It was completely beside the point that she had been slightly ill only because she had been out in the rain searching for Gibson. "So, yes, he is my friend, as well as a friend to many in society, and I will not have you, or anyone, speak ill of him. He has done nothing to earn your scorn. He is.."
Amy stopped herself abruptly. She wanted to say that he was the finest man she had ever known and so much more. But she couldn't. If she did, everyone would know her secret, or at least guess it. So she simply finished with "one the finest physicians you will ever encounter." Then, she bit her lip to prevent herself from saying more.
Amy, in her position as Paragon, did not defend many people outright, but when she chose to, others listened and followed her lead. She knew it was a mark of respect for her, as well as her position in society, and she did not abuse it. However, just this once, she decided that she could be forgiven if her actions were viewed as such.
"Forgive us, my lady." Drake offered, bowing low, though his words lacked true contrition. He was now clearly back to attempting to court her favor, especially now after he learned of her friendship with Gibson. "It was not our intent to offend or denigrate one of your friends."
"Of course it was," she said, her calm façade still in place, her eyebrow arching a bit as she reigned in her temper, "but I shall let it pass. This time." Amy knew she was bordering on being unspeakably rude, but she no longer cared. The truth was, she hadn't cared in a very long time. Tonight had simply pushed her to the edge. Perhaps it was time to find a way to break free. From all of it.
She was tired of living a life trapped behind glass, always one step removed from feeling much of anything. It had to end. Gibson had shown her that life could be different. It could be bright and colorful. Happy and sparkling beyond measure. In short, it could be magic. If only she could find a way.
Without waiting to hear their reply, Amy gathered her skirts and swept away from the group before she said something that might reveal how much she truly cared about Gibson Blackwell and damned them both to a lifetime of censure. Before she said something that would create a scandal that she and her family could not recover from and would cost him the life he had worked so hard to build for himself.
Just as she almost had a moment ago when Drake had been nettling her. She had almost slipped, almost revealed that she knew deeply private and intimate information about Gibson's character that she should not be privy to. That would be nothing short of disaster.
No one could know about that marvelous afternoon in the summerhouse. She had sworn to Gibbs that she would keep quiet, as had he. Tales of that afternoon could and would ruin both of their lives if anyone discovered the truth. That was the last thing she wanted - for either of them. As the daughter of an earl, she could probably survive the scandal, especially when the family had done so before. Gibson, in his lowered circumstances, could not, and she would not put him in such a tenuous position. She cared for him far too much to allow it.
So much as it might pain her, she would hold herself away from him, defend him when necessary but reveal nothing more. It was the right thing to do, no matter how much she ached to do otherwise. She would not give in to her desire to choose the path that led directly to him. But she would no longer allow herself to be put on a pedestal, either. The decision had been made. It was time that the ton learned that their Paragon was as flawed as the next woman, though she did not know precisely how to accomplish that task.
Amy was debating about where she should venture next, as none of her usual group of friends was in attendance that evening, when she heard a crash followed by a scream. Turning in the direction of the commotion, she saw a flash of deep russet silk, the same color of gown her mother was wearing that evening.
As quickly as she could, Amy hurried across the ballroom, elbowing and, in one case lightly shoving, anyone who stood in her way, delicate sensibilities be damned. There was no time to tarry. Nor was there any time like the present to show society the cracks in her perfect, ladylike façade.
When she finally reached the edge of a growing circle of onlookers, Amy found Gibson already kneeling beside her mother who was lying prone on the hard, cold floor. Thea's eyes were closed, and she looked deathly pale. In that moment, Amy's heart lurched, and she knew instinctively that it was her turn to be the strong one for a change, her dreams of being free of social convention immediately put aside. She had studied enough medicine to know that, whatever the illness, her mother would be incapacitated for quite some time to come. It would be up to Amy to keep the household running.
"Mama?" Lady Amy's voice was barely a whisper, but Doctor Gibson Blackwell heard her very clearly. No matter where he was, he would always hear her when she spoke. He was certain of that. There was no way he could ever forget the woman who had grabbed hold of his heart and would not let go.
He wanted to ease the look of distress on her beautiful face, but he couldn't. Not only was it not his place, but he had a job to do. Her mother had suffered an attack of some kind, perhaps heart, and while he didn't think it would kill her, it was serious enough that he was extremely concerned for her health. Comforting Amy would have to wait. If it occurred at all.
"Give us room!" he barked, wanting the crowd to pull back, knowing that, though he might wish it, he could not make them disappear completely. The oppressive heat in the infernal ballroom was enough to make anyone faint, including him, and he was in perfect health. "And for God's sake, someone open the damn doors!"
Lady Fairhill looked as if she was about to object, perhaps swoon, or possibly be scandalized, but then she took in the menacing glare on Gibson's handsome face and instructed the servants to do as he had commanded. She also gave orders to several other footmen to begin moving people back away from where Gibson knelt over Lady Evanston.
