Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

by Julia Justiss

  ‘Thank you, Dr Wendell. I’ll go back to him now.’

  She slipped back into the room, to find her father still sleeping. After whispering to his valet to go to supper, she took his place by her father’s bed.

  Covering his hand with hers, she watched him, tears tracking down her cheeks. Poor, dear Papa. How she wished she could take all his cares upon her and will him back to health!

  As she settled in beside him, a sudden realisation broke through her anxiety. She wouldn’t be going to London after all. Although Papa had never intended to accompany her into the noise and confusion of the city he disliked, there was no possibility she could leave here with him so ill.

  She’d have to stay at Ashton Grove…and put off her Season yet again. In the midst of the wave of frustrated disappointment, a sneaky little thrill sparked through her. She’d have to stay at Ashton Grove…where Greville was.

  How long could she resist his appeal with them both here, residing under the same roof? The turbulent emotions of their ride back resurfaced: her attraction to him, her longing for his company pulling against a well-founded fear of his effect on her and a new appreciation for the strength of her passionate nature.

  Her mind flew back to those delicious moments at the Neville Tour.

  Oh, the sensations he’d sparked in her, his mouth exploring hers in a tangle of tongues! His lips against her throat, her ear; his hands smoothing and fondling her breasts until the nipples peaked under his stroking thumbs. And then, the wonderful, wicked blaze of pleasure as he caressed her knee, her thigh, and up into that hot, sweet secret place. Desire accelerating in a rush until she was breathless, mindless, racing towards a peak more exquisite than she could ever have dreamed.

  Exhilarated by her first taste of fulfilment, a deep hunger consumed her to experience it all, to feel within her the hardness that had pressed against her belly, probing the passage his fingers had pleasured…

  Her father stirred and she came back to the present with a jolt. Heavens, if she couldn’t keep herself from lustful thoughts of Greville while seated beside her gravely ill father, how could she hope to hang on to prudence and discretion during the long slow weeks necessary for Papa to recover?

  Even with the best of intentions, avoiding Greville’s company would be difficult if she remained here for any length of time. How was she to resist the desire that pulled her to him, the urge to deepen a friendship that should rather be curtailed, lest passion propel them into folly?

  Before she could begin to sort out the tangle of anticipation, dread, confusion and uncertainty this new situation evoked, her father stirred again. As she clutched his hand tighter, he opened his eyes.

  He focused on her, his face relaxing in a smile. ‘Hello, puss. I expect I gave you quite a scare.’

  ‘You did indeed,’ she replied, willing the tears away. ‘It was most unhandsome of you.’

  Patting her hand, he chuckled softly. ‘I’m heartily sorry.’

  The door opened softly and Althea peeped in. ‘Come in, my dear,’ Papa said. ‘I expect Dr Wendell told you how resourceful our girl was today. Before I’d barely realised what was happening, she knew just what to do.’

  ‘For which I will be eternally grateful,’ Amanda said emphatically.

  Althea looked over quickly, as if doubting her sincerity. When she realised Amanda had meant every word, her cousin coloured a little. ‘I’m only glad I was nearby.’

  ‘So are we both,’ Amanda replied.

  ‘I told Mrs Pepys to ready a room for the doctor,’ Althea said. ‘Perhaps I should have waited for you to do it, but I didn’t know when you’d return. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all! It’s one less thing I need attend to. Though my time shall be much less hectic now. Once I write Lady Parnell to tell her I shan’t be coming, we can settle in and—’

  ‘What’s that?’ her father interrupted. ‘Not going to London? Why ever not?’

  Amanda looked at him blankly. ‘Of course I shall remain at Ashton until you are fully recovered. I mean to pamper you and make sure you follow every one of Dr Wendell’s directives. Since your return to health is not a process that can be hurried, and I don’t wish to leave Lady Parnell in uncertainty, it will be best just to cancel the journey outright.’

  Her father shook his head. ‘No, you will not cancel it,’ he said firmly. ‘You will go to London as planned. There have been delays enough; I’ll not have you miss another Season.’

