Page 14 of A Bride for the Baron

“Ashland!” Edmund pushed himself to his feet. “I had not expected you to call.”

“This is no social visit.” He drew off his gloves and tossed them in the direction of Foggin.

The footman scrambled to catch them both along with the greatcoat the viscount shrugged off. The poor footman looked so dismayed that Edmund wanted to assure him that Ashland treated everyone with the same contempt.

“I heard,” Ashland went on, as if he had not taken note of the footman, “about the fire at the Sanctuary Bay church, and I thought I should come and discover how bad it was.”

“It was very bad.” He hid his surprise. The viscount had never shown the least bit of interest about anything in the village. A hint of suspicion bubbled through him. If the viscount were the man the smugglers called his qualityship, he would be curious if anything pointing to the smugglers had been discovered in the ruins. “The building is completely destroyed.”

“I am sorry to hear that confirmed. Rumors reach one’s ears all the time, but I prefer to discover the truth for myself. If you have no objections, I would like to ride into the village and see what remains.”

“There is not much to see.”

“Even so, I would like to see it with my own two eyes.”

“Certainly.” He paused, then said, “As you have removed your outer coat, I assume there is more you wish to discuss with me before we leave for the village.” He gestured toward a chair near the hearth. “We may as well be comfortable by the fire before we venture out into the cold.”

“Quite so.” Ashland selected a chair as if he were doing Edmund a great favor.

How did one come to possess such hauteur? Ashland’s bearing suggested that his place was at the center in the universe and that everyone should acknowledge it. Did that mien come from being raised as a peer from birth? Could it be learned later in life? Not that he wanted to act as self-important as Ashland, but he could use the confidence such comportment inspired.

Another item to put on his list for his next conversation with Northbridge. He could ask his friend and former military commander such questions without the ridicule he would face if he addressed those questions to Ashland. That lesson he had learned all too well when he had asked Lady Eloisa about life among the ton. She had answered him, but later made a jest about it at his expense. The Beau Monde could be scathing to outsiders too eager to join the elite of the elite. They labeled those people encroaching mushrooms, but he had not expected, as a new baron, to be described in such terms.

Not until he had overheard Lady Eloisa use that exact term along with his name.

Edmund sat after offering to ring for a cup of something warm for the viscount. When Ashland said that was unnecessary, Edmund asked, “What did you want to discuss?”

“Rumors.”

“You will need to be more specific. Sanctuary Bay is always rife with rumors.” He allowed himself a cool smile. “Some are true. The trick, as I learned during my time in the army, was to determine which are true and which are simple conjecture fueled by repetition.”

Ashland’s eyes narrowed, and Edmund knew that the viscount had not anticipated such a retort from him. If Ashland thought him nothing but a harebrained newcomer to the Polite World, reminding the viscount that Edmund had seen battle on the Continent was not a bad thing.

“That is true,” Ashland said, continuing to appraise Edmund. Was he surprised by what he saw? No hint of his thoughts were revealed on his carefully schooled face.

“Are there particular rumors that you wish to discuss?”

“Rumors about the smugglers who work out of Sanctuary Bay.”

Edmund kept his fingers from digging into the upholstery and his shoulders from stiffening. The viscount’s words disclosed more than his face did, and Edmund suspected his cool composure was a pose. Two could play that game, so he sank back in his chair, crossing one foot over the opposite knee.

“Again,” he said, “I need you to be more specific. Smugglers and their exploits are a major source of rumors throughout Britain.”

“True. I shall be specific.” He pyramided his fingers in front of his face. “Rumor says that the vicar and his sister are now living here at Meriweather Hall. Is that true?”

“Yes.” He was shocked by the abrupt turn in the conversation. Why would Ashland be interested in where the Fenwicks were staying in the wake of the fire? “I thought we were talking about rumors of the smugglers.”

“We are. Other rumors have reached my ears. Rumors of smugglers using the church as a place to store their shipments.”

It took every ounce of his control to ask in a placid voice, “Are you accusing the Fenwicks of assisting the smugglers?”

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