When a footman put his hand on Lady Amy's arm in order to move her back as well, he growled "not her, you fool" and the man quickly released her. That seemed to spur Amy into action, and she rushed to her mother's side, kneeling on the floor beside him, regardless of the stares and whispers her actions generated. Her eyes were worried, her expression serious, and he knew that she understood the gravity of the situation.
Lady Amy had been around tragedy enough to know that this, whatever it was, could possibly be fatal if not treated immediately and correctly.
"Will she live?" Amy asked softly, swallowing hard, as Gibson began examining her mother. He was pleased to note that some color was returning to the countess' cheeks.
"Yes. I believe so." He began testing Thea's limbs for broken bones, as she had hit the marble floor rather hard when she had fallen, but thankfully, he didn't find any. "But she is not well, either."
"I know that. I can tell simply by looking at her." Amy's voice - for as intimate as they had been, Gibson could not call her by her title any longer, at least not in his own mind - was still quiet, almost fearful, and he risked looking away from his patient to glance up at her. What he saw in Amy's eyes alarmed him quite a bit. "She hasn't been in some time. Weeks. Perhaps months. I am not certain."
That was not what Gibson wanted to hear. "And your father? Has he not noticed?" It was inconceivable to him that Lord Evanston had not noted the changes in his wife, but then, he did not know much about the family's current circumstances.
Amy's cheeks blushed a bit, and she spoke so quietly that even directly beside him, it was difficult to hear her. "Father is in the north at the crown's request. Scotland, I believe, though I am not certain. It has just been the two of us for some time now."
There was no need to mention Marcus, as he was still convalescing in Bath, and would not return to London this season and perhaps not even the next. His health was still far to fragile to risk, the years of near-constant bloodletting leaving him so weak that, when Amy had last seen him the previous summer, he appeared as thin and lanky as a boy just out of the nursery. It had been a far cry from the muscular older brother she had adored growing up. Since Gibson and Dr. Hastings had b
een the two men who sent her brother to the reputedly rejuvenating spa town to recover, there was no need to speak of him in a crowed ballroom full of harpies looking for the latest on-dit.
They both lapsed into silence as Gibson worked, his hands fairly flying over Lady Evanston as he attempted to make the proper diagnosis, given the limited tools at his disposal. The situation was, indeed, worse than he had initially thought, unfortunately, and he wasn't quite certain how he would break the news to Amy. Though he did believe that she had every right to know the truth of her mother's condition.
While he didn't have his medical bag with him, a quick examination of Lady Evanston seemed to indicate that this time, she had merely fainted. However, he was convinced that it was a symptom of an even greater problem with her heart, given the swelling of her feet and lower extremities. It was reasonable to assume that this evening she had suffered from an apoplexy of some type and that, going forward, if she did not sufficiently rest, she might well die. The lady was clearly on the verge of exhaustion, and that usually lead to fever, if she didn't have the beginnings of one already. He didn't need to remind Amy where a fever could lead.
"She needs further medical attention that I cannot administer here. Let us take her home to Cheltenham House," he announced finally, not wanting an audience when he broke the news of her mother's condition to Amy. "Did you bring a carriage?" He said the second part more quietly. Gibson had hired a hack, rather than take the carriage Prinny had provided for him. He hadn't wanted to cause a scene or appear to be trying to grasp above his station. Now, he was regretting that decision. There was a reason it had been given to him, and he had let his pride and his fear get in the way. Never again.
"We did." Amy's eyes strayed moved far from her mother's pale, almost waxen face.
Straightening, Gibson rose to find Lady Fairhill still quivering with a mix of excitement and fear, not to mention more than a little pique at being forced to open the terrace doors and allow in fresh air. He had no doubt that this incident would be all over the papers and gossip sheets on the morrow. "Call for the Evanston carriage immediately. I will be escorting the ladies home so that I might see to her ladyship's medical emergency in an efficient manner."
When Lady Fairhill didn't immediately spring into action, he added rather commandingly, "Now." Gibson spoke in the same tone he would have used every day had he become the viscount as planned. He had been trained from the cradle to be in command of those who needed guidance. Now he could finally put some of that knowledge to good use.
"It's not proper," he heard some silly chit in the crowd squeak, her voice high-pitched, as if she was already salivating at the mere thought of such a juicy tidbit of gossip. "Lady Amy is young and unmarried after all, even if she is The Paragon!" Then the woman tittered coyly, grating on Gibson's nerves until he wanted to scream. "Unless you are trying to provoke a scandal to promote your social position, Dr. Blackwell."
Rounding on the matron, whoever she was, Gibson fixed her with a golden stare, one he had often been told was reminiscent of a lion's predatory gaze just before it pounced on its prey. "Madame, if that is your only concern, rather than for the health of a woman that I would like to think you consider a friend, then you have far greater issues than any of us realized. Now stand aside, please, before I have to ask the footmen to remove you from our path."
With that cut, he stalked out of the room to issue more orders so that he might escort the Evanston women home safely, for once thankful that he was not officially a part of a group that cared more for scandal and gossip than for the health of an extremely ill woman.
Chapter Three
"She will live. I have her sedated for now, and she will, of course, have to remain that way for several days. Perhaps a week. Though I do not like to keep a patient under the influence of such a powerful drug for so long."
