Persuasion (15 page)

She was becoming angry with her sister. “I realize you remain furious with Grenville. And maybe he deserves your continued wrath. However, I think he should be given the benefit of the doubt. I am in his household now, and your warnings and suspicions will not change that.”

Julianne moaned. “You are digging in.”

“Yes, I am. But I need your help.” Finally, she softened. She took her sister’s hand. “I really do, Julianne. I need you as a sister, a friend and a confidante. Because St. Just and the children are depending upon me, and I must lean on you.”

Julianne hugged her. “You can always count on me, you know that. And you can count on Dom, too.”

Amelia hugged her back and stepped apart. “The boys are just beginning to recover from their mother’s death. They are very needy now. In a way, I am a substitute for Elizabeth.”

“Is that wise?”

“I don’t know. But I care for them deeply, and they need someone to show their lessons to, to take them strolling, to tuck them into bed.” She realized a tear had arisen. She wiped it away. “But it is Lucille I am so worried about. Lucille’s father might not come for her. Grenville loathes the sight of her, yet he has said he will raise her if he must. I am determined to reconcile them if the child’s father doesn’t come.”

“Why is there any doubt whether the babe’s father will come for her?”

“He is a bachelor, Julianne. It’s unlikely he will want to raise his child. Do you know Thomas Southland?”

“I think I have heard the name. I will ask Dominic about him.”

“Thank you.” Amelia took her hand and squeezed it.

Julianne said, more quietly, “Well, your mind is made up. I still do not think it wise for you to be so immersed in St. Just’s family, to be so concerned for them. I am going to pray that you keep your distance from him, except as a housekeeper and a friend.”

Amelia smiled slightly.

Julianne walked to the tea cart and put pastries on two plates. She handed one to Amelia, who set it aside on a small table by the sofa. Then she poured tea, handing Amelia a cup and saucer. Amelia thanked her.

Julianne sat beside her. “Have you really forgotten the past? Have you genuinely recovered from it?”

Amelia took a sip of her tea before setting the cup down. “I thought I had forgotten the past entirely, but the truth is, seeing him again brought every detail back. But I have reminded myself that the past is simply history.”

“Have you talked about it?”

She froze. “Not precisely. There have been references on his part. I prefer to avoid the subject.” She added, “We know that we share a history. But we are both determined not to repeat past mistakes.” But was she deluding herself? Simon would eagerly seduce her if he could—she was almost certain.

“You are very brave.”

“No, I am frightened. I meant it when I said Simon has changed and that he is deeply troubled. The other reason I have called, beyond simply seeing you, was because I desperately need your advice.”

Julianne stared. “You are worried—and not about a seduction.”

“I am very worried. His behavior has been so odd.”

“How so?”

“He was in a terrible rush to return to London, doing so in two days, and he seemed afraid to leave his sons behind. They could have traveled at a more leisurely pace with Momma, Garrett and some other staff. Instead, he insisted the two small boys travel with him.”

“Perhaps that was a reaction to Lady Grenville’s sudden death?”

“No. After the funeral, he locked himself in his rooms. I was asked to intervene. He was inebriated, and he said the oddest things.”

“Again, his wife just died. Good marriage or not, he was grieving for her, Amelia.”

“He told me directly that he was not grieving for her, although he was sorry she had passed.”

“That is a strange statement.” Julianne seemed taken aback.

“He started to ramble and he was angry. He spoke of men dying every day—it almost sounded as if he were talking about the war.”

Julianne paled. “Was he?”

“I don’t know. But he keeps a pistol in his desk drawer, Julianne. He keeps it loaded.”

When Julianne stared, Amelia added, “The night we arrived in town, a shutter came loose and started banging on the side of the house. There was nothing unusual about it, but Simon seized the pistol and ran to the front door as if he expected marauders to be there!”

“That is very odd,” Julianne said, her eyes wider now.

“His behavior is so strange. I caught him in a nightmare the other day, Julianne. He said there was blood everywhere and he could not stand it. He also said, and I am quoting, ‘They are coming for me.’ When I asked him what he was dreaming about, he became very evasive, as if he did not recall. But I did not believe him. I know he recalled that dream.”

