"Had I not disregarded the rules, I would not be friends with Lady Radcliffe," Amy reminded her mother gently, "and I think that we all agree that has been beneficial for everyone involved." She knew that they were fast approaching the Florstair's townhome, and that now was not the time to further this discussion. "However, I do understand your concerns, and I promise that I will listen. I know that my own reputation is at stake every time I am contrary and that our bloodlines and family standing will only grant me so much forgiveness. As will my role in society of Paragon."
Thea nodded, her mouth tightening a bit. "As long as you understand that actions have consequences, sometimes grave ones, that is a start. The rest we can discuss later."
Amy nodded, thankful they had reached some type of agreement. She would hate to enter the ball still being at odds with her mother. "Just know that I long to do more, Mama. Had Lady Fairhill's family not been so strict with the funds, something might have been done long ago to save Marcus' sight and end the fevers that plagued him while foolish doctors bled his body dry. Perhaps not, but perhaps so. Unfortunately, we will never know." Amy noted that her mother smiled, and she was thankful that the topic of Gibson had been temporarily forgotten.
"I am sorry if I underestimate you at times, Amy," Thea said, a touch of something sad in her tone. "You are a woman now, even if you are not married, and are not some flighty debutante, prone to rash actions. If you act, you do so with purpose. I should trust you a bit more. The time has come for you to stretch yourself a bit, I suppose. Still, I am your mother, and my desire is to protect you as I have always done."
Amy offered her mother a smile in return as the carriage rolled to a stop. "I am still your daughter, Mama, and, in some ways, will probably always be a child in your eyes." She knew her mother meant well and wanted her daughter to avoid scandal.
Then again, her mother also assumed that one day, hopefully this season, a proper gentleman of excellent breeding would catch Amy's fancy and she would marry, her dowry large enough so that he would overlook her many flaws. In fact, Amy's impending spinster status had been the topic of discussion nearly every day thus far this season, in some fashion or another, much to Amy's annoyance. It was as if her mother wanted to see her married, no matter who the proposed husband was with one or two notable exceptions. All that mattered, it seemed to Amy, was the piece of paper. Love was not even a consideration any longer, at least in Thea's eyes.
It was yet another point of contention between them, and one that would probably not be so easily fixed as Amy fit of pique earlier had been.
No matter that at six and twenty Amy had yet to find a gentleman she even truly liked, and she was already considered by many to be firmly on the shelf. Her mother, however, was confident that miracles did occur and that a blessed union would soon take place, preferably in St. Paul's in front of a myriad of invited guests. Amy was just as confident that it wouldn't, and that her mother was only fooling herself, as well as the ton.
Chapter Two
Several hours later, Amy was more confident in her prediction for her future than she had ever been. She was currently in a corner with a few other debutantes, listening to the rather young and very boring Lord Norton Drake, heir to the Tottenshire earldom, prattle on about the size of the wheels on his new high-perch phaeton. If there was a more insipid conversation on the planet, she had never heard it. Even though Drake was clearly convinced that extolling the virtues of his new purchase would somehow make him that much more attractive to Amy, for it was no secret that he wished to openly court her and eventually win her hand, and her dowry, even though she had refused him four times already that season. In a word, it was maddening.
"It has far bigger wheels than the Marquess of Carlton's, I'll wager," Drake bragged, making Amy's head ache just a little more. "Bigger than anyone's but the Prince Regent himself!" He looked inordinately pleased with his pronouncement, and she wondered if all men were that shallow. Then she thought about Gibson and knew that they were not. Young lords of the realm, however, apparently were. Or at least this one was.
As Drake continued to drone on, convinced that he held his audience in rapt attention, Amy allowed her gaze to travel about the room, wondering again what Gibson was doing that night. She had only seen him once since that magical afternoon the previous August, and that was from across the room at a gala ball for the British Museum. He had been there as a guest of Prinny's, attending the prince and his myriad of illnesses.
