From Waif to Gentleman's Wife

by Julia Justiss

  Probably the latter, she thought, her excitement dimming. Ruthlessly reigning in her imagination, even as she appreciated his efforts, she replied at last, ‘Prettily said, and I thank you for the compliment. But for the moment, I shall concentrate on getting the school established and doing what I can to assist the pupils—especially Davie.’

  Talk then turned to the supplies she needed to gather for the school’s opening and all too soon, they arrived back at Blenhem Hill manor. After helping her down from the gig—ah, how the mere touch of his hand on her arm sparked the fantasies again!—he tipped his hat and drove off.

  Thoughtfully she watched the gig until it disappeared down the drive. The glow of their morning together—and the heat of her agitated senses—warmed her still.

  Already his suggestions, comments and assistance had been enormous. Conferring with him as they established the school was going to be as much of a joy as the previous evenings had been, when they’d sat late before the fire while she spun tales of India and they discussed every topic under the sun.

  Despite her efforts to suppress it, his remark about her eventual remarriage wriggled to the forefront of her memory. Dare she hope he might indeed some day see her as more than just a companionable colleague and fellow employee of the estate?

  View her instead as a passionate woman with whom he wanted to share his future—and his bed?

  How wonderful that would be! Restraining the sudden urge to whoop with glee, she lifted her skirts and danced up the steps to the manor.

  She paused before entering the building, breathing deeply of clean country air—and the faint scent of shaving soap that still lingered on the shoulder of her gown where Mr Greaves’s coat had rubbed against it during their drive. Truly, on such a glorious day it was hard to keep her imagination from soaring as high and bright as the clouds in the beautiful blue Blenhem Hill sky.

  After setting Mrs Merrill down at the front door, Ned drove off, his thoughts in a turmoil. What demon had possessed his mind and tongue during that episode at Granny Cuthbert’s and again during the drive to the manor?He should have stayed silent and let her register the full import of her brother’s responsibility for the dire state of Blenhem Hill as revealed by Biddy Cuthbert’s impassioned remark. Such a realisation would move her closer to acquitting Nicky—and all gentlemen of rank, he hoped, still feeling guilty about listening without protest to her condemnation of the peerage—of the venality engendered by her own experiences and her resentment over her brother’s supposedly unfair treatment. It might also, he hoped fervently, make her more forgiving of his deception when he was at last able to reveal his true identity.

  But unable to bear the wounded look in her eyes as her quick intellect swiftly discerned the indictment of her brother implicit in the old woman’s statement, he’d felt compelled to soften it. It was true that though service in Wellington’s commissary department must have given Greville Anders experience at handling goods, Ned’s observation and the testimony of the tenants revealed the man knew nothing about farming. That did not, however, excuse the man’s negligence or compliance in tolerating the abuses and neglect inflicted upon the estate and its tenants by his Army associate Barksdale, whose venality had apparently been equalled only by his greed.

  Then again during their drive, from where had those comments about marriage come tumbling out? Tumbling her, he certainly wanted to do, and had from the first. For a moment, a swell of longing escaped his rigid attempt to control it.

  Admittedly worthless at handling agitated women, he should just have kept his mouth shut after blurting that ill-judged remark about her late husband. Except…he was honoured that, though he’d obviously upset her, rather than chastise him, she’d taken him into her confidence about the extent of her loss.

  He thought of Nicky’s son Aubrey and how devastated both his friend and Sarah would be if anything were to happen to their precious child. Indeed, loving the lad as he did, a pang of alarm and anguish squeezed his own heart at the possibility, and he was only a fond uncle. He couldn’t imagine the heartache of burying a babe lost just on the verge of viability. Small wonder her husband had insisted she leave a place renowned for its dangerous fevers and recover elsewhere. Though it turned out to have left her in London alone, the man’s intention had been to look after his wife’s welfare, as a husband should.

