Had some traumatic event—perhaps the tragic loss of her mother the previous summer?—spurred her to this unusual sensitivity? Whatever the cause, the perception and empathy she’d just displayed hinted at a character as sterling as her beauty.
A beautiful lady of gentle birth and sterling character who was already fully capable of managing a vast estate would be a prize indeed on the Marriage Mart this spring. The more discerning London gentlemen ought to fight each other to vie for her hand.
A pang of sadness flashed through him that in neither wealth nor title would he be considered worthy to enter that contest.
But then, he wasn’t in the market for a wife, certainly not a wealthy, well-born one eager to plunge herself into the London society, he now disdained. Shrugging off that stab of regret, Greville said, ‘Shall we exchange mutual apologies, then? I shall beg pardon for not initially appearing worthy of your hospitality.’
‘Very well, mutual apologies it is,’ she agreed with a smile.
Greville caught his breath. Frowning, Miss Neville had been lovely; uninterested, she was the handsomest woman he’d ever met, but with those tempting lips curved upwards, the smile adding a glow to her cheeks and an appealing softness to her countenance, she was magnificent.
The warmth of her expression flowed like molten honey over his cold heart, glazing it with sweetness. Smiling back, he glanced into her eyes and was captivated.
Ah, how mesmerising were the turquoise-blue depths, scintillating with highlights like a white-capped sea under a blustery fair sky! Greville could cast himself adrift in them for ever.
He felt almost dizzy, his equilibrium unexpectedly upended by a force too powerful to resist. He felt as if he’d been tossed to the deck by a ‘wind shot’, the blast of air from a passing cannon ball that could knock a man off his feet, though the ball itself never touched him.
The attraction was so strong, he instinctively wished to move closer, catching himself from doing so only at the last moment.
For several seconds they both remained motionless. Had the blast he felt affected her, too? he wondered. Certainly she had gone still and silent, her lips slightly parted but mute, her wide eyes staring back into his. She was shaken, he concluded with a wild upswing of joy. Every sense exulting, he felt the nearly irresistible urge to close the distance between them and kiss her.
Mercifully, good sense intervened. He stepped back, making himself recall why kissing the daughter of his host was not a good idea, even though other parts of his body enthusiastically endorsed such a course.
She broke the fraught silence then, saying something about returning to the house that his still-dazed ears were barely able to comprehend.
Pull yourself together, Greville. Though initially he’d merely thought to amuse himself, tweaking this pretty miss with her superior sense of worth, he now felt the strongest compulsion to discover more about her.
‘Let me walk in with you,’ he said, deliberately slowing his pace while he reassembled his scrambled wits to produce some suitable conversation to prolong their interlude. ‘You’ll be wanting to return to your duties, which, I understand, are considerable. Luke, the footman who acted as my valet this morning, told me about the sad losses your family has recently suffered. Please accept my condolences, Miss Neville. However brilliantly you handle the household—and in my observation, that is very competently indeed—taking over for your mama under such circumstances must have been very difficult.’
The smile faded—and somewhat to Greville’s alarm, tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. ‘Yes, it was…difficult.’
There was no reason the sadness on her face should pull at his heart—but somehow it did. Hoping to distract her from that reminder of her loss, he said, ‘You are soon to depart to London for the Season, are you not?’
‘Yes, but you mustn’t think I mean to slight Mama’s memory. I would remain here in mourning, but before she…left us, Mama made me promise I would go to London as planned. My Season has already been so often delayed that, compared to the other young ladies, I shall seem practically at my last prayers.’
Greville laughed at the sheer absurdity of such a notion. ‘I assure you, Miss Neville, anyone meeting you will think only that you are one of the loveliest and most charming young ladies ever to grace London.’
Rather than preen coquettishly at his compliment, she blushed again and looked away, as if such gallantry made her uncomfortable. How wonderfully refreshing that a girl of her astounding beauty seemed to possess so little vanity! he thought, impressed despite himself.
