"Come. We will speak in private." She moved back into the drawing room, and, though she had sworn not to take risks again where Gibson was concerned, she closed the pocket doors tightly behind them. After all that had passed between them, what was one closed more set of closed doors, after all?
When they were both seated on the settee, she pushed the now-cold tea tray aside and gripped her hands in her lap. Gibson had been in a state when he had arrived, and she could not imagine that whatever news he had to share would improve his disposition.
He wasted no time in getting directly to the point. "Do you know a man named Thomas Overton?" When Amy's face went pale at his question, he had his answer. Still, to her credit, she did not shy away from what he knew was probably a difficult confession for her.
"I did. Long ago. When I was a child." She folded her hands in her lap, the mask of a cool and composed young woman falling away to reveal her true self once more. With Gibson, there was no need to hide. "He was my music master at Heatherton Abby. He taught me the pianoforte and began my dancing lessons before my father engaged a proper dancing master." The story that she had longed to tell Gibson so many times before now bubbled up inside of her once again. This time, she would not hesitate.
"I did not know you played." It was an inane comment, but Gibson felt as if he had to fill the silence.
Amy looked away, not wanting him to see her shame. He might have his secrets, but she had her own that were just as awful, if not more so. "I don't any longer. Not since that day, other than at my come out when it was required, of course." She licked her lips. "I rather lost my passion for it, though, I understand that I was quite good. Before." Amy took a deep breath, as if steadying herself before continuing. "I was a child, really, when it happened. Thirteen years old and just on the cusp of womanhood. I was to begin my training for my come out."
Gibson reached out and interlaced his fingers with hers. "I understand that there was an incident." He tightened his hold and stroked his thumb lightly over the back of her hand. "If you do not wish to tell me the specifics, you do not have to, but I will listen if you care to speak of it."
Today, it seemed was a day for confessions, and Amy wondered if it might not be better to simply get everything out in the open. If there was anyone she could trust with the truth, it would be Gibson. "It was no secret that Thomas was courting my governess, Miss Laura Carmichael, behind my family's back and without their permission. I do not think he was in love with her, but rather in lust. And Thomas was a virile man. Even at my tender age, I could tell that easily enough, and I had no real experience in the ways of the world."
"He took advantage of you." At least that was what the Runner had discovered.
"He wanted my dowry," Amy corrected softly. "Needed it, really. He got Laura with child and wanted a way to escape responsibility. He had no intention of marrying her. After all, he had gotten what he wanted from her and was ready to leave her behind to face the consequences alone." She tugged absently on the sleeves of her gown. "It was no secret that my enormous dowry had been fixed upon me from the moment I was born. Whoever married me would become a very wealthy man." She snorted indelicately. "Not so much different than now, it seems."
Gibson's heart ached for her and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, but he knew that if he did so, she would break down and would be unable to continue her story. He had a feeling that she needed this release. Amy needed to tell her story as much as he needed to hear it.
He offered her a bit of hope instead. "Not all men are attracted to you simply for your fortune. Some rather prefer your sharp wit and clever mind instead." He punctuated his words with a rogue's smile, the one he had practiced so hard to perfect when he'd been a child. That made her laugh, and he was glad of it. She would be able to continue.
"One day around the time Overton was planning to leave Heatherton Abby, he and I were alone in the music room, the maid having been called away for a moment. As no one suspected Thomas of anything duplicitous, and I being so young, no one thought anything of our being alone together." She grimaced. "I do not know if it was a spur of the moment decision or if he had been planning it. Either way, it was vile."
Gibson reached out to take her hand, wanting to give her strength if she needed it. "You do not have to tell me the rest if it is too difficult." The last thing he wanted was to make this worse for her. He hadn't meant for her to confess at all, really. He simply wanted to know if she remembered the man.
"It's all right," Amy sighed and then looked at him with watery eyes. "I need to tell someone. After all this time, the truth should be known. And you are the only one I trust to keep my secret, Gibbs."
Straightening her back, she continued. "He was on top of me before I knew it, his trousers open and his cock sticking out, already hard. He whispered such vile things in my ear, told me precisely what he wanted to do with me. Described all of the things he wanted me to do to him. All in rather vivid and graphic detail."
"The bastard." Were Overton still alive, Gibson would have hunted the man down and murdered him on the spot.
Amy shuddered with the memory. "I must have screamed, though I do not remember doing so. That sound alerted my father who was in the hall speaking with another maid about dusting his study or some such nonsense."
She paused for a moment and a tear slid down her cheek. "I think that Thomas was certain we would be forced to marry when we were discovered, but I also think he did not intend for anyone to reach us as quickly as they did." She pleated her hands into her skirt. "He was not yet all the way inside of me when my father pulled him off. However, he had taken my innocence. That was clear to anyone who was in the room. I'm not certain what the servants saw either, but I do know that my father paid the two who came into the music room with him to keep quiet about what they had witnessed."
"And Overton?" Gibson already knew the answer.