“Elizabeth died in childbirth—maybe he was dreaming about her,” Julianne said, but her tone was doubtful.

“I briefly considered that, but I am certain he was not dreaming about her.”

“What could the statement ‘They are coming for me’ mean?” Julianne asked. “Is he being pursued? He is the Earl of St. Just!”

Amelia sat beside her. “I have no idea. But I can tell you he was very distraught upon awakening. It was a terrific nightmare! He did finally confess to having nightmares frequently.”

“Dominic had nightmares when we first met.”

Amelia felt her heart lurch with dread. “Julianne, do you think he has been to France, and has been in the war, somehow?”

“Why would I think that?” Julianne asked.

She swallowed and said, “He is friendly with Warlock.”

Julianne had been taking a sip of tea. Instantly, she put her teacup down, and the saucer rattled. “We should not jump to conclusions.”

“You rarely spoke of Sebastian, Julianne, when you returned home after Bedford left you and went back to France. But you made two things clear. First, that you did not like him at all, and second, that he was Bedford’s spymaster.”

“He was. Dom jumped through Warlock’s every hoop. And I believe Warlock is still in the game of war and espionage, although I rarely cross paths with him now that Dominic is an ordinary civilian.” She was sitting very rigidly.

“I am so worried!” Amelia cried. “Simon is never in residence with his family, Julianne. That is a hard, cold fact.”

“So you are beginning to think he is in France when he is not with his household?”

“I hope that is not the case! He is probably at a northern estate—he has several large estates in the north.”

“France is in a reign of terror. I know you are not half as political as I am, but you should know how dangerous it is to be in France, unless you are an
Enragé,
like Hébert and Tallien. Entire villages have been slaughtered, Amelia, when just a family or two dares to oppose the revolutionary regime. Guilt is by association! The cause I once supported is gone. It has been taken over by a group of insanely radical tyrants, not the least of whom is Robespierre. No one is allowed to dissent. Look at what happened to Georges Danton.”

Amelia gasped. “He cried out a name in his nightmare—it sounded like Danton!”

Julianne was pale. “Danton was beheaded a few weeks ago. He was a Jacobin, Amelia, but he turned against Robespierre and paid the ultimate price for it.”

“I must have misheard,” Amelia said, her heart racing. “Simon would not be dreaming about a Jacobin who was recently guillotined!” But he had cried that there was so much blood and he could not stand it.... Amelia leaped up and began to pace.

“I cannot imagine St. Just being an agent, the way Dom was,” Julianne said, her voice low. She stood. “He is a recluse, Amelia.”

“I hope you are right, that he is a recluse suffering from a bad humor. Simon never talks politics. He does not seem at all interested in the war. I am undoubtedly making much ado about nothing,” Amelia said. She really could not imagine Grenville in France, and if so, doing what? Spying, as Bedford had done? Commanding troops, as other British noblemen were doing? It made no sense! “Besides, he so loves his boys. I don’t think he would put his life in danger in any way, not when they need him so.”

Julianne put her arm around her. “Just because he has bad dreams, we should not assume he is dreaming about the war. He could be dreaming about anything, Amelia. You do not know that you heard him cry out Georges Danton’s name. And even if you did, perhaps they were friends before the war. Dom knew so many Frenchmen, most Englishmen do. But I am going to ask Dominic directly what he knows about St. Just.”

“I think that is a good idea. Surely if Simon were involved in Warlock’s schemes, Dominic would know.” Amelia prayed Bedford would confirm that Simon was simply a reclusive Brit.

Julianne stared at her. “You keep calling him Simon.”

She flushed. “It is a slip of the tongue.”

“Is it?” Julianne crossed her arms. “Surely you do not call him Simon when you are asking him what his preference is for the next day’s meals?”

“No, I do not.” But she knew her color had increased.

“I am worried about you,” Julianne said. “Be honest with me now. Do you still love him?”

Amelia felt her tension explode. “How can you ask me such a thing?”

“I can, and I am.”

“I am fond of him and I am worried about him. That is all.”