Perhaps there were few personable or perceptive gentlemen in the vicinity of Ashton Grove, leaving her unaware of just what a Diamond she was—a circumstance that would certainly change once she reached London. She’d grow inured to flattery soon enough, he concluded with some regret.
‘You are too kind, Mr Anders,’ she said softly.
‘No, ma’am, merely truthful. But, if you don’t mind my asking, what has delayed your Season?’
She paused, a shadow passing over her face, and for a moment Greville thought she wouldn’t answer. ‘A succession of unfortunate events,’ she said at length. ‘Three years ago, Mama’s best friend, with whom we were to stay, ended up at the last minute having to remain in the country due to complications after her daughter’s lying-in. She and Mama had been bosom-bows during their own come-out year and had long planned to share mine; we preferred to delay a year rather than forgo her company. And practically speaking, by that late date, it would have been nearly impossible to find a suitable house to let, even if we’d wished to proceed alone.’
‘And after that?’ he prompted.
‘Two winters ago,’ she continued softly, a sorrowful note creeping into her tone, ‘my grandmother, who had resided with us for years, fell ill with a fever that lingered on and on. Though she urged us to go to London without her, of course we refused. We lost her that summer. You’ve already heard what transpired this past year, when my aunt, the household and finally Mama fell ill.’ She forced a smile. ‘In sum, a rather dreary tale.’
So in the space of two years she’d lost grandmother, aunt and mother, a succession of blows that would give anyone pause—and perhaps as effective as being sold to a press gang at making one revaluate the world and one’s place in it.
‘Heartbreaking, certainly,’ Greville summed up, once again unaccountably touched by the sadness in her magnificent eyes. He was trying to hit upon a way to redirect her thoughts when Miss Neville said,
‘I was ill myself for some time, during which Mama carried the entire burden of running the household and tending me, my aunt and numerous members of the staff who’d also contracted the disease. Perhaps if I’d recovered more quickly and could have assisted her, she would have had the strength to survive once she herself succumbed to the sickness.’
‘Surely you don’t blame yourself,’ Greville said. ‘Likely nothing you could have done would have made any difference. Life brings tragedies to everyone; more frequently, it seems, to the blameless. During my first storm at sea, one of the foretop-men, the lads who work the sails at the very height of the mast, was swept overboard. He was a skilled sailor, well liked by all, while the man beside him, an ill-natured creature who caused no end of trouble, was spared. Why young Henry rather than the ne’er-do-well? The Devil protecting his own, perhaps.’
‘You are likely right. Still, it’s hard not to feel responsible, somehow.’
Miss Neville fell silent, obviously still grappling with her grief. Greville felt an upswelling of desire to comfort her that was as strong as his previous urge to kiss her.
Well, almost as strong. He yearned to pull her into his arms and promise her the moon, let the warmth of his body chase away the cold desolation in her eyes, tease her or even annoy her until he banished the lingering thoughts of loss.
Kissing her would certainly distract her, his body suggested hopefully. Why not satisfy both urgings?
Such a ploy
would likely distract her right into planting him a facer, Greville answered himself. Still, he had to struggle to silence that tempting voice and quell the immediate effect the idea of kissing her produced in his all-too-needy member.
While he was thus preoccupied, Miss Neville said, ‘Perhaps I should wait another year. But…there’s nothing at Ashton for me save sad memories, and I did promise Mama.’
‘Doing what your mama wanted is the important thing.’
‘I know, you are right.’ She uttered a strained laugh. ‘It’s ridiculous, but I am still so torn. Eager to embrace my future on the one hand, yet strangely resistant to leaving. It’s as if, as long as I remain at Ashton, I haven’t completely…lost Mama and Grandmama and Aunt Felicia. But once I go to London and embark upon my Season, the Season we spent so many evenings planning together, I can no longer escape the fact that they are truly gone…and I must live my life without them.’
‘Tied to a past that cannot be recaptured, yet uncertain about moving forwards?’ Greville said, thinking wryly he stood in almost the same position.
