Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman. Julia Justiss
Papa might think her strong, but in truth she had barely managed to hold the household together and was still trying to recover her spirits. Oh, how she yearned to escape Ashton Grove, all its problems and sad memories, and lose herself in the distractions of London!
Though her younger brother had lately arrived to add to her anxieties, Althea remained the most acute of her burdens. Her own feelings depressed and raw after Mama’s death, Amanda couldn’t help wishing she might be rid of the troublesome girl—a desire Althea probably sensed, which did nothing to ease the tensions between them.
All her life, she reflected with another pang of grief, she’d been wrapped in a protective cocoon of love and affection spun by her mother and grandmother, buoyed along the floodtide of events by a happiness and security she’d taken for granted until the catastrophes of the last two years—losing first Grandmama, then Aunt Felicia, then Mama—had stripped it from her. Her longing for supportive female company had been sharpened by her difficult relations with her cousin, the only female relative left to her.
Small wonder she yearned to reach London, where she would be staying with Lady Parnell, her mother’s dear friend whom she’d had known since childhood. Perhaps the affection of this companion from Mama’s own début Season might ease her grief and fill some part of the void left by the last two years’ devastating losses.
‘So you will speak to Althea?’ she pleaded, hoping against hope Papa might be able to head off this new complication. ‘’Tis for her own good, you know. What would Aunt Felicia say if she knew we’d allowed Althea to pursue a most unsuitable friendship with a common sailor?’
‘Yes, I know I must reprimand her, and I will—gently, though.’
Her chest squeezing in a surge of love for her kindly sire, Amanda couldn’t help smiling. ‘I only ask that you try to guide her, Papa. You know as well as I you haven’t the heart to reprimand anyone, no matter how much she might need it!’
‘I suppose I have been too indulgent. But you’re quite right—it is my responsibility to my dear sister to protect her daughter and counsel her as best I can.’
‘Perhaps you could chat without my being present. She’d probably be more inclined to accept instruction if I’m not looking on. Well, I suppose I must go inform Cook about the changes in the dinner plans.’
‘I’ll escort you out,’ Bronning said, rising and coming to take her hand. ‘One of my prize mares is about to foal. I think I’ll take myself down to the barn and check on her.’
Accepting her father’s arm, Amanda walked back down the long hall to the marble entryway with him, her concern about Althea somewhat mollified. Given her cousin’s contemptuous disregard of her, there wasn’t much else she could do but leave the matter in Papa’s hands.
They had just reached the grand entry when the front door was thrown back so violently it banged against the wall. Staggering across the threshold, Amanda’s brother George stumbled into the room, waving off the footman who sprinted over to take his coat.
Her father stopped abruptly and eyed his only son with alarm. ‘George, what’s amiss? Have you suffered an injury?’
With his red face and bleary eyes, hair in disarray, neckcloth coming undone and his waistcoat misbuttoned, George did indeed look as if he might have been in an altercation—a fear Amanda initially shared, before a strong odour of spirits wafted to her.
Her initial concern turned swiftly to irritation as she recalled her brother had not appeared at dinner last evening. Most likely he’d not returned home at all and had instead spent yesterday afternoon, evening and today gaming—or wenching—at some low tavern.
A glance at her father’s face confirmed he had just reached the same conclusion. His expression of alarm turned to chagrin and a pained sadness, and unconsciously he raised a hand to press against his chest.
Fury swept through her and she could have cheerfully throttled her brother. How could George be so stupid and thoughtless as to make his dramatic entrance in such a deplorable condition? It was almost as if he expressly desired to agitate and disappoint his already sorely troubled father!
‘Papa, why don’t you head out to the stables and check on your mare? I’ll see George to his room. Come along, now,’ she said to her brother, pleased she’d managed to keep her tone even when what she really wished to do was shriek her displeasure into her feckless brother’s ears.
Contenting herself with giving George’s arm a sharp pinch as she took it, she steered him towards the stairs. Nodding over her shoulder to Papa, who hesitated before finally approaching the butler for his coat, she began half-pushing, half-pulling her brother upwards.
‘I hope I shall not contract some nasty disease from having to haul you about,’ she snapped as she finally succeeded in wrestling him up the stairs and into his room. ‘How can you still be so drunk at this hour of the afternoon?’
‘Not drunk,’ he slurred, stumbling past her towards the bed. ‘Just … trifle disguised.’
‘Was it not enough that you had to distress Papa by getting yourself sent down from Cambridge for some stupid prank?’ she said, unable to hold her tongue any longer. ‘Must you embarrass him before the servants in his own home? Can you never think of anything beyond your own reckless pleasure?’
George put his hands over his ears and winced, as if her strident tone pained his head. She hoped it did.
‘God’s blood, Manda, Allie’s right. You’ve become a shrew. Better sweeten up a little. No gentleman’s goin’ to wanna shackle himself to a female who’s always jaw’n at ‘m.’
A pang pierced her righteous anger. Was that indeed how Althea saw her—as a shrill-voiced harpy always ordering her about? But she’d tried so hard to avoid being just that.
Before she could decide what to reply, George groaned and clutched his abdomen. Amanda barely had time to snatch the pan from beneath the bed before her brother leaned over it, noisily casting up his accounts. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Amanda retreated to the far corner of the room.
After a moment, George righted himself and sat on the bed, wiping his mouth. ‘Ah, that’s better. Ring for Richards, won’t you? I believe I’ll have a beefsteak and some ale.’
Amanda couldn’t help grimacing. ‘George, you are disgusting!’
‘Shrew,’ he retorted with an amiable grin—which, despite her irritation and anger, she had to admit was full of charm, even in his present dishevelled condition. This brother of hers was going to cause some lady a great deal of heartache.
But she didn’t intend it to be her—not for much longer, anyway.
‘If you must debauch yourself, at least have the courtesy to come in through the back stairs, so that Papa won’t see you. Can’t you tell he’s still far from recovered from Mama’s death?
‘Are any of us recovered?’ he flashed back, a bleak look passing briefly over his face before the grin returned. ‘What d’ya expect, Manda? There’s dam—dashed little to do in this abyss of rural tranquillity but drink and game at the one or two taverns within a ten-mile ride. I’d take myself off where my reprehensible behaviour wouldn’t offend you, but Papa won’t allow me to go to London while I wait for the beginning of next term.’
‘London, where you might spend even more on drink and wagering? I should think not! You’d do better to spend some time studying, so as to not be so far behind when you do return.’
George made a disgusted noise, as if such a suggestion were beneath reply. ‘Lord, how did I tolerate living in this dull place for years? Nothing but fields and cows and crops and fields for miles in every direction! It’s almost enough to make those stupid books look appealing.’
‘Fields and crops in prime condition, thanks to Papa’s care, that fund your expensive sojourns at Cambridge. And if you’d paid more attention to those “stupid books” and less