Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman (11 page)

When he caught up to her, it seemed he'd accepted her silent rebuff. In a normal tone, he said, ‘Belcher was probably right. I'm feeling infinitely better these last days, but if I had to shoulder a weapon or wield a sword, I'm afraid I still wouldn't be of much use.'

Perhaps his nearness had rattled her normal sense of propriety, for she found herself asking, ‘Did you wield a sword when the pirate ship was taken?'

‘I did.' His mouth thinned and his gaze went to the far horizon. ‘I served in the Quartermaster's Corps during the Waterloo campaign, which mostly involved coordinating the movement of provisions in and around Brussels. We never saw any actual fighting. I hope I acquitted myself well when we took the pirate's vessel, but battling for one's life in a skirmish is nothing like fencing at Angelo's.'

Amanda wondered if he'd killed a man. He must have at least injured some, if only to protect himself and his shipmates. With the grim look on his face, she didn't dare ask.

In any event, they'd reached the manor. Amanda was about to walk up the steps when the entry door flew open and Althea, the train of her habit caught up over one arm, dashed out.

She stopped short, staring at Amanda with her hand on Mr Anders's arm, her eyes widening.

A flash of guilt wafted through Amanda—as if she'd been caught kissing him.

Trying to damp it down and prevent a flush from mounting her cheeks, she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Anders, for a most illuminating discussion. I expect I'll see you at dinner.' Nodding to Althea, whose expression had gone from shocked to betrayed to accusing, she continued up the steps and into the house.

T
wo days later, Greville entered the breakfast room to find it deserted. In answer to his unspoken question, Sands said, ‘Miss Amanda rode out early to visit some tenants, but Miss Althea should be down soon.'

Conscious of a disappointment he shouldn't be feeling, Greville nodded and went to fill his plate. He'd not seen the glorious Amanda yesterday. After awakening with his left side on fire and the cutlass wound weeping, he'd cursed himself for his foolhardiness in insisting on driving and spent the day resting.

He really shouldn't seek her out anyway. For the second time, he'd almost committed the impropriety of kissing her, the urge to do so stronger than the occasion before, on the terrace. This time, she'd nearly initiated the caress herself, before sanity returned and she prudently broke away from him.

He should respect that prudence and keep his distance.

Except…he just didn't want to. What was the harm in a little dalliance? an insidious voice asked. He wasn't a green youth, to be catapulted beyond the limits of control by a simple kiss,
and she had her cap firmly fixed on catching a husband much grander than him. A few stolen caresses would titillate her and gratify them both, after which she'd be off to London and he could concentrate on settling his own future.

While he wrestled with temptation, Miss Holton entered. ‘Are you feeling more the thing today?' she asked as she accepted a cup of coffee from Sands.

‘Much better, thank you.'

‘I'm so glad. We hoped you'd not re-injured your shoulder avoiding the collision with Mr Williams.'

‘A temporary setback, no more.'

‘Excellent. The day looks to be fair. Would you like to ride out? I could show you the ruins of Neville Tour.'

After the irritation of his aching shoulder and a day of forced inactivity, the idea of being out in the fresh air was so appealing that he replied at once, ‘I should like that very much.'

‘Wonderful!' Miss Holton gulped the rest of her coffee and set down the cup. ‘Just let me change into my habit and I'll meet you at the stables.'

Not until she'd dashed off did Greville recall that, with Miss Neville off somewhere and unable to act as chaperon, he probably shouldn't have accepted Miss Holton's invitation.

By now, he'd had several occasions to observe the strain between the two girls. He suspected that, after seeing him with Amanda on his arm two days ago, Miss Holton had leapt at this opportunity to circumvent her cousin's attempts to prevent her from spending time alone with him.

But the day was truly too fine to waste, so by the time he arrived at the stables, he'd decided he could ride while still respecting propriety by getting one of the grooms to accompany them.

Miss Holton arrived a few minutes later. She looked askance when, after the servant gave her a leg up, he threw himself up on his own mount.

‘You needn't come with us, Billy,' she said, a touch defiantly.

The flush that accompanied her words told him he'd been wise to be cautious. ‘I asked him to do so, Miss Holton. The consequences of our excursion two days ago reminded me that I'm not yet fully healed. If I should tire and need to return early, I wouldn't wish to spoil your ride. Billy could accompany you home.'

‘I've ridden these hills and valleys since I was a child,' she protested. ‘I don't need help getting home.'

‘Perhaps, but you are a young lady now. A gentleman never leaves a lady without an escort.'

