Persuasion (10 page)

“Thank you, Mr. Hayes. I am appreciative. This is Miss Greystone. Did my son ask for supper trays?”

“Yes, he did, my lord, and you will have them within a half an hour. May I show you to your rooms?”

“I think that is a good idea.” Grenville looked at her. “You do not mind sharing a room, with your mother?”

“I prefer it that way,” she said.

“Good. I will see you at sunrise, then.” He hesitated, his gaze intense upon her face. “Amelia, make no mistake, I am very appreciative that you are here with my family.”

And she realized that Grenville needed her, too.

London, April 19, 1794

S
HE
HAD
NEVER
BEEN
to Grenville’s London home. Amelia slowly moved around the extraordinary, lavishly furnished bedroom she had been given. The upper halves of the walls were painted pale green, the lower halves were molded wood, painted white. The white ceiling boasted mauve and green starburst plastering. The canopied bed had green floral curtains, the coverlets a paisley. Most of the furniture was gilded, and fine Aubusson rugs were underfoot. The fireplace was white plaster, with a huge gilded clock atop it.

It was well past midnight. They had arrived in town just an hour earlier. A handful of staff had greeted them, and Grenville had told her he would get the boys to bed himself. He had ordered a housemaid to show her upstairs, and she had been taken to this bedchamber.

The maid had made a mistake. She was not Grenville’s guest; she was his housekeeper. Tomorrow she would be given lodging appropriate for a servant.

We were friends once, and I do not think your position can change that.

Still dressed for travel in a pale blue jacket and skirt, Amelia sat down on a white ottoman. His implication had been clear—that they remained friends of a sort.

But there was a fine line between them now, she thought. On the one hand, she was in his employ; on the other, they shared a past and some affection for one another. A great many challenges faced them.

She had certainly just passed the longest day of her life. If she had been a mere housekeeper, it would not have felt that way! She wished for a brandy, but had already surmised that no decanter graced any table in the room.

The coach had been too small for them both. She had sat facing Grenville, with William beside her. In hindsight, facing him had probably been worse than being seated beside him. She had spent almost eighteen hours trying not to meet his gaze, determined not to feel his presence or experience any attraction to him.

But she had looked at him, repeatedly, although she had pretended to read for most of the trip. The boys and their father had kept up a nearly constant conversation, except when the boys had napped. They had discussed their studies—William excelled at languages, and was taking both French and German; their hobbies—John was apparently an excellent horseman, even at his young age; what they would do upon arriving in London—both boys wanted to go to the circus; and some recent world events. They had stopped three times, briefly, to change horses and answer nature’s call.

Amelia had been fascinated by every exchange. The boys adored Simon; he adored them. How was it possible that he had not been in residence over the years? Had Mrs. Murdock been exaggerating?

Every now and then, as she had stolen a glance at him over the edge of her book, it had been impossible not to marvel at how handsome and noble he was. But he had caught her in the act, more often than not. When their gazes met, he had looked away, as she had. But the tension between them remained.

She stared at the beautiful room. It seemed obvious to her during the journey that he had been determined to treat her as his housekeeper, just as she had been determined to remain in that role. It had been difficult and awkward. She wasn’t sure why he had slipped into the informality of friendship last night. She supposed that it was probably best that they tried to remain in the roles of employer and employee, as much as was possible. But she also knew that when he needed her, she would gladly return to being his friend.

The day had been the most trying of her life, she decided, sighing. She was so glad it was over. But one fact was glaring—she was not immune to her employer. His presence overwhelmed her.

She slowly got up. In any case, she could brood about it at another time. They had just arrived in town, and she had been hired to manage his household and help in the raising of his sons. She had so much to do!

She was tired—exhausted—but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. The house was mostly empty; two maids, a manservant, the boys and Grenville were its only occupants. But by tomorrow evening that would change.

Rooms had to be aired. Menus had to be planned, meals served. Cook would not arrive in time to make even the evening meal, so she would have to make breakfast, lunch and supper herself. She did not mind. She wanted something to do!