Gibson had refused to speak about Thea's condition until he and Amy were safely ensconced in the plush drawing room at Cheltenham House. He tried not to stare overmuch at the opulence that surrounded him, which, he noted absently, included pale pink and yellow silk brocade wallpaper, similar in design to a pattern that graced the walls in a sitting room belonging to one of the prince's many mistresses. Nor did he want to think about how his body had tightened with need the moment he had first glimpsed Amy again earlier that evening. Instead he wanted to concentrate on the matter at hand.
"But your mother is not well, either." From the resigned look on Amy's face, he was certain that she knew this already. "I suspect she has had an attack of apoplexy that affected both her brain and her heart, though I cannot be sure." He hadn't noticed the effects of the attack on Lady Evanston's mind until they had reached the safety of the family's Mayfair townhome.
"And if you cannot be certain, then another doctor would be less so." Amy needed Gibson to know that she trusted him with her mother's life. "I am thankful that it was you there at the ball tonight and not some other, less-skilled physician." That was, perhaps, an understatement, but she was struggling to find the appropriate words for this situation.
The carriage ride through London had been long and almost painfully silent, Amy doing little more than listening for the sound of her mother's breathing. She had been terrified of it stopping as her brother's had so many times before when he had been ill. Thoughts of what would happen should her mother die had been swirling through Amy's mind repeatedly, knotting her stomach in fear and making a bad situation even worse. The only reason she hadn't completely fallen apart was Gibson. He had been beside her the entire ride, holding her hand and lending his quiet support. Even if he hadn't said a word.
In some ways, it was as if the months separating them since that fateful day in August had vanished, and the closeness between them had returned in an instant. Each time Gibson squeezed her hand, Amy didn't feel quite as alone. Yet she was also acutely aware that things were not precisely the same, either. Still, he was here with her, and, at present, that was the only thing that mattered.
Upon reaching Cheltenham House, Gibson had immediately taken charge of the situation, and, thankfully, no one had questioned him or his right to do so. He had seen to it that the countess had been made comfortable, and, while he examined her, had instructed Towson, the butler, to make Amy comfortable as well, perhaps with some tea and biscuits if there were any still left in the house at that hour of the night.
Amy had been beyond grateful for Gibson's strength and guidance. Now he was finished with his initial examination and treatment of the countess, and he was here with her. Precisely where she wanted him to be. Given the way he was looking at her, this was exactly where he wished to be as well. In fact, he was looking as if he wanted to kiss her, though she knew he would not allow himself to be so improper.
Truthfully, Amy understood there was still much that needed to be said between them before there was any hope of a simple touch, let alone a kiss. Not to mention that this was hardly the appropriate time for amorous intentions, no matter that her body clearly thought otherwise.
She also believed that Gibson felt the same given the way he shifted restlessly in his chair before rising to take the tea tray from the maid the moment she arrived at the drawing room door, silver service in hand.
Then, he moved to close the hand-carved pocket doors a bit more, leaving them open far enough to maintain some semblance of propriety while limiting the amount of information a nosy servant might overhear. He clearly did not want to add a fresh round of gossip concerning the Cheltenhams.
Placing the tray on a nearby table, Gibson seated himself beside Amy on the settee - close but not quite touching. Then he cleared his throat, as if a little uneasy with the entire situation. "You cannot know how thankful I am that I was in attendance this evening. I did not want to go to that infernal ball from the very moment the invitation arrived. I had even considered canceling, even though I knew it would be frowned upon from many quarters."
"I am thankful as well, Gibson." That rather went without say
ing, Amy thought, using his Christian name, even though she knew that she shouldn't. Still, given everything that had passed between them, it would be foolish to do otherwise, and, in truth, she could not bring herself to place that formal barrier between them once more.
Without thinking, he reached out and grasped her hand, startling a bit when he realized that neither of them wore gloves any longer. "Lady Fairhill wanted my presence to give the ball the appearance of being for the medical society, but I think we all know that her only goal was to promote her own social standing. Still, I thank God that I was there. I do not wish to consider what might have transpired had I not been present."
Then he pulled back, not wanting to appear too improper, and immediately, he missed the warmth of her skin. This was a tangled, complex dance between them, and he was acutely aware that he was skirting close to the line of ungentlemanly behavior. "But enough of that. Your mother's health is of the utmost importance." He did his best to cloak himself in his official physician's persona once more, even though he knew he had long ago crossed the line of formality with the woman seated beside him.
Still, Gibson did his best to appear every bit the proper royal physician, not knowing how he would be received after so much time had passed. For all he knew, Amy despised him now that she had been given an opportunity to reflect upon that day, and that only concern for her mother's health was preventing her from tossing him out. "For everyone's sakes, including yours, we must discuss what comes next, as well as what led to her finding herself in this state. What all has your mother been attending to the last several weeks? You mentioned earlier that she was extremely tired." Not that he hadn't been able to see that for himself at first glance.
Far Beyond Scandalous Page 4
