Far Beyond Scandalous (3 page)

For the last several years, Amy had
felt as if she was living a life removed from reality.
 
She was treated as a lady beyond reproach,
viewed as a diamond of the first water, pure and innocent, so far above scandal
and so perfect in manners, that no other debutant could ever compare.
 
She was treated by most everyone as though
she was made of spun sugar, and, like her brother before her, might break if
someone pushed her too hard.
 
So they
were careful with her, polite and distant, but never showing any real
emotion.
 
No passion.
 
No fire.
 
It was as if she lived in a glass case, just a pretty ornament watching
the world pass her by but never truly being a part of it.

Those experiences had made her numb
to everyone and everything.
 
Oh, she put
on a good act, certainly, but beneath the glittering exterior, there was
nothing.
 
It was as if Amy, the woman,
was ceasing to exist in many ways, slipping away slowly.
 
She feared that if things did not change
now, they never would.
 
Then again, what
did it matter?
 
No one saw beneath the
shiny, beautiful surface anyway.
 
No one
had ever dared to pull away her mask of perfection to see what lay beneath.

Except Gibson.
 
From the first, he had viewed her as a
woman, a creature to be desired and lusted after, and not a false idol.
 
He treated her as if she had a mind of her
own and thoughts in her head rather than fluff.
 
He saw her as whole, not some fragile creature that needed to be
protected.
 
In one afternoon, he had
shown her a life filled with color and light, not the drab, dreary existence
she had been leading, and it chaffed beyond measure that she had pretend that
it had never happened.

"I understand your
feelings."
 
Thea broke into her
daughter's thoughts.
 
"Amy, I know
that you believe that I do not, about so many things, including those topics we
do not discuss, but I understand more than you think.
 
In some ways, though I do not speak of it, I have been where you
are."
 
There was a wealth of pain in
her mother's voice, pain that cut Amy deeply for she felt it herself.

"I'm sorry."
 
Amy knew she owned her mother another, more
sincere apology.
 
Really, she owed her
mother a great deal more, but that would have to suffice for now.
 
"I merely wish that there was more we
could do for those like Marcus, perhaps even through the society.
 
I miss him and wish that he could come
home."

Tears pricked Thea's eyes and she
swiped at them delicately.
 
"As do
I, my darling.
 
As do I."

The subject of medical advancement
was one that was dear to all of the Cheltenhams.
 
Amy's brother, Marcus, had been partly blinded by a fever several
years before and had lain at death's door, hovering between life and the
ever-after for many months, constantly being bled by unscrupulous physicians,
and suffering all other manner of inhumane cruelty in the name of "curing"
him.
 
Even Amy, as unschooled as she had
been in the ways of medicine at the time, had known that the various methods of
treatment the doctors were inflicting on her brother were doing him more harm
than good, slowly draining the life from his already weakened body.

Then, Dr. Hastings had come
knocking at the door of the Cheltenham's Mayfair townhouse, offering the family
new medical advances in the hopes of saving Marcus' life.
 
Advances made possible through support from
Ladies' Society for the Advancement of Medicine, an organization founded by
Lady Georgina's grandmother many years before.

Using those new techniques,
Hastings had been able to end Marcus' constantly recurring fever, though his
sight was indeed partially lost and unlikely to completely return.
 
Still, the very life of the heir to the
Cheltenham earldom had been saved, and for that, Amy's family was extremely
grateful.
 
So grateful that both Amy and
her mother had begun to volunteer for the Society, only to learn that it was
being run by one of the most uneducated and backwards women they had ever
met.
 
One that also wasn't likely to
give up control any time soon.
 
How
Hastings had managed to make the advances he had thus far was beyond both
Theodosia and Amy.

It further infuriated Amy that
money collected for medical research was spent on tea and garden parties, as
well as sending flowers to the ill and infirm, rather than given to doctors
like Hastings, and yes, Gibson, who had joined Hastings' practice only two
years ago.
 
With that kind of coin at
their disposal, the physicians might be able to further their knowledge about
healing the human body.
 
And tonight,
Amy was tried of pretending it didn't matter.

She was tired of everything,
really, but this was a place where she could start to make some changes,
however small.

"Then let us do something,
Mama.
 
Let us start a new
society."
 
Amy made certain to say
the words softly and with the type of ladylike restraint The Paragon was noted
for.
 
She did not want to upset her
mother any further, even though the idea itself might cause Thea distress
anyway.

It was, of course, a radical idea,
but Amy felt the burning desire to do
something
to make a
difference.
 
She needed to change the
course of her life, and this might be the only option open to her.
 
That fire to bring about change had been
ignited when Marcus' life had been saved three years ago, but it had only grown
after meeting Gibson.
 
In fact, it had
grown far more than she could ever admit to her mother.

"Patience, my
daughter."
 
Thea reached over and
patted Amy's hand, seemingly satisfied that her daughter's temper was once more
in check.
 
It wasn't lost on Amy that
her mother's hand shook slightly, and there were lines around her eyes that Amy
did not think had been there before.
 
"Tonight
is not the night for this discussion.
 
I
do not have the will or the strength to fight you on this.
 
I need to rest first, recoup my strength,
which has been lacking as of late."

Amy wanted to protest, but seeing
her daughter begin to speak, Thea quickly continued.
 
"We will discuss this later and see if there is anything to
be done, or if we can affect change within the current society.
 
In fact, there are many topics that we must
discuss, I believe, including your current lack of marital prospects.
 
But that is not for now.
 
They are for later, after your father
returns."

Properly chastised Amy could only
nod, knowing that her mother was correct, much of the fire leaving her.
 
"Of course, Mama.
 
It was foolish of me to suggest otherwise."
 
Too late she remembered how tired her mother
had appeared the last few weeks, as if she was growing old before Amy's eyes,
something Amy did her best to try to ignore.

Thea's gaze searched Amy's
face.
 
"I know that you feel
constrained, my daughter, and while I can understand your position, there is
not much I am able to do without your father present.
 
I know that you have tended to flout convention at times when the
rules were irrational, and I encouraged you in that, often times to his
dismay.
 
Perhaps I should not
have."

"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
.

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 neighborhoods.
 
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.