That night she knew she should not even venture a glance at him, that there was no possible way they would be permitted to speak, but she hadn't been able to help herself. He had looked so handsome in his all black waistcoat with only subtle hints of gray, not wanting to attract too much attention to himself by dressing the part of a lord of the realm. She had wanted to run to him, to fling herself into her arms and feel that rush of passion once more, society be damned. She wanted to feel the acceptance that she knew in her heart only he could give her. She wanted to kiss him in public, to let everyone know that she cared for him, his occupation be damned.
She had not done any of those things, however. They were not proper. They were not ladylike. And, most importantly, she had not wanted to cause a scene. Instead, she had been the very model of proper refinement, giving him a glance and a nod, as was socially acceptable since they were acquainted, but nothing more.
She hadn't seen him since that night. However, she had thought about him every day. In fact, he hadn't been far from her thoughts since that day at Seldon Park. She longed for him to be by her side now, delivering a well-placed set down to Lord Drake and whisking her away for a dance, perhaps even a waltz, scandalous as that would be.
If only.
Amy knew that she needed to stop thinking about Gibson, and that dwelling on him would not help her move on with her life. It would certainly not free her to make a choice about her future, either. But she could not help herself. There were so many unanswered questions, so many things she still longed to know about him.
Then she remembered once more the way he had looked at her the night of the museum ball, full of longing and need and barely suppressed passion. It had terrified her. More than that, it tempted her to give in once again and choose the path she wanted for herself rather than what was dictated. But, at her heart, she was a daughter of society, and could not bring that kind of scandal down upon her family. So she had simply turned away and not looked back, no matter how much she had longed to do so.
Had she hurt Gibson by her refusal to even acknowledge his presence that night at the museum? Probably. Amy was certain that she would have been hurt had the situation been reversed, even though, logically, she knew that it could not be otherwise. Still, it wouldn't have been too much of a scandal to exchange a few pleasantries, as they were already acquainted and had attended the same house party the previous year. Not to mention that since Gibson was the prince's personal physician, he was granted some degree of liberty not given to others of his social standing.
Except that he wasn't truly a member of either the merchant or working classes, at least not really. He had been born a peer of the realm, fully expected to take his place in the ton when he was old enough. At least until the scandal had broken. Even now, people would not speak of it, at least not to her, and that included Gibson himself. Something dreadful had occurred to force the crown to strip away the viscountcy from Gibson's father, as well as take all of the Blackwell family lands, fortune, and holdings. Actions like that simply weren't taken, at least to her knowledge, unless the crime was particularly heinous. Except that in the case of Harrison Blackwell, it had occurred, and his family had suffered as a result.
Gibson's mother, Aria, had killed herself shortly after the family funds were depleted, leaving a seventeen-year-old Gibson to care for his sister, Harriet, amid a lingering cloud of shame and scandal. A year later, Harriet herself had died from the plague, contracted, it was rumored, from living in a hovel in one of London's worst neighb
orhoods. That area had been, unfortunately, the only place in all of London that was willing to accept both Gibson and his sister as tenants. That tragedy had spurred Gibson on to pursue a medical career, eventually finding a willing teacher in Dr. Hastings. Now, at age one and thirty, the would-be viscount had his own thriving practice.
However, that was as much of Gibson's past as Amy knew, or as much as anyone in society was willing to share with her. If others knew more, they were not talking. Then again, to her knowledge, no one could say precisely where Harrison Blackwell was at the moment, or why he and his family had been stripped of everything by King George before his descent into madness. Oh, she was certain someone knew, because that kind of scandalous information made for the most delicious gossip, and gossip was the one thing society thrived on. However no one would tell her anything, certainly, as the information would be deemed unfit for a lady's ears. Amy suspected that, unfortunately, Gibson would probably agree with that assessment.
That was why it was so peculiar that Prinny trusted Gibson with his life. Then again, little the royal family did made sense to her, even though Amy's own bloodlines were far closer to the Hanovarian line than she often liked to acknowledge.
