, though, again, if we have received one, I was not informed of it's arrival."
Nodding, Gibson gestured to the sofa, indicting that she should sit, but she ignored him and resumed her pacing. Fine. Then he would converse with her while she was in flight. "How much do you know about any of this?" He waved his hand in the air to indicate that he was talking about more than just the residence. "Cheltenham House? Heatherton Abby?" He was, of course, referring to the family's country seat. "Any of the estate's holdings or responsibilities?"
"Not much," she admitted, slowing her pace before coming to a stop in front of the window once more. She was more than a little bit embarrassed to allow Gibson to glimpse how truly uneducated she was, especially in comparison to him. "Michaels is my father's steward, but I suppose he has been taking direction from my mother for the last few weeks. I have seen him here at the house daily, but thought little of it since he visits every day when my father is in residence as well."
Her father. Amy had not truly considered how he would feel when he learned of his wife's illness. William Cheltenham would be alarmed if he knew of the situation facing Amy. If she did not get word to him, how would he know that he was needed at home? Or was he even now on his way back from Scotland, his job completed? Amy wanted to scream at her own ignorance. What did she know? Nothing, it seemed. "My father. He obviously does not know what has happened or how ill my mother is. How do I reach him? What do I tell him? How do I even find him?"
She whirled around and paced back to the couch before sinking down onto the plush fabric once again. Reaching out, she gripped Gibson's hands tightly, surprising him, her touch doing things to his insides that it took all of his strength of will to ignore. He could see the panic rising in her eyes, the rapid beat of her pulse in her throat.
"You are my friend, and I have no one else. Please. Tell me what to do, because I truly do not know where to begin." Amy gave another snort of disgust, and Gibson began to see that her mask of perfection was just that. A mask. "Earlier tonight, I was boasting to my mother about how much I knew regarding the world, how smart I was, and how I needed more freedom to make my own choices. It was truly foolish of me to think that I even know the tiniest bit about life, when in truth, I do not know anything."
"You know more than you think. That you are clever enough to realize you need help is a sign of great insight on your part. Do not discount that."
Amy was drowning in fear and panic. Gibson could see it so very clearly. Despite how she might or might not feel about him, he could not allow her to suffer through this alone. There was only one response he could give, only one his heart would allow him to make. "I will help you as best I can. Do not worry. We will get a message to your father, and he will help us set things right."
Gibson prayed that his voice held the right note of strength and decision. He needed to be strong for her, not uncertain about once more fitting into the world of the aristocracy, even if it was only on a temporary basis.
He might be uncomfortable with the plan he had just concocted, but he would follow through with it. For her. And only her.
"But what do I do?" The note of panic in Amy's voice was clear.
Gibson's heart broke as he watched Amy rise and whirl away from him once more, her heart-felt plea slicing through him like a knife. She continued to pace, almost frantic now, and he wished that he had the right to offer her comfort, but he did not. One stolen afternoon did not permit him the kinds of liberties he longed for. Still, when he rose as well and offered her his ungloved hand as a gesture of strength, she grasped it as if it were a lifeline, finally coming to rest in front of him.
At the slide of Gibson's hand against hers, Amy felt her pulse quicken, but she did her best to try to force herself to be calm. Already her heart was beating far too fast, and she wanted nothing more than to weep, but she would not. More than that, she wanted to fling herself into Gibson's arms for comfort, but he would probably not allow it. Nor should she even consider it. Here in London, there were rules. There were people watching. It wasn't like the seclusion of Seldon Park. But oh, how she wished it was.
Looking at Amy, her expression so sad and forlorn, Gibson felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. She was so frightened and alone. She needed help, but he could not be the one to give it. It was not his place. He was merely the physician. At best, he was a friend. Anything more than helping her write out a simple message to her father would create a scandal that neither one of them would live down, and could potentially cost him his practice.
Then, he remembered how Amy had felt in his arms, the way she had savored his caresses that day at Seldon Park, as if she
truly relished being touched by him. She had openly invited his caresses, begging him for more. He remembered the longing in her eyes the moment they had parted, and the way she had made him feel - as if he were her equal, a man worthy of her and not the son of a man so low that no one spoke of him. In that one afternoon, she had been both friend and lover - the only true one of each that he had ever had.
Since the day he had discovered that she had returned to London for the season, he had done his best to avoid her, and other than one night at the museum, he had succeeded. He hadn't wanted the temptation, the powerful longing to break convention and flout the rules just so that he could have her. It would end badly for both of them. He didn't want to risk causing a scandal. She deserved better than that.
On the other hand, his heart could not deny her when she so obviously needed help. In short, she needed him, and he owed her more than mere assistance with a note to be sent north.
Here in the Cheltenham's drawing room, Gibson knew he could not turn away from her, scandal be damned. He cared for Amy too much to allow her to suffer through this alone. If she needed him, he would be there for her, no matter the cost - professional or otherwise. These stolen moments out of time would be as close as he would ever come to having her in his bed temporarily or, preferably, his life forever.
He could no more abandon her than he could willingly allow her to marry a man like Drake. He simply could not do it. He cared far too much.
Slowly, Gibson guided Amy back to the settee, her hands gripped tightly in his. He needed her to be calm if he even had a slim hope of getting her to agree to his next suggestion. "Here is what we are going to do. Send a footman out tonight with a message for Michaels. Inform the steward that it is urgent that you speak with him first thing in the morning. Before breakfast, even. Crack of dawn if the man will agree to it. Whatever you can manage." When she said nothing, he held her hand tighter, sensing she needed reassurance. "I will not let you do this alone, Amy. I will be here when Michaels arrives, of course, acting as your mother's physician. I promise. I will not abandon you."
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