Given the fact that she had an entire household to organize, with very little help, would she be able to see to the boys, as well? She began to worry. It would not hurt to take the boys on some kind of exciting outing, if she could. Or could she enlist Grenville to do so while she worked on the tasks necessary to getting the household up and running?

She paced. She already missed Lucille terribly. She was worried about her. She hoped Mrs. Murdock had kept her calm and content while traveling. She was so afraid the baby had fretted—and missed her. But not having the infant there tomorrow would allow her more freedom to take care of the rest of her responsibilities.

She needed a quill and parchment. She had so many lists to make, and while she was searching for writing instruments, she would also find herself a drink. She longed to sneak a peek at the boys, but as they were in the family wing of the house—where Grenville slept—that was not a good idea. She decided she must avoid that part of the house, at least for now, and especially at such a late hour.

His image assailed her, but not as he had been during their journey that day. Instead, she recalled him as he had been in the days after the funeral, locked in his rooms. His hair was down, he was more unclothed than clothed, and his smile was so very suggestive....

Her heart lurched and she shoved the recollection aside. That encounter must be forgotten! Determined, Amelia hurried across the room. As she did, she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror.

Her traveling ensemble was a sensible outfit, one she’d worn a hundred times. She would hardly turn heads in the robin’s-egg blue jacket and skirt. She’d already removed the simple beret, trimmed with ribbon, that she had been wearing. Her honey-colored hair had been teased and pulled back, one long coil hanging over her shoulder.

For one moment she stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were rosy, her gray eyes bright. It was as if she’d just taken a brisk walk upon the moors. But she wasn’t flushed from walking. Attraction to her employer had done that. She did not look plain now. She did not look like an aging spinster....

Then she dismissed her thoughts. It didn’t matter how she looked. She was not in Grenville’s home to parade before him. Besides, it was very late. She wasn’t going to run into anyone, and not Grenville—or she certainly hoped not.

Taking a candle in its holder, Amelia left the sanctuary of her temporary room.

She was not accustomed to the house. She had been led inside an imposing entry hall, with high ceilings and marble floors, then ushered into the south wing of the house. Grenville and the boys had gone off in the opposite direction. Every door she had passed on her way up to this guest chamber on the second floor had been closed. Now, she traversed a mostly dark hall, a single pair of wall sconces boasting lit candles. The stairwell was dark. The candle she held barely helped her see.

She made her way down the stairs carefully. The hall below was better lit and she followed it, intending to return to the entry hall. From there, she would surely find a salon with a
secretaire
and a bar cart. Or perhaps she would find the library.

But a pair of handsome doors was just ahead, wide open. She could tell from the glow that a fire was burning in the hearth. She faltered. Only one person could be within that room, at this hour.

Grenville stepped abruptly onto the chamber’s threshold, holding a glass of wine in his hand.

Their gazes met. Amelia felt her heart surge.

“I heard footsteps.” He lifted his glass as if toasting her, but his thick lashes lowered. She had not a clue as to what he was thinking, or if he was displeased to find her wandering about his home at such an hour.

He had shed his jacket and waistcoat. He wore only a beautiful lawn shirt with cascading lace lapels and cuffs, fawn-colored breeches and stockings and shoes. His hair remained tied back loosely, with many hanks falling about his shoulders. He slowly looked up. His gaze was unwavering upon her.

“I can’t sleep. I want to make a list. I have so much to do tomorrow.” How hoarse she sounded!

He stepped aside. “Only you would wish to make up lists at one in the morning.”

She hesitated. It was very late. Friends or not, she should not walk into that room—they should not be alone together. “Is that a criticism?”

“Hardly. It might even be a compliment.”

Their gazes met again. He looked away first. “Would you like a drink? It is bedtime, Amelia.”