Her eyes widened. ‘Yes, that’s it exactly! How perceptive you are, Mr Anders.’
He waved a hand dismissively. ‘I’ve had some…perspective-altering experiences myself this last year.’ Like having his self-esteem and sense of position plunged into the maelstrom of the sea, to emerge eight months later, like a ship repaired after a storm, with a whole new rigging of attitudes about life and his place in it.
She nodded. ‘Are you finding it difficult to move forwards?’
‘My future plans are still…unsettled,’ he conceded. ‘About yours, however, there can be no doubt: you shall become one of the Season’s reigning Diamonds, intrigue a host of high-titled aspirants to your hand and choose one lucky man to be your husband.’
She chuckled. ‘That was certainly Mama and Grandmama’s plan. I was raised on tales about the dazzling Duchess of Devonshire, the premier light of society during Grandmama’s years in London. Both she and Mama set their hearts on my making a brilliant match to a gentleman of high rank and political influence.’
With a smile, she continued, ‘They made life in London sound so exciting! By the time I was sixteen, I was convinced I wanted to be just like Lady Georgiana—though not, of course, quite as much of a gamester. Or at least, not a losing one,’ she amended with a laugh.
That small joyous sound dispelled the lingering sadness on her face and left him wondering whether her smile or her vulnerability was more appealing.
‘You mustn’t think I value myself too highly!’ she added, her levity vanishing beneath a sudden seriousness. ‘I realise I’m not a duke’s daughter, nor one raised in political circles. I am, however, endowed with a very handsome dowry, which Grandmama said, for a gentleman with political or diplomatic ambitions, might well compensate for my lack of title and political connections. And the Bronning barony is a very old one. Both believed that, with my birth and dowry, achieving a grand match was quite possible. I hope you don’t think me vain to express such aims,’ she concluded, turning to him with an expression of concern.
‘Not at all. From my experience in society, your family’s expectations are quite reasonable.’
And they were. A young lady of Miss Neville’s remarkable beauty, who also possessed birth and fortune, might look as high as she liked for a husband. That fact alone ought to extinguish his smouldering desire for her company.
Though he conceded that the political set to which she aspired performed important work, the London society of which she spoke so glowingly was a world he now considered shallow and barren of purpose. While it might be harmless enough to establish a teasing friendship with her, he’d best keep uppermost in his randy mind a clear understanding of just how divergent her future and his would be.
He wondered if she truly was prepared for the London she was so eager to reach. Despite her beauty and wealth—indeed, because of it—she was unlikely to find it the vibrant milieu teeming with charming, intelligent and superior individuals she seemed to expect. Instead, she was about to plunge into an often shallow, vicious world of exacting standards meant to trip up the unwary, peopled by idle, self-important social arbiters ready to seize upon any mistake to criticise and disparage a newcomer.
Heavens, he thought in some surprise, when had his view of society become so negative? Perhaps it was a distillation of his previous resentment over his lack of status, combined with the clarity of vision brought about by his life among those at the bottom of the social scale, who, despite their lowly status, spent their lives performing a mission of much greater urgency than the endless rounds of parties, gaming, and self-indulgence that made up the world of society. And used to make up his own.
He hoped whichever Grand Dame had agreed to act as Miss Neville’s sponsor would be equal to the task of shielding her from the attacks of those who were jealous of her superior beauty, charm and fortune.
Deflecting the animosity she was likely to excite in London was not his problem, he reminded himself. Even if this curious protective instinct towards her persisted, unless cousin Nicky performed his magic quickly indeed, he would still be in Devon, serving at the pleasure of the Coastal Brigade, while she went to London for her Season.
He was smiling at the image of Greville Anders, younger son with no prospects, protecting one as perfectly poised as Miss Neville for rising to the highest ranks of society when she asked, ‘Are you familiar with London, Mr Anders?’
‘Yes. I often visited the city while at Cambridge, and spent several Seasons there after leaving university.’