  Husband…a role he had contemplated twice in the last few years. Was it time to cast off the caution he’d been trying to maintain and risk his heart again? Certainly he was eager to bed the beauteous Mrs Merrill, but his feelings for her were far deeper than simple lust. With her stories, her inquiries, her amusing commentary, she’d made his evenings come alive. He rose energised every morning at the thought of seeing her at breakfast, spending part of each day working with her, knowing that she seemed to appreciate and support his dream of a Blenhem revived.

  Why not marry her? He liked her tremendously. Though she’d initially known nothing about farming, she was a quick learner, having made several astute observations just this morning about the fields and farms past which they’d travelled. She’d be an excellent partner, skilled at running a house, a school, a nursery.

  A vivid image flashed into his mind: the small stone Romanesque church in Hazelwick decked in late-summer blooms…Children from the Blenhem school tossing the petals of mums and late damask roses along the pathway as Mrs Merrill walked beside him to meet the parson at the altar…Repeating the ancient vows, sharing a joyous bridal feast with the villagers and tenants…Nicky, Sarah, Hal and his other friends and family raising toasts to them before he took his lovely bride away…

  Why not marry her and carry her to bed, as he ached to do every night he tossed and turned against his pillow, his needy body afire for the lady who slumbered unknowing in her chamber just a few rooms from his?

  She was no innocent, but a widow who’d shared love and borne a child. Who recognised the heat between them for what it was—and several times, had almost acted upon it. He pictured her again at the school, her bow of a mouth lifted towards his, the fingers resting on his sparking sensual fire to every nerve.

  He saw her: that lush mouth set in a pouting smile, her green eyes smouldering, slowly pulling a silk night rail over her head. Leaning back against the pillows, arms extended, body displayed, her unbound hair spilling over the pillows in a ripple of flame. Igniting to a conflagration the desire always simmering within him, beckoning him to plunder, please and enjoy…

  He caught his breath, almost dizzy with need.

  A shout jolted him from his heated imagining. Looking about in befuddlement, he realised he’d reached the Radnor Farm. Banishing the vivid images with difficulty, he dragged his thoughts back to the present and returned Jake Radnor’s wave of greeting.

  But before he set his mind back to the affairs of the moment, one conclusion emerged. He’d never thought himself a coward and he didn’t intend to play one now. Regardless of the risk to his heart, once he solved the mystery of the attack on his carriage and resolved the matter of the Spencean group meeting at the Hart and Hare, he would declare his intentions and energetically pursue the entrancing Mrs Merrill.

  Chapter Ten

  A s the sun slanted to afternoon ten days later, Joanna surveyed with satisfaction the inside of a building that had almost completed the transformation from ruined stone cottage to schoolhouse. The carpenters had completed several rows of student desks and benches and a tall stand for her at the head of the room. To one side, a wooden partition screened off a small alcove behind which she could store supplies and personal items.

  The masons had built upon the stone foundation to create new walls over the original wattle-and-daub, adding two windows on the entry side that flooded the room with light. Before he had left this afternoon, Mr Tanner had told her that, save for a small portion of wall behind the screen, for which he needed rock of a different size to fill in over the original foundation, the dwelling was finished and ready for her to welcome st
udents.Ready to begin! A little quiver of anticipation and trepidation rippled down her spine. Soon she would discover if her preparations had been sufficient and the community’s confidence in her justified. How ardently she wished for the school to be a success!

  She yearned to open the eyes of these children to the world beyond their fields and farms, to continue devoting her talent and energy to so deserving an enterprise. And, she had to admit, she wanted just as ardently to earn the approval of Mr Greaves.

  She wanted to justify his decision to hire her, as unexpected as it was compassionate. She wanted this tireless worker and an expert in his field to consider her a dedicated and skilled practitioner in hers.

  Most important, she wanted Ned Greaves to believe her worthy of his time, his admiration—and his affection.

  Edward, his name was, the butler had told her. A noble name, one handed down through lines of kings.

  Would it ever be linked with hers?

  The way she longed, every time they drove about the estate together, to link her fingers with his? The way she yearned, in the secret reaches of night, to mingle and join their arms, limbs and hearts?