  ‘Well, I am getting rather on the shelf,’ she teased, trying to make him smile, ‘though it’s unkind of you to remind me. Since I’ve already passed the age of most hopeful young misses, waiting another year will not make much difference.’

  ‘It will to me,’ Lord Bronning replied. ‘The last thing I promised your dear mama was to let nothing else postpone the Season she’d wanted for you. If she didn’t wish even mourning her loss to delay it, I shall certainly not permit my infirmity to do so.’

  ‘But, Papa—’

  ‘No, my child,’ he interrupted again. ‘I insist that you go. And if you dig in your heels and say you won’t leave me, then you shall just have to pack me up and take me with you. Since leaving my beloved Ashton Grove would certainly send me into a decline, unless you want to have my death on your head—’

  ‘Papa!’ she cried. ‘Don’t even joke of such a thing!’

  ‘Very well, puss. But you must continue your preparations. I want you to have everything you desire, everything you and your mama always dreamed of. Nothing is more important to me…even if it means sending you away.’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ Althea inserted. ‘I can take care of Uncle James.’ She looked earnestly at Amanda. ‘I know you don’t think much of my abilities—’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Amanda protested.

  ‘But Uncle James is as dear to me as my own papa. I promise, I will care for him better than the best nurse. I’ll follow to the letter everything Dr Wendell recommends. You deserve to have your Season,’ she added gruffly. ‘You’ll be brilliant.’

  It was as close to an apology as Althea was likely to come, Amanda thought, touched. ‘I do trust you to care for Papa. I know you’ll do whatever you can to help him regain his health.’

  ‘You see,’ Papa said, squeezing her hand and taking Althea’s. ‘She’ll watch my every step, scold me if I sit in draughts, bring me warmed soup and in general coddle me so much I shall have to improve just to get out of the house. By the way, while I am confined, I intend to ask Mr Anders to ride about Ashton Grove for me, since it doesn’t appear the Navy plans to make use of him. He has several times expressed an interest in learning more about managing an estate. Who better to teach him than a master like myself?’

  ‘I’m sure Mr Anders will be happy to assist, Uncle James,’ Althea said. ‘How could he not be an apt pupil with so excellent a professor? I’ll help him as well. And Mrs Pepys will aid me in managing the household, so you may be sure of it continuing to run smoothly.’

  Looking at the two faces gazing at her earnestly, Amanda said, ‘I suppose I am going to London after all.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next two weeks flew by in a flurry of activity: letters to Lady Parnell to advise of her arrival, setting the schedule for Papa’s nursing, preparing gifts for staff and some to take to London, and final instructions for the household. For her last visit to the tenants, she took Althea along, presenting her as the mistress who would carry on in her stead.

  When they returned to the carriage after their final stop, Althea said, ‘So you really do consider me a useful member of the family now.’

  Impulsively, Amanda gave her a hug. ‘I always have! Do…do you think you could let go of that time last summer, so painful to us both, and let us move forwards?’

  After a moment, Althea nodded. ‘I can try.’

  ‘Good,’ Amanda replied, squeezing her cousin’s hand, her heart lightening.

  In all the bustle, one thing was missing. Seeming more
determined than she to maintain the distance they’d both agreed was necessary, Greville Anders had made himself conspicuously absent.

  Though she was rising early, he rose earlier still, and had already breakfasted and gone by the time she reached the morning room. He never returned to the hall for nuncheon and didn’t join them at night in the dining room, which seemed so empty and echoing with just she and Althea that by mutual consent, they gave up eating there and took their meals in the small back parlour, or with Papa in his chamber.

  The one time she had met him by chance in the hall, he begged pardon for his frequent absences, telling her there was so much to learn, and he needed to do it all immediately. Though he kept his gaze averted, to the delight of her starved senses, he rested his hand for a moment on her arm, until he apparently realised what he was doing and jerked it away.