He bit back a smile, watching the play of emotions on her face as gratification at being considered a lady warred with her desire to refuse a chaperon. ‘I suppose I must bow to the preferences of a guest,' she said at last.

For a time after they set out, Greville tried the horse through its different paces, seeing how his body responded to the jolt of being astride. Requesting the services of the groom hadn't been entirely a matter of maintaining propriety; on this, his first ride since his wounding, he wasn't at all sure how much stamina he'd have, especially after the strain of fighting the team to a standstill two days ago.

But after a mile at an easy trot, he felt surprisingly well, the familiar rhythmic motion paining neither his arm nor his side. Joy suffused him; for the first time in almost a year he was on horseback, surveying the countryside like a hale, whole, independent man again.

Soon, he'd have an occupation that ensured he stayed that way.

Worries about his endurance dispelled, he turned his attention to determining whether his speculation about Miss Holton's intentions had been correct.

‘Will Miss Neville be joining us?' he asked casually, pulling up his mount beside her.

Her chin rising defiantly, she halted her horse as well. ‘Do you not wish to ride with only me for company? If that is the case, just say so—'

‘Of course I wish to ride with you,' he interrupted, a bit annoyed by her prickly temper. Still, after the way he'd watched her being virtually ignored by her neighbour, he could understand her sensitivity on that point. ‘You promised me a tour, did you not? Besides, I find you a most interesting and unusual girl,' he added with perfect truth.

That modest compliment earned him a smile. ‘I don't see why we can't ride without her,' she replied. ‘She was strolling with you the other day without a chaperon. If being alone with you won't sully her reputation, why should it harm mine? I think she just likes telling me what to do. Ever since Aunt Lydia fell sick, she's taken over at Ashton and ordered everyone about.'

Her tone was belligerent, but the vulnerability he read in her eyes touched him. She was an orphan, after all, and very much in her beautiful cousin's shadow. He knew all too well what it was like to stand in the shade of a more famous and compelling relation.

‘She probably didn't have much choice about taking over from her mother,' he pointed out mildly, recalling what Miss Neville had confided to him. ‘With all in chaos and distressed by the illness and then loss of those most dear to her, perhaps she did not exercise that authority as lightly as you might have wished. I expect it was a difficult time for everyone.'

‘You can't imagine!' the girl burst out. To Greville's alarm, tears sheened her eyes. ‘Do you know, they didn't even send me word that Mama was so ill? And then, when I finally did get to Ashton Grove, she was—' Miss Holton's voice broke.
Swallowing hard, she continued, ‘She was so delirious, they wouldn't let me see her.'

‘She had contracted a virulent fever, I was told. Probably the family wished you to avoid the infection.'

‘Amanda sat with her.'

‘Had Miss Neville not already recovered from the fever? Perhaps it was thought no longer dangerous for her.' By now, Greville was wishing he'd tried to turn the subject rather than enquiring further. What did he know about consoling a distraught young female?

Still, something about her—her bravado, her desire to escape being held to the rigid standards required of young ladies—reminded him of himself at her age, rebelling against a world in which the possession of wealth and property was everything, yet at the same time, priding himself on belonging to that ruling class, by birth if not status. He'd battled his relegation to an inferior position ever since leaving university—until a turn of fate reduced his existence to the most elemental level. His months at sea had taught him character was a much more important measure of a man than title and position.

‘Perhaps,' Miss Holton said, sounding unconvinced. ‘In any event…' she looked away, her voice dropping to a gruff murmur ‘…I expect Mama never asked for me. She always liked Amanda better. The whole time I was growing up, all I ever heard was how pretty my cousin was, how well she played the pianoforte and how beautifully she painted. Her behaviour was always the standard Mama held up for me to copy.'

Unsure how or whether he ought to halt the stream of words, Greville remained silent as she rushed on, ‘It wasn't so bad while Papa was still alive. He took me riding, let me jump all the fences, even promised to teach me to shoot, until Mama found out and forbade it. I was already too “unnatural” a female without him encouraging me, she said.

‘They didn't let me see Mama until the night she died, and
then only for a moment,' she continued, abruptly shifting back to her first narrative. ‘She was already beyond recognising anyone. They rushed me out before I could try to make p-peace with her, though Amanda and Aunt Lydia stayed until the end,' the girl concluded bitterly.

Even the old Greville, before his experiences had given him a keener appreciation for the suffering of his fellows, couldn't have failed to be moved by her grief and regret. ‘I'm so sorry,' he murmured, curling his fingers to resist the urge to pat her on the back or gather her in his arms.

