Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman. Julia Justiss
the embarrassing necessity of refusing him.
However, she reassured herself pragmatically, since Sir Edward had married within six months of his departure from Ashton Grove, she could not have wounded his heart too severely.
Still, she could not help but regret that her flirtation had put a rub in her father’s friendship with the man.
‘Of course, Papa, I’m as anxious as you to make amends to Sir Edward and dispel any lingering … awkwardness. Have you any idea how long Mr Anders is to be our guest? And … surely I am not called upon to nurse him?’
‘Of course not!’ her father assured her. ‘Even if it were not most improper, I would never ask you to do something so expressly designed to bring back … unfortunate memories.’
Abruptly, they both fell silent. Despite her papa’s hope to avoid it, she found her thoughts sucked inexorably back to the terrible spring and summer just past. Nightmarish visions chased across her mind: Mama’s cheeks flushed with fever; Aunt Felicia thrashing in delirium; both faces fixed in the still, cold pallor of death.
Shaking her head to dislodge the images, she turned to Papa and saw, from the stricken look on his face, that he must be remembering, too. Anxiety instantly replaced grief; Papa’s own health had nearly broken under the strain of losing both wife and sister, and he was still, she feared, far from recovered.
Before she could hit upon some remark that might distract him, Papa said, ‘Of course, Mr Anders is welcome to stay as long as he may need. Should it turn out that he requires further care, I shall consult with Dr Wendell in the village to obtain a suitable practitioner. But do not worry, puss …’ he reached out to pat her hand ‘… however long our visitor tarries, I promised your dear mama I would let nothing else delay the Season for which you’ve waited so long and so patiently.’
Amanda smiled her thanks and tried to refocus her mind on that happy event. London, this spring! Dare she even hope this time that it would finally happen? The Season, which she and her mama had planned and anticipated for so long, had been delayed by such a series of unfortunate events that sometimes it seemed Fate itself was conspiring to prevent her having any opportunity to realise her dreams.
Still, with her last breath, Mama had made Amanda promise that she would go this year, come what may. So perhaps the visit would take place after all.
Oh, to finally be in London, that greatest of English cities, where she would not have to pore over accounts of events already days or weeks old by the time the newspapers reached them. London, where her future husband, a man of substance and influence in his party, would sit in the Lords and help direct the affairs of the nation. Supported, of course, by his lovely wife, whose dinners, soirées and balls would bring together all the influential people of the realm, where policy would be discussed and settled over brandy and whispered about behind fans.
If no further disaster occurred to prevent it, in a few short weeks, she would be there. She could hardly wait.
Suddenly the study door opened on a draught of cold air and her cousin Althea dashed in. ‘Is he here yet? Have I missed him?’ she demanded.
Amanda swallowed the sharp words springing to her lips about the decorum a young lady should employ when entering a room. As she’d learned all too swiftly after Althea joined them at Ashton last spring just before the death of her mother, Amanda’s Aunt Felicia, the cousin who had once followed her about like an adoring puppy now seemed to resent every word she uttered.
Ignoring, as usual, the girl’s rudeness, Papa only said mildly, ‘Missed who, my dear?’
His own bereavement had made him more indulgent than was good for the girl, Amanda thought a tad resentfully. Papa never offered her tempestuous cousin the least reproof, no matter how deplorable her speech or actions, though he was perhaps the only one who might be able to correct her highly deficient behaviour.
‘Why, Mr Anders, the Navy man, of course!’ Althea replied. ‘He has arrived, hasn’t he? I saw a rum fine coach being driven round to the stables, one done up to a cow’s thumb!’
The girl must have been hanging about the stables herself, to have picked up that bit of cant. Swallowing a reproof on that point, Amanda said, ‘I fear you’ve missed him. Mr Anders did indeed arrive and has just gone up to his room.’
‘Fiddlesticks!’ Althea exclaimed. ‘I suppose I shall have to wait to meet him at dinner.’
A sudden foreboding filled Amanda, sweeping away her more trivial concern over their genteel neighbours’ probable reaction to having Mr Anders thrust among them. What if Althea, who already seemed eager to seize upon anything of which Amanda disapproved, decided to befriend this low sailor? Considering her current behaviour, it seemed exactly the sort of thing she would do.
Though normally she would never wish anyone ill, Amanda couldn’t help being thankful that, for tonight at least, Mr Anders appeared to be in no condition to join them for dinner.
‘I don’t think he will be coming down to dine. He appeared much fatigued from his journey.’
‘Fatigued—from riding in a coach? What a plumper!’ Althea replied roundly. ‘Not a Navy man! I’ll wager Mr Anders has steered his ship for hours in a driving gale and survived for months on hardtack and biscuits! More likely, he’ll be sharp-set enough to eat us out of table.’
While Amanda gritted her teeth anew at Althea’s vocabulary, Papa replied, ‘Perhaps, but he was wounded and is still recovering.’
‘Wounded in battle?’ Althea demanded, her eyes brightening even further. ‘Oh, excellent! Where? When?’
‘I believe it was off the Barbary coast, some weeks ago,’ Papa responded.
‘How exciting! He must be veritable hero! I cannot wait to have him tell us all about it. What a joy it will be to speak with a truly interesting person, someone who’s had real adventures, who doesn’t natter on and on about gowns and shops and London!’ she declared with a defiant glance at Amanda—just in case she was too dim to understand the jab, Amanda thought, struggling to hang on to her temper.
‘Uncle James, have you any books in your library about the Navy?’ she said, turning to Lord Bronning. ‘Oh, never mind, I shall go directly myself and look!’
At that, with as little ceremony as she’d displayed upon her precipitate arrival, Althea bolted from the room.
In the wake of her departure, Amanda sent her father an appealing look. ‘Papa, you must warn her off Mr Anders. If we’re not careful, she’ll be painting him as another Lord Nelson!’
‘And doubtless urging him to recite details of shipboard life in language not fit for a lady’s ears,’ Papa agreed ruefully.
‘I know you feel for her, having lost her mama so soon after her papa, but truly, you must counsel her about this. Heaven knows, I don’t dare say anything for fear she will immediately take that as a challenge to parade with him about the neighbourhood.’
Papa nodded. ‘She does seem to take umbrage at everything you say. Which I find most odd, since during Felicia’s visits when you girls were younger, Althea used to hang on your every word and copy everything you did.’
Amanda sighed. A smaller but no less stinging wound to her heart this last year was the, to her, inexplicable hostility with which her cousin now seemed to view her. ‘Truly, Papa, I have tried to be understanding. I don’t know why she seems to resent me so. Perhaps I did criticise her conduct overmuch when she first arrived—I really can’t recall—but with Aunt Felicia so ill and the house in such an uproar, and then Mama falling sick—’
‘There now, you mustn’t be blaming yourself,’ Papa said, patting her arm. ‘You were a marvel through that trying time, taking over the household so your dear mama need concern herself only with Felicia …’ His breath hitched and his eyes grew moist before he continued, ‘So strong and capable, I couldn’t be prouder of you. But Althea is young, and perhaps chafed at authority being