Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman. Julia Justiss
his sartorial flair. Possessed of impeccable taste, he sported the finest inexpressibles, wore immaculate linen and knotted the most complicated cravats at the neck of beautifully tailored coats that fit him like a second skin.
A year ago, he would have rejected everything in the chest with a disdainful sniff. But after months garbed in the cast-off gear from the sea trunks of deceased sailors, he’d become much less finicky.
And much more appreciative, he thought, sending his absent sister a mental thanks. Without Joanna’s intervention, he’d have been forced to put back on the soiled, bloodstained tatters he’d worn off the ship, he thought, grimacing with distaste.
It was only then that he noticed the small pouch at the bottom of the chest. Snatching it up, he opened the loop to find winking back at him a small cache of coins: pence, shillings, pounds, even a few golden guineas.
Swallowing hard at such unexpected largesse, he vowed to send his sister a written note of thanks as soon as he could obtain pen and paper. Of course, he’d arrived here penniless, possessing not even the few coins the servants would expect as the vails normally given by a guest. The service that could be expected by one who neglected to bestow such small tokens of appreciation would be dismal—and the respect he was accorded even less.
Filled with a renewed appreciation for his sister, he slipped into the small clothes, breeches and shirt, then rang for Luke. Though he was reasonably sure he could put on the coat without assistance—one benefit of wearing one that did not fit like a second skin—he’d have to wait until after his shave to don it, and tying the cravat was problematic. He feared his left arm would still be too tender to lift high enough to manage it.
Luke arrived a moment later. Though Greville had been initially dubious about the servant’s claim of expertise, the footman showed himself to be quite skilled with both razor and scissors and possessed a deft hand with the cravat.
When he complimented the man, Luke told him he hoped to be a valet some day, and cast him a lingering glance, as if implying he thought Greville might be able to assist him in that desire.
Might he? Greville wondered. His immediate goals not extending beyond mastering stairs and having the stamina to walk further than three circuits about the room, he wasn’t sure yet what the future would hold for himself, much less for the ambitious Luke.
The first step towards that discovery couldn’t be taken until after he presented himself to the Coastal Brigade office. Though he intended to make an appearance downstairs in the parlour today, he knew he wasn’t recovered enough to tolerate a several-mile jolting drive.
Luke offered him a mirror so he might inspect his new haircut in the glass. His reflection when he first glanced into a mirror before his bath had shocked him so much he marvelled that Lord Bronning had not taken one look at him and immediately had the coachman heave him back into the coach and spring the horses, dispensing with rubbish as quickly as the cook’s assistant tossing the crew’s refuse overboard.
Looking at himself now, he could not help being pleased at the improvement. Oh, he was still but a shadow of his former handsome self, he thought wryly. But with the beard gone, his auburn hair washed and trimmed, and wearing the clothing Joanna had sent, loose on his emaciated tall frame but quite respectable, he looked much more the sort of gentleman who might be invited as the guest of a rural baron.
Another thought struck him then, prompting another rueful smile. A year ago, he would never have considered accepting an invitation to a Devonshire estate that, from his hazy recollection, was rather remote, unless said estate came fully stocked with game for shooting, spirits for drinking and willing wenches for amusement.
Even his former meticulous self couldn’t have faulted the elegant appointments of this room, though, he acknowledged, giving the vast chamber an admiring glance. Bronning might be merely a baron, but he was clearly a rich one.
How would he find the rest of the estate? Probably a good deal better managed than the one that had been given into his charge, he reflected with another painful flash of honesty.
Greville’s lofty opinion of his own worth had taken as much of a beating during his time at sea as that pirate ship the Illustrious had boarded. He’d had months marooned within the small confines of a naval vessel with nothing to do but reflect, as the grit he holystoned over the deck cut into his knees or he took his turn hoisting sail or cranking the bilge pumps.
Those eight months had carved a divide as wide and deep as the cutlass gash in his chest between Greville Anders, pampered only son of minor gentry and distant cousin of a great peer, and the man he was now.
Along with his status as ‘gentleman’, the sea wind and grinding labour had worn away his former opinions, attitudes and values to such an extent that the face now gazing back at him belonged to a wholly different individual. One who’d gone from fury at his fate, to resignation, to a growing sense of pride as, with hard work and dogged persistence, he proved his worth to a sceptical crew … and to himself.
Not that he was sure yet what he’d do next, once Lord Englemere persuaded the Admiralty to release him from duty as a landsman with the Royal Navy. He did know, however, having lived among men who pledged their efforts and their very lives to a cause greater than themselves, that he could never stomach being idle again. He could not drift from estate to estate of his wealthy university friends, as he had after leaving Cambridge, his company valued as an amusing fribble who enlivened every party with his wit, his expertise at the gaming table and his ability to charm the ladies.
In addition to consulting Englemere about a new position, he had assurances from Captain Harrington that his former commanding officer would enquire about a place for him with his contacts in the Admiralty. On this fever-free, sunny English morning, Greville felt confident he’d find some honourable employment suitable for a gentleman’s son.
Exactly what was a puzzle he didn’t need to solve this moment, he thought with an echo of the insouciance with which he used to dismiss all problems. His only task now was to discern his true level of recovery by exiting this chamber and investigating his temporary residence.
‘What is the routine of the household?’ he asked the still-hovering Luke. ‘I should like to see Lord Bronning and apologise for my rudeness in remaining two whole days in my chamber.’
‘Don’t expect that were a problem. I imagine his lordship was happy to have you stay put. And heal, I mean,’ he added, the tips of his ears reddening.
Greville bit back a grin. Servants in a grand house being as fiercely proud of their master’s home and status as the owner himself, the reception of a man who looked as much like gallows-bait as he had upon arrival had no doubt been greeted with as much disapproving speculation belowstairs as above. He’d wager his host—and hostess—were thankful he’d remained abed, sparing them the dilemma of what to do with him.
‘It’s past time for breakfast, I see,’ he said with a nod towards the mantel clock. ‘Do Lord Bronning and his family take nuncheon?’
‘Lord B.’s off inspecting the estate, but Miss Neville and Miss Althea sometimes do. They’ll be in breakfast room shortly if they are. I can have Cook send in something, whether the ladies be eating or not, if you’re wishful.’
‘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