Page 9 of The Scarred Duchess
Bennet watched him pass through the Longbourn gates and wondered what his elder brother had done to so lose that man’s regard.
An hour later, Bennet leant back against the wall of The Red Bull in Meryton and glanced around the common room. The inn was busy. To his trained eye, Melville needed more servants. As that thought almost whispered away, the man himself stopped and enquired of Bennet’s needs.
“I am very well. You, though, need more hands.”
Melville nodded. “My wife is usually here charming our guests. She is currently in her confinement with our first child.”
“My congratulations to you both. Please accept my good wishes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Both men looked across the room to the entrance. A leanman sporting an eye patch surveyed the crowd. He could not suppress the danger his stance radiated; those standing near him seemed to edge away from him.
“I believe your party has arrived, Colonel.” Melville gulped. He looked as if he wished to say more, but the uncertainty on his face spoke volumes.
“Reeves,” called Bennet. He raised his hand.
Reeves inclined his head in recognition and, with uncommon agility, crossed the room. “Colonel,” he acknowledged.
“Melville, allow me to introduce Sergeant Reeves. He is joining me at Longbourn.” Reeves nodded. “Reeves, this is the proprietor, Mr Melville, our newest friend.” He said the last word with much emphasis.
Reeves acknowledged the command. He turned to the inn’s owner. “Nice to have a friend in a new town. Know you can call on me should needs be.”
Melville exhaled. “That is mighty kind. Thank you. Thank you, both.” He quickly left them.
“Your plan, Colonel?”
“The Hills arrive later this week. A few changes at Longbourn are required, which I shall allow them to address.” He eyed his armourer. “Meryton is not the Seven Dials. Try not to cause too much of a stir, hm?”
CHAPTER SIX
On Bennet’s return to Longbourn, Hodgeson announced a caller awaited him and extended a tray bearing a card. Bennet glanced at it.
Mr Charles Smyth, Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire.
“Is it commonplace for neighbours to call outside social hours?”
Hodgeson stared at him. “Was there anything else, sir?”
Bennet bit his bottom lip. He would miss Hodgeson’s impertinence, but the pastures called, and this old horse required a corral away from Longbourn. “No. Return to your duties.” He walked to his study and found his visitor sitting in a chair next to a warm fire, reading a book.
“Mr Smyth, I presume?”
The man looked up. “Goodevening, Bennet.”
Bennet’s eyes widened.Lambrook? Here in Hertfordshire?“You seem to have lost your way, my lord. London and Somerset County are much to the south and west.”
The earl gestured to the opposite chair by the fireplace. He had perched two glasses of port upon the small table between them. Once they were situated, Lord Lambrook explained himself. “Darcy and I went years without our letters answered. We feared you dead. The War Office would not confirm your demise.”
“No, they would not have.”
“I often wondered what you had got yourself into. Do I ask too much?”
“After some time in the colonies, I spent a few years in India. It is not a time I care to relive.”
The earl frowned. “Say no more. I understand.” He held up the journal he had been reading. “This explains the cause of the entail.” He did not mask his distasteful expression.
“I thank you for your assistance.” Bennet enquired of the obvious. “‘Smyth’? Why Smyth, Lambrook?”