  A shadow fell over her, startling her out of the rising flood of imagining. A man stood in the doorway, tipping his hat. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am.’

  ‘Good afternoon to you to, sir,’ she said, offering a curtsy. ‘May I help you?’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ the stranger said, smiling as he walked into the room.

  Of medium height, with a face that was pleasant but not remarkable, he wore the jacket, breeches, boots and modest cravat of a country gentleman. Joanna didn’t recognise him from her Sunday attendance at church, the only time she mixed with neighbours not residents at Blenhem Hill, but perhaps not all the gentry attended regularly. Or perhaps he wasn’t from this county at all.

  Though he’d given her no reason to feel uneasy, suddenly she was very conscious of the fact that the workmen had departed and she was alone with him, far from the nearest farmhand or cottage dweller. Unconsciously she took a step backwards.

  ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ she asked guardedly.

  ‘I heard you were establishing a school. I hope your good efforts come to fruition, though I’m afraid the tenants hereabouts aren’t a very ambitious or industrious group. Set in their ways and resistant to change, even when it’s good for them! But I didn’t stop by to discuss that. You are Mrs Joanna Merrill, aren’t you?’

  When she nodded agreement, he continued, ‘George Hampton here, ma’am. Pleased to meet you! I happen also to have the pleasure of knowing your brother. An excellent, hospitable, upstanding young gentleman!’

  Her heart lit at this glimmer of a link with family. ‘You know Greville?’

  ‘Indeed, I can claim that honour. Your brother was my convivial host for several gatherings at Blenhem Hill. ’Twas a terrible injustice, what happened to him, by the way. I imagine you were quite distressed when you arrived to find him gone.’

  Though she was no longer so sure that her brother’s firing had been an injustice, to the latter part of his statement she could agree with perfect truth. ‘Indeed, I was most distraught. You’re a friend of his, you say? Would you happen to know his current direction?’

  She flushed, embarrassed to admit that his own sister had no idea where her brother was. ‘In the…agitation of the moment, we lost touch.’

  Mr Hampton shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m sorry, I do not. Indeed, I stopped by hoping that you might know, that I might contact him myself. He departed in such haste, I hadn’t the opportunity to see him before he left and discover whether he had yet obtained a new situation. If not, I had some possibilities to suggest. Gentleman should help friends in need, don’t you think?’

  She could only applaud that sentiment. ‘How very good of you! I’m sure my brother appreciates having such a loyal friend.’

  ‘You might do something for him, too, you know. If you wished.’

  ‘I might?’ she asked, instantly anxious to make a difference. ‘What could that be, pray? Of course I’m eager to help Greville in any way I can!’

  ‘What happened to your brother is only a symptom of what’s wrong in this county—and every other. Men like Lord Englemere holding all the power, free to trample over others who ought to be considered as worthy as they are, just because they work with their hands in the fields and factories. Men who actually produce the goods that enrich their landlords, yet have no say in the running of their own government! Well, the time is coming very soon when such aristocrats will pay for their arrogance.’

  Alarmed at Mr Hampton’s increasingly strident tone, Joanna opened her mouth to protest. Mr Hampton waved her to silence.

  ‘I know you’ll say there’s not much a mere woman can do, even one as intelligent and resourceful as you, Mrs Merrill. But you’re wrong. Women in several counties have stood beside their men in opposing injustice. You could avenge the humiliation of your brother’s discharge—and help the common folk of the county at the same time.’

  Abruptly abandoning his speaker’s-platform tone, he focused his piercing gaze on her, raking her with a blatantly appraising glance from bonnet to boots. ‘A lady of your skill and beauty could do far better than wasting her talents on a crude country school…allied with a gentleman who knows how to appreciate her.’

  Her uneasy feeling intensified into the same sense of threat she’d felt when confronted by Lord Masters. Taking another step backwards, she said, ‘If you mean to subvert the law, I fear the result would only be greater harm to common folk. Powerful men would not yield their power easily, choosing instead to bring down the full and severest penalties obtainable from the government—and fearsome they are!—upon those who oppose them.’