With the speed of a jack rabbit darting away from a pursuing hound, her face cleared and she put on a determined smile. ‘But heavens, why am I nattering on to you, who can have no interest in those events? It's all in past, anyway. With Amanda leaving soon, I intend to stay here with Uncle James. He'll not make me return to school or try to turn me into someone I'm not. Now, the castle ruins are just around the next turn.'

He had to admire her quick recovery, accomplished, praise Heaven, without any clumsily offered assistance from him. During the misery of days he'd spent aboard the prison hulk, confined with the other impressed men while they awaited transport to the
Illustrious
, he'd experienced the awful sense of being powerless and absolutely alone in world. Miss Holton's situation was by no means as dire, but losing the support of those nearest to you and being forced into a position you did not want was something he understood only too well. If her behaviour sometimes bordered on the churlish, perhaps she had cause.

Leaving Billy with the horses by the remains of the old curtain wall, Miss Holton led him inside. ‘This was the bailey,' she said, indicating a large, oval open space. ‘You can see the remnants of what were stables and storehouses, and over there, the keep.' She gestured towards the square stone tower at the cliffside end of the expanse. ‘Being as useful as a lookout point
during the centuries as it was at its construction, it has remained in remarkably good repair. Shall we look within?'

Nodding, he followed her across the open space towards the arched entryway. ‘Duke William gave the first Lord de Bronnaut all the land along the coast, with orders to build a fortification and hold it against attacks by wild Cornishmen or resurgent groups of Angles and Saxons,' she said, pacing through the doorway. ‘Supplies were kept below, so the defenders could hold out for quite some time, even if the bailey wall was—'

She stopped abruptly, frowning. Looking over her shoulder, Greville saw the remnants of a stamped-out fire on the stone floor.

‘The tower has never been secured, but Uncle James wouldn't like someone trespassing,' Miss Holton said. ‘Do you think a poacher was here?'

‘Probably not—the heights are barren, with no cover to entice game. Probably some farm lads or shepherds took refuge from a storm.' Greville didn't believe that, but he had no intention of voicing to Miss Holton the suspicion that had sprung immediately to mind as soon as he saw the remains of the fire.

Neville Tour, with its unimpeded view down the coast and convenient storage areas below, would make as perfect a spot for signalling a vessel to land its cargo as it was a secure, dry place to stash it.

Indeed, something about the whole area, from the bailey into the tower, set the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Might someone be watching them?

All his protective instincts at high alert, Greville said, ‘I believe I'm a bit weary, Miss Holton. Shall we head back?'

‘You don't wish to see the cellars?'

‘Another time, perhaps.' If smugglers were making use of the place, he had no intention of descending to the storage areas
and letting Miss Holton discover contraband—or be knocked over the head by a free-trader anxious to protect his cargo. Not when he had not even a knife on him with which to defend her.

The ploy worked; instantly solicitous, Miss Holton took his arm and walked with him back across the bailey. The itch between his shoulder blades didn't abate until they left the castle enclosure to meet the groom with their horses.

Billy helped Miss Holton mount and they set off. After their return, Greville thought as they trotted back towards Ashton Grove, he'd report his findings to Lord Bronning and suggest he send a party—a large, armed party—back to investigate.

 

The sunshine and mild breeze had made the ride back as delightful as the journey out. After they'd reached the stables and turned their horses back over to the staff, Greville walked Althea back to the manor.

‘Thank you, Miss Holton. The ride was quite refreshing, and Neville Tour is a fascinating place.'

‘Isn't it? When you've fully recovered, we must go there again. The view from the paths along the cliff edge is breathtaking. And please call me Althea. We are friends now, aren't we?'

‘Friends,' he agreed. ‘You can call me Greville—though probably not when your uncle or cousin can overhear.'

She sniffed. ‘No, Amanda would chide me about the impropriety for sure.'

Though it was certainly no business of his to become involved, it did seem to him that the cousins were working at cross-purposes. ‘Have you ever spoken with Miss Neville about what happened at the time of your mother's death? I suspect she may not be aware of how shut out and ignored you felt.'

Althea shrugged. ‘She'd just fob me off with some excuse, or give me a lecture about not knowing my place.'

‘She might. But she might also apologise and say it had never been her intention to slight you. Family is important—a truth I've only recently come to fully appreciate. One shouldn't remain estranged without making a push to heal the breach. Consider it, anyway.'