Julia Justiss - Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

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 foretopmen, 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.’