Amy did feel herself at something of a loss. If she did not have to run Cheltenham, something she had been preparing herself for all night, then what did she do with her time? There was only so much needlework a lady could do, and it would be unseemly to keep up the schedule that she had been in the weeks prior to her mother's illness. Was he worried about how she would entertain herself? Well, she was a grown woman, not a child. She would survive quite nicely, thank you very much.
Moving back to her father's desk with a sigh, Gibson shuffled through the papers Michaels had given him before pulling one from the stack. It was older than the rest, yellowed at the corners and starting to curl. "For a start, perhaps you can give me some insight into this particular document. That is the only thing I do not understand about the estate papers and it troubles me. Greatly."
He held out the paper, and Amy rose to take it from him, immediately recognizing her father's handwriting. It was far straighter and bolder than his current hand, indicating that it had been written many years ago, before a fall from a horse had shifted the bones in his right hand. "According to this directive, you are to remain out in society at all times, living the life of a debutante until you marry. If no one else, including your mother, can see to your societal needs, then it falls under Michaels' direction unless there is another suitable male escort available." He raised that singular eyebrow again. "Is there something I do not know, my lady?"
Frowning, Amy studied the paper, trying to repress the bit of anger that flared in her when he called her "my lady," at least when they were in private. He knew it irked her, and, given their passionate kiss the previous night, she found it all a bit odd. In one moment they were locked in a passionate embrace, and in another, they were so stiff and formal, it was as if they had never met, let alone seen each other naked. At the moment, however, there were more important things to worry about than confused hearts, it seemed.
The missive, penned and signed by her father, was short and to the point. At no time was Lady Amy Cheltenham to be out of society for more than a day or two unless she was ill. It was so imperative that funds had been specifically set aside in the event of an emergency that would support her and her entertainments until she wed. Those funds, it was noted, were separate from her dowry. It was also rather clear that whoever was in charge of the earldom, and in this case Michaels believed it was Marcus, was to see to it that the directive was carried out. Even if it meant employing one of Lady Berkshire's infamous gray-gowned chaperones and badgering some poor, hapless male to accomplish the task.
"I do not understand," Amy said finally, handing the paper back to Gibson with a shake of her head. "That makes no sense. Why would such a directive be necessary?" It could, she supposed, be related to her past, but it was unlikely. There was no logical connection, and anyway, the entire event was irrelevant to this directive. Besides, as far as she knew, that situation had been resolved years ago, shortly after it had initially occurred. "Isn't that what young, unmarried ladies do? Go out in society? Attend balls and musicales and other events?"
"That was my understanding, yes." He tucked the paper back in with the others and tied them back up in a neat bundle before moving them to a desk drawer. She was not surprised when he locked the drawer and then pocketed the key. That was Gibson. Ever careful and ever vigilant.
"Still, it is abundantly clear that your father wanted you to be seen out and about, not tucked way at home, even if it is to nurse your mother back to health. Which, might I add, is a very noble thing." Gibson looked directly at Amy, making it clear that he had already guessed that was precisely what she had been intending to do with her time now that it was not to be tied up in running the estate. "Therefore, we must make appropriate arrangements for you to do just that. You need to attend the balls, musicales and other amusements you have already accepted invitations to, as well as agree to new entertainments."
Amy raised her chin a fraction of an inch, hoping she achieved the right look of defiance on her face. Gibson wasn't the only aristocrat in the room, though he was certainly acting like it, much to her dismay. Gone was the tender lover from the night before who had kissed her so passionately, and in his place was the panther-like viscount, cool, calculating, and always in control. How he could switch from one mask to another so easily she did not know, but neither did it matter. She could play this game just as well as he.
She would not be told what to do, not even by Gibson. She might have put her dreams for the future on hold, but that did not mean she would surrender her dream of freedom completely. He would not order her about. She would not tolerate it. "And if I refuse? If I wish to remain here?"
"I do not know," Gibson admitted truthfully, some of his hauteur falling away to reveal the man she remembered, "but if you do not abide by that directive, someone, probably Michaels, will know that Marcus is not in charge of the earldom. For if your brother was, there would be no question that you would follow this directive, no matter how obstinate you like to be on occasion." Her strong-mindedness was one of the things that Gibson adored about her, though he suspected that now was not the best time to mention that, especially since he needed her to be rather biddable at the moment.
Amy winced a bit at his words. She had rather hoped that he didn't know about her tendency to flout convention. However, she suspected he probably already had a pretty good idea about her behavior. He also had a very valid point, much as she hated to admit it. "And if it is discovered that Marcus isn't in charge..."
"People will find out how serious his illness is, and how close to death he was when he departed for Bath. They might possibly even discover that his condition has not improved as much as we had hoped it would," Gibson finished for her. He did not need to lecture her. She knew the dangers of exposing Marcus' true condition to society. "I know you do not want that."
No, that was the last thing Amy wanted. If society knew how dire her brother's situation was, there would be immense pressure to send him to Bedlam. He did not need that. He would recover his wits and his health. She was certain of it. He only needed time, which was precisely what the extended trip to Bath was intended to provide. She did not need Michaels, or others for that matter, poking into the Cheltenham family business just because she was not fulfilling her father's explicit wishes. She might be headstrong, but she was not stupid, nor did she wish her family harm.
