Julia Justiss - From Waif To Gentleman's Wife

Was Lord Englemere capricious, carelessly discharging her brother on a whim, as thoughtless of the well-being of those beneath him as Lord Masters? It certainly appeared that Greville had been turned off in almost as much unseemly haste as she had been harried out of Selbourne Abbey.

Maybe those upstart colonials in the New World had been right to throw off rule by privilege.

But the character of Lord Englemere wasn’t her most immediate concern. Damping down her indignation on her own and her brother’s behalf, Joanna had turned her mind once again to unearthing a solution to her present dilemma when she glanced up to see Mr Greaves quietly watching her.

Heavens, what an ill-bred savage he must think her! Feeling the flush rise on her face, she said hastily, ‘Excuse me, sir! How impolite of me to sit here wool-gathering. But you mustn’t think I mean to burden you with my problems. Thanks to your kind hospitality, I’m well nourished and rested, and as soon as the remainder of my garments are dry enough to pack, I shall be on my way.’

‘Where do you mean to go?’ And how? the slight rise of his eyebrows said. Since she’d been honest about her current circumstances, he must know she had no money.

‘To London, I suppose. ‘Tis the easiest route by post and, once there, I may be able to discover Greville’s whereabouts from Papa’s solicitor.’ Which would be an excellent plan, if she but possessed the funds to travel there and maintain herself once she arrived.

He nodded. ‘Why not join me in the estate office? Perhaps in the account books your brother may have left some hint of where he meant to go when he left Blenhem.’

Her spirits leapt at that ray of hope. ‘I hadn’t considered that! If you would not mind, I should be very grateful for the opportunity to look through them.’

They rose and he led her to the estate office, pulled a chair up to his desk, and set the ledgers before her.

But as she flipped through page after page of Greville’s nearly illegible scrawl, her sparkle of excitement dimmed. Hanging on to her last hope, she kept at it, inspecting every entry, but when she arrived at the last page of the last book, she knew no more about her brother’s probable whereabouts than she had when they’d entered the room.

She struggled to keep despair from swamping her. Forcing a smile, she said, ‘Well, it was worth trying. Thank you for allowing me to make the attempt. I suppose I should get to that packing now.’

On numb feet, she rose to drag the chair back, trying to keep her fingers from shaking. Preoccupied with combating the fear and dismay clawing its way into her gut, she only dimly heard Mr Greaves offer his assistance before he took the chair’s heavier side and walked with her to set it in position by the window.

What am I to do now? she asked herself over and over, her mind running back and forth like a mouse cornered by a cat … life being the cat that was about to devour this mouse, she thought, swallowing an hysterical giggle.

She could apply for work at the posting inn, though the chances that they would take her on weren’t good. Possessing only the skills of a gentlewoman or a governess, where could she find employment?

Was she doomed to suffer the fate to which Lady Masters had consigned her after all?

Suddenly she realised that, though they’d set the chair down, Mr Greaves remained beside her … very close beside her. As he was nearly a head taller, she had to angle her face up to give him a questioning look—and encountered a heated gaze that scorched her to her stays.

‘You don’t really need to leave,’ he said softly, his intent gaze never leaving her eyes. ‘You’ve no money for coach fare—and no way to earn any in the village. Why not stay here, write to your father’s solicitor and request him to advance you funds on your father’s account? Or, if you prefer, we might come to … another arrangement.’

Though half an hour previously she had burned at the thought of kissing him, as he towered over her now, desire in his eyes, she felt only a blind panic.

He did believe her a doxy! She raised her hands as if to ward him off—though she knew despairingly that if he was bent on taking her, he could do so, for she’d never be able to fight him off and there was no one here to rescue her.

‘P-please, Mr Greaves,’ she stuttered, hot tears of shame dripping down her cheeks. ‘I’m n-not what you think.’

She must have closed her eyes, bracing herself, but suddenly instead of the warmth of him pressed against her, she felt a chill. She snapped her eyes open, astounded to discover that he’d retreated several steps away her. A flush on his handsome face, he was drawing a handkerchief out of his waistcoat.

Handing it to her, he said, ‘Pray forgive me, Mrs Merrill! I know my behaviour was unconscionable, but I needed to determine if your character was as you presented it or not.’

‘You needed to determine …’ she echoed, relief, disbelief and confusion making her hot, then cold, then dizzy.

He seized her arm—but gently, protectively—and eased her to the sofa. ‘Sit, I beg you!’ he said, urging her down on its edge. ‘Don’t want you swooning on me again. I’ve been considering plans for your future—which do not, I assure you, include having you assume a horizontal position for me or anyone else. However, to implement them I needed to know with absolute assurance that you are in fact the lady of blameless character you’ve just shown yourself to be.’

She blotted her eyes and handed him back his handkerchief. ‘You mean,’ she asked incredulously, ‘you were … testing me?’

His cheeks reddened again. ‘Well … yes,’ he admitted.

She was torn between shrieking with laughter—and slapping him for scaring her so. ‘And here I’d been thinking what an exemplary gentleman you were! You are a brigand, sir! A bully and a brigand!’ she fumed.

‘You are quite justified in abusing me. I assure you, I believe that a man who takes advantage of an unwilling lady is a cur who deserves to be horsewhipped. I don’t have a whip handy, but you may strike me if you like.’ He angled his face towards her.

‘You should be more careful what you offer,’ she said tartly. ‘I grappled with my brother growing up and could plant you a facer that would leave you bruised for a week. Indeed, had I not been so cast down by the dreadful events of the last few days, I should have done so when you made your insulting offer.’

‘Please, don’t remind me!’ he groaned. ‘I deserve that fate and more. Although if I were truly a brigand, I’d not have let you go,’ he added.

His tone was light—but a heated something flared between them that she felt right down to her bones. Only this time, she was not afraid.

She had been right on both accounts, it seemed. He did desire her. But Mr Greaves was no Lord Masters, plundering where he would.

He was truly the gentleman she’d thought him—if a devious one! A man with whom, except for that single moment he’d towered over her, she felt safe, even though she was virtually alone with him in his house, with neither friends nor family to defend her.

‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ he asked, recalling her.

‘You think I require something to settle my nerves?’

‘I don’t know about you, but I do, and it wouldn’t be polite to drink alone. Though at this moment you probably don’t believe me, I’ve never before tried to debauch a gentlewoman. ‘Twas a deucedly disturbing experience.’

She chuckled, sure his levity was meant to set her at ease. ‘Very well, I’ll take a glass. To be polite, so you may settle your nerves.’

After he poured the wine and took a chair a respectful distance away, she said, ‘What are these plans you mentioned? Though it is indeed kind of you to be concerned, I have no claim upon you. There is no reason whatsoever for you to concern yourself with my predicament.’