Amy now wore a defeated look. After all this time, she still burned with the shame of it. "He demanded that my father allow us to marry, claimed that we were in love and that we were desperate to be together. He told my father that I was anxious to lay with a man and had been unable to wait any longer. My father laughed in Overton's face at the claims and refused to force me to wed, as you might expect. The disagreement between my father and Thomas went on for hours afterwards. That night, after another terrible and final argument, Thomas rode out on his horse, bound for the local village.
She sighed as she remembered that long, seemingly endless night. "Overton thought that he could go against my father by seeking out the local vicar and confessing to him in order to force a marriage. It would not have worked, as my father had sent riders out immediately after the incident to notify those in town that Thomas was, or would be, spreading lies about me, though no one at the house knew that at the time."
Amy gathered the courage to look at Gibson once more, her tears now falling freely as she confessed the last of her greatest shame. "Before Thomas could reach town, however, he was thrown from his horse. I was spared and my secret ruination was safe. No one but the family would ever know."
Gibson hated to be the bearer of bad news, but if his Runner had discovered the truth so easily, so could another, including the one that Drake had engaged. "I fear there is something you don't know, Amy." He paused, but decided that being honest was, as always, the best policy. "Thomas had a brother. Sometime in between his attack on you and the conclusion of his fight with your father, Overton posted a letter to the man, detailing what had occurred between the two of you."
Beside him, Amy went very still, her blood turning to ice in her veins. "What does that mean precisely?"
Gibson let out a weary sigh. "In truth, I do not know, though I have my suspicions. I believe, as does the Runner, that this brother received the letter and then came to see your father. For some reason known only to the two of them, this brother then blackmailed the earl into keeping you out in society until you married. I believe the brother, a
man named Mark Overton, is behind that document dictating that you must be seen in town, though to what end, I cannot even begin to fathom. However, given that your father signed the document and set up the fund to ensure your continued lifestyle, I can only assume that it is not a pleasant one."
"What harm could he possibly wish to inflict upon me?" Amy knew old accusations could cause trouble, certainly, but to what extent she wasn't certain. "I was innocent. It was his brother who was the scoundrel."
"It probably depended on who you eventually chose to marry." Gibson truly had no idea, but that was his best guess. It was as good as any other line of reasoning, really. "It is possible that the brother meant to exact some kind of twisted revenge on you and your family for the death of your music master by embarrassing you in front of society at the very moment of your marriage."
Gibson rubbed Amy's hands in an attempt to warm them. She was far too pale and cold for his liking. "There is, of course, always the possibility of blackmail, though, given that Overton has yet to ask for anything, that is unlikely. It is even possible that he meant to disgrace you before you married, therefore ruining you and forcing you to marry him instead. It makes no logical sense, I know, but then, when dealing with the insane, logic is not foremost in their minds. I saw enough of that during my studies at Bedlam to know."
They sat together in silence for awhile, each lost in their own thoughts, but taking comfort in the presence of the other. Finally, Amy spoke again, needing to clarify one last point, though she was certain that Gibson already understood perfectly well. He was far too intelligent a man to do otherwise.
Gathering her strength, she swiped a hand across her cheeks, brushing away the last of her tears. "In truth, I have been ruined since that day. If any man courting me knew the truth, he would denounce me, even though I was little more than a defenseless child when it occurred."
"That is why you have waited so long to marry." For Gibson, the truth could not have been clearer. "You could not bear the thought of anyone knowing your secret. When your husband bedded you on your wedding night, he would know you were not a virgin." Then another thought occurred to him. "That was why you were not afraid of me in the summerhouse that day. It was also why you practically begged me to make love to you."
Gibson knew his language was slightly rough and unrefined, especially for a lady, but he wanted to be clear and honest with her. If he was going to be able to help her navigate whatever came next, it was necessary. Even if it was uncomfortable to speak in that manner.
Amy sniffed, unwilling to shed more tears over the incident. "A man who truly loved me would overlook that flaw. He would understand that what happened to me was an act born of violence." She lowered her eyes again for a moment. "I never found that man so therefore, I did not marry." Then she raised her eyes, a hint of defiance showing in them. "And if a man did not particularly understand, my dowry is sufficient enough that he would be encouraged to overlook that particular flaw."
"I understand. All too well. And it is not a flaw. It was not your fault. You were a child and you did nothing wrong." Gibson swallowed hard, tamping down the rage that threatened to swallow him whole. Yet he also pushed back the tender words that he was on the verge of speaking. So much had been said already today, and he did not want a confession of love to be lost in the chaos. "I would not have minded. I would have understood. I do understand." It was all he could offer without betraying what was in his heart.
"Oh, Gibbs." Amy flung herself into his embrace, once more forgetting that they should not tempt fate the way they currently were. Right now, she needed comfort, and he was the only man able to provide it. "I know you would not. And I long for what could be." And then, as if a damn had finally burst, Amy wept into Gibson shoulder, crying for all that was lost and all that would never be.