"Very well." She intended to be practical and adult about this. That was the vow she had made to herself and her mother in the wee hours of the morning, after all. "How shall we go about it? I assume you have a plan. You usually do."
From the moment Gibson had read the missive and learned from Michaels how important it was to the earl that this order in particular be carried out, he had begun to formulate a plan. Though he would not say so to Amy, there was obviously something more to the directive than a father's wish that his daughter have a good time and marry well. One did not set aside that amount of funds on a whim or because his daughter was spoiled. Not even simply because he thought it might be a good idea. There had to be more to that seemingly innocent scrap of paper than any of them realized.
There was a threat of some kind, probably lurking in the shadows of the family's life, that had worried the earl enough to pen the directive. Most likely, it was a threat against Amy herself, one that she knew nothing about. After all, one did not reach William Cheltenham's position in life without angering a few people, and those types of people would not care that they hurt a woman. All they would see was a way to hit at the very heart of a man they despised.
Was that the reason for the duchess' endless worry? Was that directive what had brought about her apoplexy?
Without more information, Gibson could not be certain. He also did not know who or what the threat was, or where it would be coming from. He also had no idea who he could trust, especially since Amy had no proper suitors. In his eyes, everyone was suspect.
That left him with only one course of action, one he had relied on long ago
when he had been trying to dig himself out of the figurative hole his father had left him in - trust no one but yourself.
"I do have a plan," Gibson admitted finally, knowing full well that even if Amy agreed to it, he would be damning himself to weeks of torment and a lifetime of regret. Yet his heart would not allow him to make another choice.
The previous night, he had vowed to himself that he would stay away from Amy and not be tempted by her sweetness or the passions she stirred in his heart. He would be her friend and her advisor, but nothing more. He certainly would not kiss her again. Now, he was about to go back on that vow. Gibson would be her escort about town, partly because he refused to leave her to Michaels' less-than-tender mercies, especially given how much the other man distained the aristocracy. However, he was also doing it for himself, to allow himself one last glimpse of paradise before he shut the door and locked it forever.
Escorting Amy would not be easy. In many ways, it would be pure torture. Gibson prayed that he was strong enough to endure. Then again, he had endured his father's betrayal. Surely this could be no worse.
Chapter Five
Society Tales
Town is still all abuzz regarding the events that took place at the supposed "benefit" ball hosed by Lady F. several nights previous, mostly concerning the health of society matron Lady E. However, speculation is now rampant that the same affliction may yet affect her daughter, Lady A. Is it possible that two of the most respected women in society are falling ill to the same sort of affliction that felled another in their family, Lord M., the current Viscount of B. and heir to the family's fortunes?
Let us hope not! For that would be a tragic loss indeed. This author has it on excellent authority that preventative steps are already being taken to assure that at least one member of this esteemed family does not fall prey to the evil clutches of disease. At last report, it was rumored that the Prince Regent himself might even be involved in directing her care!
- Lady X
"The theater, my dear doctor? How can you afford this?" Amy still could not believe Gibson was leading her up the steps of one of Drury Lane's most respected theaters to a private box. It was like something out of one her most secret fantasies, and she was terrified that if she breathed in too deeply, like a soap bubble, it would burst.
"I have my ways, my lady. Trust in that, if nothing else." Gibson patted Amy's hand as he navigated them through the crush of people with ease, almost as if he had been to that particular theater before. At this point, she no longer questioned him. She had learned rather quickly that it was pointless.
Amy had also quickly come to accept that, as a lone, unmarried female in a man's world, she was exceedingly vulnerable to the whims of others. Including Michaels and Lord Drake, among others. If she had to rely on a man for help and protection, then Gibson was truly the only man she could trust.
It had only been two days since the fateful morning in her father's study, but somehow Gibson had managed to surprise Amy yet again. The first time he had done so was shortly after their initial meeting with Michaels. Gibson had departed for a brief time before returning to Cheltenham House with news that Prinny was giving him leave to attend to Amy and her family - with his blessing. Amy was not certain how Gibson had managed that feat, but she was grateful for whatever promises the doctor had to make to ensure that her mother received the best care possible.
Gibson had also informed her that, at Carlton House's suggestion, he would use the gossip sheets to further their goal of paving the way for his escort of her without too much scandal. Amy had no idea how he had managed that, either, but then, the prince was powerful, and did exercise some degree of authority over even the most independent of gossip sheets. Somehow, someone had convinced the powerful Lady X to champion their cause. She had no idea how it had come about, but Amy was grateful for the assistance, not to mention the end result.
If Gibson had not been her escort, the duties would have fallen to Michaels, and Amy would not have tolerated such a thing. She hated the very fact that she had to deal with the man for brief periods in each morning as it was. An entire string of evenings in his company would be nothing short of sheer torture.