As Drake and the others shared a laugh, no doubt over another idiotic comment, Amy swept her gaze around the ballroom. What would Gibson think of a place like this? She honestly did not know. He had seemed comfortable at Seldon Park, but then that could have all been an act. He had been raised in luxury, but had lived most of his adult life first in squalor and then in reduced circumstances. She knew that he had a house in Cheapside now, but it was still a world apart from the grand homes in Mayfair.
Then, as if merely thinking of him could conjure him out of thin air, Gibson was there, standing across the Fairhill's ballroom, staring at her longingly as the first strains of a waltz began. He looked so handsome in the same formal black that she had seen him in once before, his wavy dark brown hair the color of burnished mahogany, giving him a slightly dark and dangerous air. He made her heart leap, and her breath catch in her throat.
If there had been no scandal, if he was still the heir to the Danvers viscountcy, Amy was convinced that Gibson would immediately cross the room and bow before her, asking her to dance, as her card for the evening pitifully empty, though that was by choice. If he were able, he would scandalize them all by dancing three dances with her, leaving no room for doubt that they were courting, their hearts already bound together by something more powerful than lust.
Amy could imagine him sweeping her about the dance floor in a waistcoat of dark blue or perhaps bottle green with a snowy white cravat at his throat and accented by a sapphire - or perhaps onyx - stickpin. She would be clad in garnet silk, defying convention that a young, unmarried woman should only wear pastels. She was not a young woman any longer, but Gibson did not care. In her fantasy, he had long ago professed his love for her. He was going to marry her, and therefore, age did not matter. She was The Paragon, after all, and could do as she pleased.
Together, they would walk to the refreshment table, her hand on his arm, and he would laugh charmingly while she drank watered down punch, making witty comments about the frugalness of their hosts. It would be a source of amusement for them to share.
Indeed, as Amy continued to stare at Gibson from across the room, she noted that his face was cast into partial shadow as Lady Fairhill had only placed candles in about a third of the grand crystal chandelier that hung overhead. The walls were bare of decorations, and not even the few potted plants scattered about could make up for the stark dreariness of the room.
There was no gilt here, no decoration, but in that moment, it didn't matter. All Amy saw was Gibson. He alone seemed to make the room sparkle and shine as if it was illuminated by thousands of candles reflecting off of walls encrusted with the finest gold and jewels in all of England.
If only.
However, as Gibson himself had once told her, one could not live their life wishing things were different, wishing for "if only" to change their lives.
Instead, she allowed the dream to fade back into the recesses of her mind just as Amy remembered that her gown was the palest of pink silk, almost white and not a blazing garnet, and that they could not openly dance together in London as they had at Seldon Park. Then she nodded almost imperceptibly at Gibson just as she had at the museum, and he returned the gesture, though she wanted to think that there was more than a little hint of longing in his eyes as he did so.
"I say, what is he doing here," George Faraday, the heir to the Turnbridge earldom sneered, his disgust plainly evident as his eyes raked over Gibson's towering form. "Really. Allowing the likes of him to mix with the aristocracy is wretched. It's just not done. Or it shouldn't be. I don't care what the Prince Regent says."
"Oh, stop it. That is enough." That came from Miss Letitia Worth, a woman who, for some inexplicable reason had matured greatly over the winter, not that Amy was unhappy with the change. The previous season, Letitia's sharp tongue had been a source of immense pain for Amy's friend, Lady Julia Rosemont, now the Countess of Radcliffe, among others. "It is not his fault that he is in reduced circumstances. He has done the best he could. Better than most of our station would in the same circumstances, I suspect." Letitia almost sounded as if she admired Gibson, and for some reason, that notion made Amy uncomfortable. Amy also didn't much care for the way Letitia was gazing at Gibson, as if he was something delicious to eat and she a starving woman.
Lord Drake finally stopped rambling on about his phaeton long enough to follow everyone's gaze to where Gibson stood, his back ramrod straight, as if he wished to be any place else but in the ballroom. "He should be forbidden from mixing in good, aristocratic company." He shot a glare in the physician's direction that contained barely concealed contempt. "And if he had an ounce of good sense, he would return to whatever sewer he crawled out from."