His tone wasn’t exactly suggestive. Yet it wasn’t entirely formal, either. “I am your housekeeper,” she heard herself say. “Perhaps we should set our friendship aside entirely, now that we are in London?”

He shrugged, glancing at her. “Is that what you really wish to do?”

She was afraid to answer.

Suddenly his regard was intent. “I don’t think we can set our friendship aside, even if we wish to. And we have had a long day.” He turned and walked into the room, which was a library. Two walls were filled with bookshelves. Another wall was painted burgundy, and boasted a black-marble fireplace. The fourth wall boasted windows and doors that led to the gardens outside—or so she assumed. Amelia watched him set his glass down on a handsome side table, where several bottles of wine graced a silver tray. He poured a second glass.

He was right, she thought. They could pretend many things, but the truth would always be between them. The past would always be there, too. She wondered if traveling together had also disturbed him. “I suppose we must stumble about, finding our way as employer and housekeeper.”

He turned and smiled. “Yes, I think so. But I do not mind making up the rules as we go. Besides, I would like to have a drink with you.”

He was so calm, while she was filled with tension. Worse, his smile had made her heart somersault. She knew that she should take the writing materials she needed and go back to her room. She felt more attracted to him than ever before. “I’d like that, too.”

“Do you mind red? It is an exceptional French claret. But if you wish for white, I have a fine Burgundy in the house.”

She slowly walked inside, against all of her better judgment. Her heart drummed. “Thank you.” She took the glass from him, and took a much-needed sip. Then, as she realized she was standing much too close to him, she walked about the room, pretending to inspect it. “I expected you to be asleep by now.” She tried to sound casual, but their late-night glass of wine did not feel casual, and one glance in his direction told her that he was staring.

“I rarely sleep at this hour.”

She was surprised, facing him, some distance between them now. “Why not?”

He picked up his glass, settling his lean hip against the table. “Like you, I have trouble sleeping. There is always something to brood about.”

She realized she was noticing how his breeches molded his hips and thighs; she jerked her gaze away. “I assume the boys are sleeping?”

“John was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.” Grenville smiled. “William was asleep a moment later. They are exhausted.” He seemed to carefully note the distance she had put between them—the length of the sofa, at least.

She said, “I have so much to do tomorrow. I have an entire house to familiarize myself with and to organize. But the boys need direction. Do you have any interest in taking them for an afternoon outing?”

His stare moved slowly over her features. “You need not build Rome in a day.”

When he looked at her mouth—as if he were thinking very illicit thoughts—it was difficult to think clearly. “You and your sons must be fed, at the very least.”

“We will manage.”

“I happen to be an excellent cook.”

His eyes widened. He set his glass down so hard as he stood up that red wine spilled over its rim. “Absolutely not!”

Why would he object to her cooking for him and his children? “Grenville, you must eat. At sunrise, I will send a maid out for fresh eggs and bread. I can make excellent eggs and sausages—”

“Absolutely not!” he repeated, seeming aghast.

She hugged her glass to her chest. His gaze slammed to her hands—her breasts—and lifted.

“Amelia, you are not an ordinary servant. I will not treat you as if you were one. You may supervise breakfast—and lunch and supper—but you make certain one of the housemaids cooks our meals. And if neither maid can manage that, we will adjourn to the St. James Hotel.” He was final.

Should she be flattered? she wondered. “I really don’t mind, but I see that you have made up your mind.”

“I have.” He stared. “And as you are both my guest and in my employ, you will do as I wish.”

She felt like pointing out to him that she could not be both his guest and his housekeeper, just as she could not be both his friend and servant. But he had been explicit—he intended to make the rules of their relationship. “Very well. In any case, tomorrow will be a busy day. I appreciate the fact that you do not expect me to build Rome in a single day. However, I intend to try.”

He did not smile.

She wet her lips. “Are you all right? Is something wrong? I was trying to make a jest.”

He simply picked up his drink and began to slowly pace. “I cannot take the boys out tomorrow. I have a great deal to do myself,” he said.