  Mr Hampton laughed. ‘Only if the reformers are stupid enough to get caught.’ He gave her another of those appraising looks. ‘A man clever enough to merit a woman like you would take care to avoid…unpleasant repercussions. But if breaking a few arbitrary and unjust statues goes against the grain, you could serve in…other ways.’

  The same type of hot, leering look she had received all too often from Lord Masters settled over Mr Hampton’s countenance as he gazed at her. Pulses flashing an alarm, Joanna resisted an instinctive desire to rush past him out of the room.

  Striving to keep her expression neutral and her voice even, she said, ‘I appreciate your…fervour on behalf of the common folk, but I really don’t think I can help your cause.’

  To her huge relief, he halted the sensual appraisal as abruptly as he’d begun it. ‘No?’ he asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow. ‘There will be big doings afoot soon, I guarantee you. Why don’t you recall what happened to Greville, and think on it?’

  Praise heaven, he then put his hat back on and bowed. ‘Good day to you, then, Mrs Merrill. Perhaps I’ll call again later.’

  ‘Good day, Mr Hampton,’ she replied, wrapping her hands around her chest in an unconsciously protective gesture as, thankfully, he strolled out of the door—as nonchalantly as if he’d not just tried to incite her to law-breaking and perhaps more!

  She heard the wicker of his horse, then the clop of hooves as he set off down the lane. A violent shudder shook her frame and she found her knees suddenly too weak to support her.

  She staggered to one of the student benches and sat down heavily, her pulse still racing.

  Was this man involved in the Spencean group Mr Greaves had warned her about? He certainly talked the part of a radical reformer. And he was a friend of Greville’s? Had Greville been involved in this dangerous thinking as well? Had he neglected his tasks and espoused an uncertain ideology of reform?

  Frowning, she recalled her brother had sometimes in their youth remarked how unfair it was that their distant cousin Nicky was to become a Marquess, while Papa was just a minor son of gentry who had to work at a living, as his son would after him.

  Mr Hampton had spoken with the fervour and eloquence of a committed advocate—perhaps
even a leader of a local group. Mr Greaves would doubtless want to know everything she could recall about him. Not until after the sounds of the horse faded into the distance did she realise she probably should have walked to the doorway and watched him ride away, so she might have also been able to provide a description of his mount.

  Another shiver passed through her. He’d had such an unsettling effect on her, she wasn’t sure she could have made herself go and stand in the doorway, where he might have been able to glance back and subject her to another blatantly sensual scrutiny. Nor had she any desire for him to catch her watching him, as if she were interested in his proposal—or in him.

  Trying to shake off a lingering unease, she rose and walked there now, berating herself for cowardice when she had to peep out of the doorway to be certain Mr Hampton had really ridden out of sight before she could make herself cross the threshold into the afternoon sunshine.

  She might as well return to the manor for the day. She’d done all she could here; slates, chalk and counters were stored in the alcove, primers she’d ordered from London set up on the shelves in easy reach. Her school now needed only pupils.

  From her place in the nearby meadow where Joanna had tethered her, the mare Mr Greaves had provided for her use nickered a greeting. Apparently the mare was eager to get home to her barn as well.

  Joanna gave a wistful sigh. ’Twas too early for Mr Greaves to have finished his day’s work and come riding by on his own way back to the manor. She’d have to content herself to returning home without his escort. After all, she couldn’t expect him to rearrange his duties every day so he might be available to accompany her to and from the schoolhouse.

  Even if they eventually married.

  A little thrill rippled through her as she fell back into the pleasant daydreams Mr Hampton’s visit had interrupted. How eager she’d be for the day’s work to end and the night to begin, should they marry! Knowing what was to come, she’d hold herself in delicious anticipation all through the afternoon, bide her time during the evening meal by watching his mouth, the movement of his throat as he swallowed, the play of his tongue as he ate. Contemplating other ways in which he might use that tongue and those lips, while she plied her own to taste his mouth and nuzzle the pulse at the base of that throat, thrilling to feel it gallop with need as fiercely as her own…