Far Beyond Scandalous (5 page)

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 been 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.

"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
saying, 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.

"I do not know
precisely."
 
Amy wished that she
did.
 
In times past, there would not
have been any secrets between mother and daughter.
 
However, ever since Amy's father had departed on his latest trip,
there had been an underlying current of secrecy, however slight.
 
It was clear that Theodosia did not want her
daughter discovering how she spent her days.
 
"She closets herself away for much of the morning, not receiving
callers until very late in the day.
 
In
the past, we traditionally kept some appointments in the morning, such as
visits to the modiste, but now we make those visits in the afternoon, if we go
at all."

Gibson frowned in confusion.
 
"And this is not like your mother or
her typical schedule?"
 
He hated to
admit that he no longer knew much about aristocratic households or their
operations, especially where women were concerned.

Shaking her head, Amy fought the
urge to twist her hands in fear.
 
Other
than his brief grasping of her ungloved hand, Gibson had given her no real
indication that they still shared the same closeness they had once enjoyed, and
she did not want to press him, even though she longed for the comfort he could
offer.
 
"We have never been
strictly traditional, despite our royal ties.
 
We rise earlier than most households, keep morning appointments when it
suits us, and, in general, do as we please."
 
When he simply looked at her, she shrugged.
 
"When you are at the very top of the
social circle, much is forgiven.
 
You
remember that much, at least, I am certain."

"I do."
 
He simply preferred not to think about what
might have been if he could help it; it was far too painful.
 
He was about to ask another question when he
heard a throat being clear behind him.

"Perhaps I can be of some
help.
 
Doctor.
 
My lady."
 
Towson
stood at the drawing room doors, straight as an arrow and yet still somehow
uncomfortable.
 
He had been rushing
about ever since his mistress had returned home unconscious, and now,
apparently, he had taken to eavesdropping.
 
Amy really couldn't scold him for it, however.
 
She would have done the same in his place.

"Do you know what Lady
Evanston has been doing as of late that has caused her to ignore her
health?
 
As her physician, I need as
much information as you can provide."
 
Gibson rose and drew himself up to his full height just as he had back
at the ball, needing Towson to see him as someone worthy of trust.
 
A family's butler was the gatekeeper of all,
something that Gibson remembered all too well from his own youth.

"She has been managing
everything.
 
All of it.
 
Down to the last and most insignificant
detail."
 
There was a note of pride
in the butler's voice, mixed with a strong amount of worry as well.

"All of what
precisely?"
 
Gibson couldn't
imagine that the Earl of Cheltenham would simply gallivant off to
God-knows-where, even at the behest of the Home Office or Prinny, and leave his
wife to fend for herself for such a long period of time.
 
He would not ask her to run all of the
households and the earldom as well.
 
Would he?
 
Surely not.

"The estates.
 
And whatever else running the earldom
entails.
 
I do not know the specifics.
 
It is not my place."
 
Towson sniffed a bit officiously, his lips
twitching with something Gibson recognized as fear that he had overstepped his
bounds.
 
He saw the same nervous tic in
himself at times.
 
"I have voiced
my concerns to the countess many times, but she dismisses me as a worrisome old
man."
 
He raised an eyebrow
haughtily.
 
"Perhaps I was
right."

"There is no perhaps about
it," Gibson sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
 
The situation was far worse than he had
imagined.
 
"It has clearly been too
much for her, and her health has suffered greatly."

At that moment, a bell rang from
somewhere deep inside the house, and Towson cast an annoyed glance at the
door.
 
"I must go.
 
Someone else needs me."
 
He gave Amy a sad look followed by a low
bow.
 
"I am sorry, my lady.
 
I wish I could tell you more, but that is
all I know.
 
Your mother was not exactly
forthcoming with information, nor was it my place to ask.
 
All I know is that your father left, knowing
that he would be gone for some time, and made certain that the staff knew that
Lady Evanston was in charge of it all."

"And me?"
 
Amy lived in the house as well.
 
She felt her temper rise a bit at the
deliberate exclusion.
 
Why did she not
know any of this?

"I cannot say for certain,
Lady Amy." Towson was extremely uncomfortable now, shifting slightly from
foot to foot.
 
"I only know that
neither of them wanted you to worry, for they both knew that was precisely what
you would do.
 
Rather, they wanted you
to concentrate on your season, perhaps even finding a husband."
 
Her offered her an apologetic expression as
if he sympathized with her plight.

This focus on husband hunting by
her parents was not news, precisely, though it was still annoying.
 
"I see."
 
Truly, she did, better than the old butler probably
realized.
 
Thea had not made a secret of
her desire for Amy to marry, and soon, but was her mother so focused on
possible matrimony that she would deliberately keep important information of
this nature from her own daughter?
 
It
appeared so.
 
"Thank you,
Towson."
 
Amy swallowed hard and
stiffened her spine.
 
"That will be
all for now."