His heart broke for her, knowing that at the tender age of thirteen, Amy had seen her dreams of a husband and family stripped away. It was no wonder she had worked so hard to be perfect, not to mention why she hated the label of "paragon." It was a slap in the face to all that she truly was beneath the mask she wore for the world to see.
As he sat there rubbing her back, once more Gibson cursed his worthless sire. If he still had the title of viscount, then he could ease Amy's pain. He could love her and cherish her and protect her, a man like Mark Overton - were he even still alive - and his twisted plan of revenge be damned. Gibson could marry Amy and her secret would be safe forever. No one would ever hurt her again.
But he could not do any of those things. He had no title. No estate. Nothing. And for the first time since his sister had died, Gibson gave in to the crushing pain and blackness that he had kept at bay for so long. He allowed it to wash over him, filling him with gut-twisting anger and bitter rage. Then, he felt Amy move in his arms and the dark feelings washed away in an instant as if they had never been, only to be replaced by complete despair.
He could do nothing for her. Gibson was powerless to help her. Well, that was not precisely true. He could protect her until her father returned, for surely, the man had to be on his way back to London by now. It wasn't much, but it was the best the son of a traitor could offer. Unfortunately, he wasn't certain that it would be enough.
Chapter Twelve
By the time they arrived at the Devonmont's musicale, both Amy and Gibson had regained their composure and had once more pasted on their polite, formal smiles. They had also decided not to inform Lady Evanston of what they had learned, mostly because Gibson suspected that the stress from keeping the secret might have had something to do with the countess' attack. Amy's mother was only now just recovered to the point where she could perform limited tasks, and he did not want to hinder her recovery.
He also had suggested that they not openly discuss the situation for fear of being overheard by the servants. It was likely that if Gibson's man had discovered the truth of the Overton brothers, Lord Drake probably already had as well. How he would use the information remained to be seen, but Gibson once more silently damned the men of the Evanston earldom for leaving their women to fend for themselves for so long. Even Marcus could no longer be forgiven at this point. While it was true that he was convalescing, his sister and his mother also needed him. At some point, one needed to step up and be a man.
Gibson's worthless father may not have taught his son much of value, but he had taught Gibson how to be a man. It was one of the few lessons of real value that his sire had passed on to him. Certainly he'd learned nothing of honor from the man. That was all self-taught, really, and, Gibson reasoned, if he could learn those lessons on his own, Marcus would have certainly learned them from the earl.
"In case I didn't mention it earlier, you look extremely handsome tonight. That new hunter green waistcoat looks wonderful on you, as I knew it would."
Gibson was pulled from his black mood by Amy's compliments. It was a marvel how she could chase away his black thoughts with just a few simple words. "Thank you. And in case I did not mention it, you look exquisite, my lady. Garnet suits you."
The dress was entirely the wrong color for an unmarried lady, but, as Amy was rapidly approaching spinsterhood, when she had visited Madame LaVallier's shop earlier in the week to request a new gown she had been fresh off her passionate encounter with Gibson. Amy had thrown caution to the wind and picked the jewel-toned silk over a more sedate powder blue that would probably have been more appropriate. If there was one thing Amy was tired of, it was doing precisely as she was expected.
She had asked that the bodice of the gown be encrusted with crystals and pearls, the more the better, so that they would sparkle and catch the light, making her appear as if she was dusted with starlight. She had also asked that gold thread, along with the signature bit of golden lace decorate the bodice as well to create something of a woven, leafy design, both eye catching and verging on scandalous, but not so much that she would be denied entrance to a party. And, of course, the neckline needed to be almost indecently low, just enough
to entice a man's attention.
When the frothy creation had been delivered that afternoon, along with Gibson's new evening attire, there was no question that Amy would wear the new frock that very evening. She wanted to blame the lack of caution on Gibson and the way he made her feel but the truth was, this change in her had been well over a year in coming. He had only spurred the change a little faster than it might have occurred otherwise.
Amy could no longer stand idly by while her life passed by without so much as one word of input from her. The realization that there was, in all probability, a man out there who meant to do her harm in some way had only emboldened her. She did not have to scandalize herself, necessarily, but she also could no longer live her life as The Paragon. She was human and flawed and it was time that the ton saw her as such.
Inaction - both on the part of her as well as her parents - had put her in this position. And she would not live her life frozen in place any longer. It felt wonderful to finally be free of those old constraints.
After her confession to Gibson, Amy had retreated to her room for a bit while he attended to his medical practice, something he had let fall by the wayside the past fortnight. Alone with her thoughts, she had searched the depths of her soul and come to several conclusions, even if all of the thinking had put her on the verge of a megrim.
The first was that in many ways, she and her friend Julia were not so different. Both of them had allowed their lives to be ruled by outside factors. While Julia's scars were visible and public knowledge, Amy wounds were secret and buried deep. However in both cases, the injuries were still there, years after the original incidents occurred, and, in many ways, still controlled their lives. Julia, however, had found the strength and courage to break free. Amy knew she needed to be as brave if she had any hope of changing her life for the better.
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