  By the evening before her departure, as she helped Betsy pack the few gowns she’d need for the trip—very few, as she’d be acquiring a whole new wardrobe in London—she still hadn’t had a private word with Greville since returning from the Neville Tour. Was he really going to let her leave without any more than the few sentences they’d exchanged in the hallway? she wondered, restlessly pacing her chamber after sending Betsy off to bed.

  Unless…being so often away from the house, perhaps he didn’t realise she’d be leaving on the morrow?

  As an excuse, it was feeble. She stopped by the window, gazing out at the moonlit park, wrestling with the decision. This unconquerable compulsion to see him again defied logic; she didn’t even know what she wished to say.

  But proper to seek him out or not, she simply couldn’t leave Ashton without speaking with him one more time.

  Knowing he’d be in the estate office, where he went every evening, she walked there and paused outside the door, gathering her courage. Even now, she wasn’t sure what she was going to tell him. A small, nervous smile flitted to her lips: if she had observed Althea or of the housemaids behaving in so addle-pated a manner, she’d have laughed herself silly.

  Taking a deep breath, she knocked briefly. The sound of his voice bidding her enter sent little eddies of alarm and delight through her.

  He was writing in a ledger as she entered. Glancing up, Greville let his hand still and his eyes widened in surprise.

  Once over the threshold, both courage and speech seemed to desert her. She halted, her feet stilling of their own accord. For a long moment, they stared silently at each other.

  She made herself walk over to the desk, as he belatedly rose to acknowledge her. ‘Miss Neville.’

  ‘I’m leaving tomorrow, Mr Anders,’ she blurted.

  Still standing, a ledger held before him like a shield, he said, ‘Yes, I know.’

  As the frail illusion that he’d been ignorant of her plans crumbled, recognition of her brashness in seeking him out heated her cheeks, while something in her chest twisted painfully. ‘You knew…and weren’t even going to say goodbye?’

  For another long moment he stared at her, his lips tight, his expression fierce, whether from anger, irritation or sorrow, she couldn’t tell. She was about to turn tail in dismay and retreat when he smiled, that familiar charming, engaging smile that sent a warming gladness through her anxious heart. ‘I’m much better at hello.’

  ‘Might you be telling me that in London, perhaps?’ she asked, grasping at a small morsel of hope.

  ‘I don’t know. I must talk with Lord Englemere at some point. Right now, I’ve got my hands fully occupied trying to keep things running smoothly for your papa who, as you know far better than I, juggles more enterprises than a circus performer. Mines! Sheep! Wool carding! Lace-making! Cattle! Grain!’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘I’m staying up later than I ever did when I was a dissipated fribble, trying to sort it all out.’

  His voice turned serious. ‘I promise you, I will sort it out. I mean to make sure your father suffers no anxiety about anything involving the estate.’

  ‘I know you will master it.’

  His smile softened. ‘As you will shine on a stage much grander than any offered in Devon. If ever a lady were made to be a brilliant society hostess, it’s you. You mustn’t spoil this opportunity fretting over your papa’s health, either. Althea and I will keep a close watch over him and take immediate action if anything is required, so you may be easy.’

  ‘Easy as I can be, separated from him.’ And you, the unwanted thought slipped in.

  He nodded. ‘There will be many diversions in London to help distract you.’ He paused, and she hoped he might elaborate, take that opening to prolong the conversation. But then he said simply, ‘Since there’s no doubt of your ultimate success, I will simply…wish you joy.’

  He was dismissing her—from the room and from his life. A pain greater than anything she’d anticipated swelled in her heart, constricting her throat, hampering speech. ‘As I wish it for you,’ she managed after a moment.

  Avoiding her eyes, he gave her a tight nod. ‘I’ll make sure your carriage is ready tomorrow.’

  ‘Will you be there when I leave?’ she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  He gave a shake of the head. ‘I’ll probably be in Mr Acherman’s fields by then.’

  She’d promised herself she wanted only one last chance to talk with him. But need boiled up from within, a volatile combination of desire, desperation and the fear that she would never see him again, all driving her to steal one last touch.