Julianne shook her head. “You still love him. You have never stopped loving him. No good can come of this, Amelia. He used you once—can’t you see? He will only wind up using you again.”

“Not if I am careful,” she protested. But she realized she did not believe her own words.

Julianne gave her a pitying look.

* * *

A
MELIA
PEEKED
INTO
the dining room. Grenville sat at the head of the table, John on one side, William on the other. They were finishing up the main course—roasted venison with dumplings and
haricot verts.
The table was set with gold linens, gilded flatware and plates, white candles in brass candlesticks and a centerpiece of yellow roses. The boys were so handsome in their navy blue coats. Grenville was magnificent in a bronze dinner jacket, smiling at something John had just said.

Her heart lurched at the sight. She stared almost helplessly at the family scene.

Grenville’s smile changed his entire face. John was laughing, too. Even William, who always tried to be so grown-up, was smiling now....

They were talking about a new yacht and a voyage up the river.

She stepped into the doorway and signaled the liveried servant who stood by the sideboard. Immediately he began to remove the family’s dinner plates and scrape away stray crumbs from the table. Satisfied that not a morsel of food or even a piece of lint would mar the tidiness of the table, Amelia glanced up and met Grenville’s eyes.

His smile faded. His gaze intensified. The look felt entirely significant. But Amelia somehow nodded politely at him and followed the waiter out of the room.

However, her heart continued to pound as she strode briskly after Peter into the kitchens. “Dessert is to be served,” she declared.

What had that long, intense look meant?

Was she in danger of imminent seduction?

Was she already in love?

As a beautiful sterling platter filled with freshly baked pastries and tarts was bustled from the kitchens, she inhaled. The conversation she’d had that afternoon with Julianne remained etched upon her mind.

He was not involved in the war and the revolution, she was certain. He hardly ever glanced at the newspapers, when the headlines were screaming with news of France or a pronouncement made by Pitt or his war secretary, Windham. She hadn’t ever seen a journal about the revolution and its effects upon society and Great Britain lying about the room. And he had never once mentioned the subject of war. Another person might think that odd—everyone talked about the war—but she did not. After all, Lady Grenville had died so recently and his hands were full.

He was having odd nightmares and he was troubled, but he was simply a recluse prone to dark moods. He had to be.

Julianne was right. She was deeply involved with his family. She was so concerned about them—about him. But he was not playing her. He was not using the recent tragedy to lure her more deeply into his web. That was a terrible thing to suggest!

The kettle was singing. Amelia filled a sterling teapot with the boiling water, despite Maggie’s protestations. A servant took the tray with the pot and its cups and saucers from her. She followed him back to the dining room.

As she entered, she saw that both boys were devouring their desserts. Grenville’s was untouched.

She happened to know that he did not care for sweets, but as the tea was served, she said, “Does the dessert displease you, my lord? Is there something else that we can bring you?”

He settled back in his chair, his gaze wandering slowly over her face. “Nothing displeases me at this moment.” He smiled. “Thank you for another lovely meal.”

She smiled back at him.

“That is all,” he told the servant. The waiter bowed and left the room. Grenville then looked at his sons. “You may be excused, if you wish.”

Amelia tensed, realizing that if the boys left, they would be alone. And John and William jumped up, almost simultaneously. John rushed to her as William said, “Thank you, Father.”

Amelia laid her hand on John’s head as Grenville said, “You are welcome.”

John grinned up at her. “You said you would tell us a story. Can you do so before we go to bed?”

She hesitated. Telling a story before their bedtime would require her to go upstairs, into the family’s private rooms. She had only been upstairs in the west wing during daylight hours, as she obviously had to supervise the management of that part of the house. She had found the time to do so when Grenville was out.

“Do you wish to tell the boys a story, or to read them one?” Grenville asked.

His regard was that of a very satisfied man.

“I would love nothing more,” she said, but her heart was slamming. Did she really want to venture upstairs at this hour? Yet wouldn’t he go into the library, as was his habit?

“Amelia will be up shortly. Why don’t you prepare for bed in the meanwhile,” Grenville suggested.