‘Can you tell me about it, please? I’ve heard all of Grandmama’s stories, of course, but she hadn’t resided in the city for a decade. What is it like now? What sites and entertainments would you recommend I visit?’
When she looked at him like that, all innocence and persuasive appeal, he’d tell her whatever she wanted, Greville thought. Although, with her insidious presence beside him, it was very difficult to concentrate on any amusements other than the ones her potent physical appeal brought most strongly to mind.
Like kissing. With her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with enthusiasm, her lips slightly parted and the hint of a pink tongue tempting him, all he wanted to do was bend his head down and sample her. Taste those plump lips and chase her tongue back into the sweet warm cave of her mouth, tangle his with hers and lave and mingle and caress…
London, he told himself, jerking that delectable line of imagining to a halt. The only delights she wanted to sample at the moment were the city’s attractions.
Though he certainly did not mean to confess it, his sojourns in the city had usually been spent in diversions not normally mentioned in the company of ladies. Rapidly he scanned his memory for a list of activities suitable for a gently born female.
‘There’s the theatre—Covent Garden, which features the fabulous Mr Kean in Shakespearean roles, and the Theatre Royal at Haymarket, where the social activity in the boxes and among the crowds on the floor is often as entertaining as the action upon the stage.’
‘Yes, Grandmama particularly enjoyed the theatre! My sponsor keeps a box at Covent Garden, and I am most anxious to visit. What else?’
‘There’s Astley’s Amphitheatre for equestrian displays. The Tower, where for a small tip the Guard will give you a tour and show you the places where the ghosts of Henry VIII’s poor headless Queens, Catherine and Anne, are said to roam. Hatchard’s bookstore, if you are of a literary mind. Gunter’s for ices, and, of course, shops selling everything you could imagine.’
‘Yes, Mama intended that we go to town early to begin acquiring a wardrobe, as she insisted nothing country-made would do. Oh, the evenings we spent, poring over fashion plates while Mama and Grandmama described the wonders of Bond Street and Piccadilly! Modistes, cloth-drapers, bonnet-makers, cobblers offering slippers soft as a glove, gloves in every colour of the rainbow.’ Shaking her head, she said, ‘Now you will be thinking me the most fri
volous individual!’
‘Fashion, frivolous?’ he replied with a grin. ‘Indeed not, Miss Neville. ’Tis practically the stuff of life in London. There’s great artistry in the making of apparel that shows both the beauty of the material and the wearer to best advantage. It’s said Beau Brummell went through an entire stack of neckcloths before getting his cravat tied to perfection and had a standing order for champagne, just to add to his valet’s secret formula for blacking his boots.’
‘I am so looking forward to it all. And to renewing my relationship with Lady Parnell, Mama’s best friend, with whom we were to stay that first year and who will be my sponsor now.’
Surprise tinged with dismay banished Greville’s amusement. Lady Parnell, one of the doyennes of society, was said to have more influence than all the patronesses of Almack’s combined.
No need to fear that Miss Neville would fall victim to the petty cruelty of jealous schemers. No one who had any aspirations to society would be foolish enough to openly criticise the ward of so socially powerful a personage.
‘If Lady Parnell is to introduce you, your success is assured.’
‘Are you acquainted with her? She’s my godmother, as well as Mama’s best friend.’
‘I’ve not had that honour.’ Greville did not feel it necessary to add that this was hardly surprising, since the females whose company he’d normally sought while in the metropolis had been about as opposite as one could get from the virginal blossoms of society and the Grand Dames who sheltered them. ‘I did know her nephew at Cambridge.’
Of all the matrons in the city, it would have to be Lady Parnell, he thought with rueful chagrin. If he were still clinging to any foolish thought of attempting a friendship, the identity of Miss Neville’s sponsor ought to sound its death knell.
Not only was the lady wealthy, influential and needle-witted—and thus liable to allow only the wealthiest and most eligible gentleman to associate with her ward—she also had a keen awareness of everything that went on in London. He couldn’t rule out the possibility she might even know about some of the questionable activities in which he’d participated with her nephew.
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