"Enough!" Amy's voice was like ice, her fury barely contained, though she kept her tone low, so as not to cause too much of a scene. After her conversation with her mother in the carriage, the last thing Amy wanted to do was draw attention to herself. However, her temper, already frayed and on edge for the majority of the day, became completely undone when Drake muttered another nasty remark under his breath.
Amy snapped her fan closed and turned up her nose in obvious disgust in the way only The Paragon could. "Dr. Blackwell is my friend, as well as a friend of the Prince Regent's, who, might I remind you, is part of my extended family as well. The two of you would do well to remember that." She could not allow them to speak ill of Gibson any longer, at least not when she was around to hear it. "Only Miss Worth has the grace and dignity to treat Dr. Blackwell properly." Then she favored Letitia with a small smile, knowing that the other girl would probably swoon with delight.
Amy rarely used her relationship to the royal family to her advantage or flaunted it in any way. She was well aware that she already had greater social standing among the ton than most women her age did, simply because of her bloodlines. She did not want to make that point more obvious. However, there were times, such as this precise moment, when she would take advantage of every little bit of power that she had to protect someone she cared about. No matter how much of a minor scandal it might create.
"Rather protective of a common laborer, aren't you?" Drake groused, clearly unused to being rebuked, especially by a woman, even one in Amy's lofty position. On the other hand, it was obvious he didn't want to anger Amy further, for she could make things decidedly uncomfortable for him at functions such as these if she wished.
Instead of raising her voice further, Amy simply affected a serene smile, one that belied the angry churning inside of her. "He is my friend and a friend to the prince himself, as well. He is also a friend to Lord and Lady Radcliffe, and was granted the honor of attending their wedding festivities at Seldon Park just last year. I doubt they would enjoy hearing you speak ill of Dr. Blackwell, either." Then she paused before narrowing h
er eyes and adding. "A gentleman who aspires to win the affections of a lady, as well as the admiration of his peers, would do well to learn to be kind to all, including those in reduced circumstances."
When Drake paled and his mouth gaped open, Amy knew she had wounded him, just as intended. The silly fop thought he could win her affections by talking about carriages and horseflesh, or by degrading those around him, especially those he viewed as less than perfect or beneath him in rank. He couldn't. Nothing he did or said could ever make her desire him. Not the way she desired Gibson, anyway.
"He is really your friend? Truly?" That comment, laced with incredulity, came from Faraday who was doing his best to come to Drake's rescue, and hopefully, it seemed to her, to restore the other man somewhat in Amy's eyes without angering her further. As if such a plot had been discussed in advance for just such an occasion. Knowing the two men in question, it probably had been "You're not having us on?"
"No. I am not. I am a lady and do not behave so deplorably." Amy refused to allow any room for confusion in her answer, her expression stern and her voice still cold, not mention touched with more than a little condescension. ''He saved Lady Radcliffe's life last year after she was accidentally shot when Lord Landover attempted to kill Lord Radcliffe in the park during an early morning stroll." Then Amy sniffed disdainfully, pulling the guise of The Paragon more tightly around her for fear someone might see her true motives for defending Gibson.
The accidental "injury" was, of course, the official story of how Lady Julia had come to receive her wound from a stray bullet fired during an illegal duel, ensuring that her reputation remained intact and above reproach. By this time, everyone in the ton, including both Drake and Faraday, knew better than to question it.
Amy was not quite finished with her lecture, however, and adopted her most officious air of snobbery. "He has attended several friends of mine, including Lord and Lady Berkshire when the marquess unfortunately passed away last fall. He has treated my brother, who is, might I remind you, distantly in line for the throne as well. Not to mention that Dr. Blackwell cared for me last year when I caught the sniffles while at Seldon Park for the wedding festivities."
Far Beyond Scandalous Page 3