  Before she lost her nerve or sanity returned to restrain her, she closed the small distance to the desk, seized his face and kissed him.

  For an instant he resisted, the shock of her unprecedented action holding him motionless. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her back in an all-out assault on her senses, his mouth devouring, his tongue ravishing hers until she felt her bones must melt, her legs went limp, and all she wanted to do was to go on kissing him like this, for ever.

  She was gasping, her heart pounding with such force she thought it must leap from her chest, when he roughly pushed her away. ‘I must go,’ he said unsteadily, ‘before I do something even more foolish than last time. God speed, Amanda.’ With that, he strode from the room.

  Numbly she watched his retreating back. She wanted to recall him, but a small moan of distress was the only sound she seemed able to produce. Stumbling backwards, she sat down hard on the edge of the desk he’d just abandoned, completely unprepared for the stunning strength of the sense of loss filling her chest.

  She scrubbed a fist over her stinging lips and took a deep steadying breath. Dashing useless tears from her eyes, she straightened and trudged up to her chamber, chastising herself for having to learn the hard way that sometimes you are much better off not getting what you ask for.

  As her carriage pulled away the next morning, Sands, Althea and Mrs Pepys stood waving from the steps. Before leaving, she’d gone to Papa’s chamber to kiss him goodbye and promise to faithfully write every detail of her adventure in London.

  As expected, Mr Anders had not been present, neither in breakfast room nor on the steps as the staff bid her farewell, nor anywhere along the main road that wound through the estate. Disappointed, as the carriage rolled past the boundaries of Neville land on to the turnpike, she turned her gaze from the coach window.

  So that was it; she’d not catch any further glimpses of him. With determination, she tried to bury all the confused emotions that had prompted last night’s display of idiocy in the library.

  Her indiscretion over that gentleman aside, though she hated to acknowledge it, for all the times she’d envisioned setting off on this journey, the reality of it fell flat. Of course, it was only natural to feel uneasy about leaving, with Papa’s health still so uncertain.

  Nor could she expect to be as excited as she would have been, had Mama and Grandmama been here to share it with her. Feeling an insidious sadness pulling at her, she pried her mind free.

  What was wrong with her? She was embarking on the adventure of a li
fetime, capitalising on an opportunity any gently bred young lady would give all her worldly goods to possess. Once she arrived in London, she’d be able to shake off this dull mood, leave behind in Devon the confusing muddle of attraction, anxiety, desire, and regret that had made her behave like someone she didn’t even recognise. Thrust into the diversions of the ton, under Lady Parnell’s careful guidance, she’d be herself again: calm, purposeful, clear-minded, ready to seize her dream and make it a reality.

  However, loss and grief had tempered the idea that being on the most important social stage in England, turning heads, gathering beaux and making what was accounted a brilliant match was the most important achievement in life.

  She now believed, with a painful clarity born of two years of devastating losses, that sharing her love with those who loved her was life’s most essential purpose.

  Was that not also her purpose in going to London? To find the one, perfect man to love her, who would replace all the dear ones lost. So she might, as the marriage service said, leave her family and cleave to her husband, in the closest and most intimate of bonds.

  She’d always envisioned him as somewhat older, handsome and distinguished. A wise and thoughtful man, deeply concerned about sorting out the problems left in the wake of Napoleon’s destructive march through Europe. He would want to ameliorate, as she did, the poverty of those thrown off land by enclosures, those toiling long hours for pitiful wages in the factories.

  Although when she thought now of the man she wished to marry, that foggy image cleared and Greville Anders’s face appeared.

  She sighed. Though she supposed she ought to be appalled and ashamed of her shocking conduct with him, now that she’d escaped without dire consequences, she just…wasn’t. Indeed, she only wished to repeat the experience, the sooner, the better. No longer could she imagine marriage without the deeply exciting fulfilment of the senses.

  Passion was a gift of the divine, he’d seemed to suggest—and thinking back on the ecstasy of it, she could only agree. After he’d so sweetly initiated her into rapture, how could she not feel a little regret that the husband she sought could never be him?