Rather unexpectedly, Michaels had kicked up something of a fuss at not being the one named to escort Amy about town, which was odd, given his clear distain for highborn females. She had been afraid that somehow, Michaels would find a way to force Gibson out of his new role in the Cheltenham household. However, a document from Carlton House authorizing Gibson's escort of Amy had been enough to silence the other man's protests. Even the surly steward was not foolish enough to challenge a directive from Prinny himself.
That first afternoon when Gibson had come bearing the documents that allowed him to accompany her, he had also suggested that they embark on a short stroll in the park under the guise of assessing her health, something that had been hinted at already in that morning's Society Tales column. The matrons of the ton that they had passed while on their stroll declared Gibson nothing short of marvelous that he would be so concerned for Lady Amy's health, further lending credence to their story. The woman had also heaped praise on the prince for his direct involvement in the care of one of his distant relatives.
In the space of only a few hours, Gibson's new position in society had been cemented and approved, making both of them, especially Amy, rest easier. Not to mention that she was secretly thrilled to be seen out with him by her side.
That her mother's health was, in fact, improving also lightened Amy's heart quite a bit. It made the short stroll, accompanied as always by her maid Grace, much more relaxing, and allowed her to truly enjoy Gibson's company. Had Thea still been as incoherent as she had been the night of the attack, Amy would have felt guilty for leaving the house even for a few moments. However, with proper rest, the human body was an amazing creation, and, while Thea was kept sedated most of the day so she wouldn't over-tax herself, when she was awake, she was quite lucid. More so than even Gibson had dared to hope.
In Amy's mind, that was marvelous news, and, of course, that made the time spent with Gibson that much more delightful. And precious
The day after the stroll in the park, Gibson had appeared again, this time to escort Amy on a short trip to Gunter's for ices, with him dryly informing anyone who inquired that it was necessary for him to continue to assess Amy's health after what had befallen her mother. He insisted to all who asked that Amy herself was now in the most dangerous time to fall victim to an apoplexy herself, and that she was at great risk of succumbing to what ailed Lady Thea, who, he was also quick to assure all was at home recovering nicely. Another ridiculous tale, but one that every single woman they spoke with believed, particularly when Gibson gifted them with one of his dazzling smiles and a bit of flirting.
Amy should be jealous. Or she would have been, had a relationship between her and Gibson been possible. As it was, she was decidedly not jealous because she could not have Gibson. Not to mention that after that first night when her mother had fallen ill, they had never again spoken of that long ago August day. In Amy's mind, she often wondered if she had imagined that closeness, if it had been real at all. Perhaps it had only been a fantasy, or Gibson offering comfort as best he knew how. Therefore, there was nothing to be jealous about. Well, she reasoned as they continued on to their box, that whole line of thinking had made more sense in her mind when she had first thought of it.
However she was decidedly not jealous when the doctor had appeared early that very morning, forged note in hand, declaring that Marcus, agreeing with Prinny completely, had officially entrusted his sister into Gibson's more than capable care while Lady Evanston, who was, the note reminded everyone, making a remarkable recovery, regained her health. Amy did not know where Gibson had procured the note, nor did she care, particularly.
The scrap of paper did not come from Marcus, that much was clear, at least to her well-trained eye, but the forgery, for she had no doubt that it was one, was good enough to fool Mi
chaels. The steward was still grumbling about not being allowed to escort Amy around town and in a foul mood anyway. It was no secret that Michaels firmly believed that young ladies should be seen, not heard, and kept confined to the home whenever possible, so his irritation was peculiar. However Amy dismissed it as a man who aspired to a higher station in life, and saw her as a means to obtain the favors of a wealthy widow in exchange for some bed sport. Not that a lady like her should know about such things, of course. Though at Amy's age, the women in the ladies' retiring rooms at balls did talk. Rather a lot.
Gibson thought Michaels was a twit, though he would not say so aloud, instead determined to keep the steward on his side for as long as possible. The doctor had even gone so far as to hint that he shared Michaels ideas on women, in particular Lady Amy, but was forced to do what he must to keep the upper echelons of society, not to mention the prince, happy, and, therefore, his pockets lined with coins. Thus far, it was working. However, that didn't mean that Gibson thought the man in question was anything other than the worst kind of fool imaginable. And, quite possibly, up to something nefarious.
He had yet to decide on that matter.
Even now, Gibson could recall almost every moment of his last conversation with Michaels quite clearly. He, of course, had assured the steward that he did not mind escorting Lady Amy about, as he was used to society after serving the prince regent for so long, and that really, given that apoplexy could strike at any time, even in one so young as Amy, it was necessary. It might be a good idea to watch her for some time, more than a few days, Gibson had informed the other man, just to make certain that she was in no danger.
Michaels had grudgingly concurred with that assessment, but had also immediately begun to make all of the necessary arrangements to ensure that the "esteemed Dr. Blackwell" could take over as Lady Amy's approved escort. Then, much to Gibson's mistrust, the man completely changed his attitude over the entire situation. It was as if he had never vied hard for the position of escort himself. In fact, the man was downright cheerful as he made plans, much to Gibson's distrust. That in particular made Gibson extremely suspicious. He had learned the hard way that appearances were often deceiving.
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