Persuasion. Brenda Joyce

then he laughed through his tears. The bastard had Amelia Greystone.

      Why had she come to the service, damn it! Why had she barged into his home? Why hadn’t she changed at all? Damn her! So much had changed. He had changed. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore!

      He cursed Amelia again and again, because he lived in darkness and fear, and he knew that there was no way out and that the light she offered was an illusion.

      * * *

      “AMELIA, DEAR, WHY are you packing up my clothing?”

      Two days had passed since the funeral. Amelia had never been as preoccupied. As she prepared to close up the house, her mind kept straying from the tasks at hand. Frankly, she had been worrying about Grenville’s children ever since the funeral. She was going to have to call upon them and make certain that all was well.

      She smiled at Momma, who was lucid now. They were standing in the center of her small, bare bedchamber, a single window looking out over the muddy front lawns. “We are going to spend the spring in town,” she said cheerfully. But she wasn’t truly cheerful. She realized she was reluctant to leave Cornwall now. She would not be able to offer comfort to those children if she were miles and miles away.

      Garrett’s heavy footfall sounded in the corridor outside of Momma’s bedchamber. Amelia paused as the heavyset manservant appeared on the threshold of the room. “You have a caller, Miss Greystone. It is Mrs. Murdock, from St. Just Hall.”

      Amelia’s heart lurched. “Momma, wait here! Is anything wrong?” she cried, already dashing past the Scot and racing down the hall.

      “She seems rather distressed,” Garrett called after her. He did not follow her as he knew his duty well; Momma was almost never left alone.

      The gray-haired governess was pacing in the great hall, back and forth past the two red-velvet chairs that faced the vast stone hearth. A huge tapestry was hanging on an adjacent wall, over a long, narrow wooden bench with carved legs. The floors were stone, and covered with old rugs. But a new, very beautiful, gleaming piano was in one corner of the room, surrounded by six equally new chairs with gilded legs and gold seats. The instrument and the chairs were a gift from the dowager Countess of Bedford, recently given to Julianne.

      Mrs. Murdock did not have anyone with her.

      Amelia realized she had secretly hoped that the governess had brought the baby. She dearly wished to see and hold her again. But her disappointment was foolish. The child hardly needed to drive through the chilly Cornish countryside.

      “Good day, Mrs. Murdock. This is such a pleasant surprise,” she began, when she wished to demand if anything was amiss.

      Mrs. Murdock hurried toward her as Amelia left the stairs, and tears quickly arose. “Oh, Miss Greystone, I am at a loss, we all are!” she cried. She seized Amelia’s hands.

      “What has happened?” Amelia said with dread.

      “St. Just Hall is in a state,” she declared, her second chin wobbling. “We cannot get on!”

      Amelia put her arm around her and realized she was trembling, she was that agitated. “Come, sit down and tell me what is wrong,” she said soothingly.

      “The baby cries day in and day out. She is hardly nursing now! The boys have decided to do as they please—they are running wild! They will not attend the classroom, they defy Signor Barelli, they are running about the grounds, as ill-mannered as street urchins. Yesterday Lord William took a hack out—by himself—and he was gone for hours and hours! And we could not find John—as it turned out, he had gone into the attics and hid!” She started to cry. “If they did not need me so, I would leave such a horrid place.”

      She hadn’t said a word about Grenville. “The boys are surely grieving. They are good boys, I saw that, they will soon stop misbehaving.” Amelia meant her every word.

      “They miss their mother, we all do!” She choked on a sob.

      Amelia clasped her shoulder. “And his lordship?”

      Mrs. Murdock stopped crying. A moment passed before she said, “The earl has locked himself in his rooms.”

      Amelia tensed. “What do you mean?”

      “He has not come out of his apartments since the funeral, Miss Greystone.”

      * * *

      AN HOUR LATER, AMELIA FOLLOWED Mrs. Murdock into St. Just Hall, shaking the rain from her coat. It was so silent inside the marble-floored foyer that she could have heard a pin drop. Outside, the rain beat down on the windows and the roof. For that, she was somewhat thankful, as it drowned out the sound of her thundering heart.

      Keeping her voice low, she said, “Where are the children?”

      “When I left, they had both gone outdoors. Of course, it is raining now.”

      If the boys were still outside, they would become terribly ill. A liveried manservant appeared and Amelia handed him her soaking wet coat. “What is your name, sir?” she asked firmly.

      “Lloyd,” he said, bowing.

      “Are the boys within?”

      “Yes, madam, they came in an hour ago, when it began to rain.”

      “Where were they?”

      “I suspect they were in the stables—they were covered with hay, and they both had an odor.”

      At least they were safely within. She glanced at Mrs. Murdock, who was apparently awaiting her lead. Amelia cleared her throat. Her heart raced even more swiftly. “And his lordship?”

      A look of dismay flitted across the servant’s face. “He remains inside his rooms, madam.”

      She inhaled nervously and said, “Tell him Miss Greystone has called.”

      Lloyd hesitated, as if considering an objection. Amelia nodded with encouragement and he left. Suddenly Mrs. Murdock said, “I will send for tea.” She fled.

      Amelia realized that they were all fearful of Grenville. Mrs. Murdock had not exaggerated, then. She began to pace. How could he lock himself in his rooms? On the drive over, Mrs. Murdock had revealed an astonishing and disturbing fact: he had not seen his children since the funeral, either.

      That was so very wrong. It was selfish!

      The servant appeared several moments later. He flushed and said, “I do not believe his lordship is receiving, Miss Greystone.”

      “What did he say?”

      “He did not answer the door.”

      Amelia hesitated. If he would not come downstairs to speak with her, she would have to go upstairs to speak to him. Filled with trepidation, she fought for courage and looked at Lloyd. “Take me to his rooms.”

      Blanching, the servant nodded and led her into the corridor and up the stairs.

      They paused before a heavy teakwood door. Lloyd was even paler now, and Amelia hoped Grenville wouldn’t dismiss him for his audacity in bringing her to his rooms. She whispered, “Perhaps you should go.”

      He fled.

      Her heart slammed. But there was no choice, so she lifted her hand and knocked sharply on his door.

      There was no response. She rapped on the door again.

      When only silence greeted her efforts, she took a fist and pounded on the door. “Grenville! Open up!”

      There was still no response, although she thought she heard a footstep. “Grenville!” She pounded on the door several times. “It is Amelia Greystone. I wish to—”

      And the door was flung open.

      Amelia did not finish her sentence. Simon stood before her, clad only in an unbuttoned shirt and his breeches. Half of his very muscular chest was revealed. He wore