Julia Justiss - Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

‘Yes, I should like that. Please tell Cook how much I enjoyed the tray you brought earlier.’

The footman grinned. ‘No need to say nothing. She saw the empty plate and was happy to see you’re such a good trencherman! What with all the illness in the house, the master’s sister and then the missus herself passing on last spring and summer, Lord B.’s been pecking at his food and Miss Neville no better. Be a right pleasure to cook for someone with a healthy man’s appetite, she said. Breakfast room’s on the main floor, to the left from the stairs.’

Greville thanked the footman, who bowed himself out with a promise to make sure there would be something waiting to tempt his appetite. Taking one last look in the glass to adjust the knot Luke had fashioned in his cravat, Greville carefully straightened and set forth for the breakfast room.

With his whole concentration the evening of his arrival focused on simply making it up the stairs to a bedchamber, the size and furnishing of Lord Bronning’s house had made little impression. He soon discovered that the rest of the house was as luxurious and well appointed as his bedchamber.

Though related to the famous Stanhopes, the Anders family was not wealthy, Papa being merely a younger son of distinguished lineage. Like many younger sons, his father had been bundled off to the church, which he now served by ministering to the clerks and soldiers of the East India Company. But educated at Cambridge and having many friends among the wealthier of his class, Greville had visited enough elegant townhouses and grand country estates to recognise that Bronning’s family was not only wealthy, but of ancient lineage.

Although his bedchamber had been decorated in cream-toned plasterwork with the classical pediments and pilasters of the Adams style, the hallway down which he was now walking boasted beautiful carving, which to his critical eye appeared to be of Renaissance origin. The floor beneath his feet was solid oak planking, polished to a high gleam. An array of portraits of men and ladies in Renaissance and Cavalier dress hung at intervals above the carved wainscoting.

He reached the landing, which overlooked a large stonewalled entry, its walls hung with tapestries and its huge front door flanked by suits of armour, indicating that the space must have originally been a medieval tower. After carefully descending a grand stairway of the same elegantly carved Renaissance oak—and leased to arrive at the bottom after a minimum of teeth-gritting discomfort—he was drawn to light emanating from under an archway beneath the stairs.

Walking through to what must be a later addition, he discovered a set of French doors opening on to a broad stone terrace that descended several steps to a second terrace of closely clipped lawn. Two brick wings in the Georgian style flanked the terraces to the left and right, their graceful tapered ends punctuated by a trio of Palladian windows. Beyond the grass terrace, steps descended to a rolling meadow leading in the distance to thick woods that climbed steeply uphill.

He had to laugh and grimaced at the pull to his wound. After viewing the hall and grounds, he was even more surprised Lord Bronning hadn’t had him summarily carted back to his carriage upon arrival. No wonder Miss Neville had frowned at him!

Would she continue to frown today? he wondered. Though his entire view of the world and what made a man worthy had altered, Miss Neville doubtless shared the beliefs and values embraced by the majority of their class. According to these, any approval of the service he had rendered his country while aboard the Illustrious would be negated by the menial position he had occupied while serving there.

The old Greville had never met a lady he couldn’t charm. Now that he looked more like that old self, despite her inclination to dismiss such a low person, would Miss Neville prove immune to his appeal? Though his plans most certainly did not include courting the daughter of a wealthy baron while he marked time here waiting for his future to begin, it might be amusing to find out.

At that conclusion, he returned his attention to calculating which doorway down the left of the impressively long hallway might lead him into the breakfast room. Wishing he’d asked Luke for more specific directions, he set off.

His satisfaction at finding the correct door turned to pleasure when, halting on the threshold, he discovered the space within already occupied by two young females. The glorious Miss Neville, looking like sunshine itself in a pale yellow morning gown that echoed her golden hair, sat across from a younger, plainly dressed female, who must be the Miss Althea the footman had mentioned.

He made them a bow, further cheered by how much easier that gesture was today than it had been a few days previous. ‘Good day, ladies. May I join you?’

Relieved to have company to break the tense silence that had fallen between her and her cousin Althea, Amanda was about to greet her father when she realised the deep masculine voice was not Papa’s. As she looked up sharply, the vision that met her startled eyes made her catch her breath and sent her senses leaping like a colt loosed in a spring meadow.

A man stood in the doorway, smiling faintly. Despite his casual stance, the tall, lean body radiated an aura of such intense masculinity that everything female within her came instantly to the alert. A little thrill of anticipation zinged through her as she focused her gaze on the rugged, vaguely familiar face: handsome, if a bit lean and tanned, with vivid green eyes that seemed to gaze into one’s soul and a beguiling smile playing about the lips.

That enticing smile coaxed forth an answering one before the truth of his identity struck her with force of a giant boulder, smashing her response at birth. The man wearing gentleman’s garb and standing at ease on the threshold could only be their long-absent guest, Mr Anders.

Before she could order her disjointed thoughts to summon a suitable greeting, Althea bobbed up like a fishing cork after a pull on the line. ‘Mr Anders, is it not!’ she cried. ‘How excellent to meet you at last! I’m so sorry I missed your arrival. You were ill, I’d heard, but are obviously better. Please, won’t you help yourself at the sideboard and come sit by me? I cannot wait to converse with you.’

‘How kind of you to solicit my company, Miss …?’ He paused, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Holton—Althea Holton. No one of importance, as Amanda would tell you,’ Althea said with a toss of her head in Amanda’s direction. ‘Lord Bronning is my uncle.’

‘His lordship is doubly fortunate, then, to have both a handsome daughter and a lovely niece.’

‘Prettily spoken, Mr Anders,’ Amanda responded, finally collecting her wits. ‘I, too, am glad to see you have recovered enough to join us.’

‘Are you indeed, Miss Neville?’ he replied, his dry tone and raised eyebrow telling her he doubted those polite words. ‘I am heartily glad to be able to join you. I hope I shall be less trouble for the remainder of my sojourn here than I’ve been the last two days—however long that sojourn may be.’

‘I do hope it will be extended!’ Althea interjected. ‘You are to report to the Coastal Brigade office, Uncle James said? What shall you do with them?’

‘On that head, Miss Holton, I have no more information than you. I shall not discover the extent of my duties until I report in, which I intend to do as soon as I can manage the journey.’

‘If you feel equal to the trip today, I can summon you a coach,’ Amanda offered.

He showed her that quirk of eyebrow again, as if he thought her remark implied an eagerness to be rid of him. Though she hadn’t intended to convey that impression—at least consciously—she supposed it was true.