Page 13 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

Even if Papa intervened to safeguard her cousin from falling into some impropriety, it was likely that Amanda would still have to continue supervising the two. This would mean abandoning, before she’d even begun to act upon it, her new-minted intention to avoid Mr Anders.

Unfortunately, the prospect didn’t alarm her nearly as much as it ought to.

Which should’ve put her on her guard. Not only was she as vulnerable as Althea to having her reputation damaged by an over-close association with that gentleman, she’d had a potent lesson on the terrace in just how easy it was to fall under his spell. Tantalising as she—still, alas—found the notion of kissing him, it would be dangerously easy to be lured into improper behaviour.

Intriguing Anders might be, but after waiting so long to begin pursuing it, she had no intention of throwing away her lifelong dream of becoming a brilliant political hostess by compromising herself with a landless gentleman who possessed little more than a fine pedigree, a well-made body and a beguiling smile.

So she would just have to resist him. Upon that firm conclusion, she entered the parlour to find Papa finishing his sherry. Beside his chair, sipping a sherry of his own, stood Mr Anders.

Another of those annoying thrills rippled through her.

Willing it away, she noted he was properly attired in plain black evening dress, with a white-figured waistcoat beneath a modestly intricate cravat. With an inward smile, she recalled their discussion of Beau Brummell. Though his garb was simple, it was well cut and obviously of superior quality—and on him, elegant simplicity looked splendid.

She realised she was staring yet again and jerked her gaze away. Just then, the door opened and, in a flurry of apologies for her lateness, Althea hurried in.

‘As you see, our guest is finally able to join us this evening,’ Lord Bronning informed them as she bent to kiss his cheek. ‘Amanda, I trust you’ve instructed Cook to prepare something worthy of the occasion. Mr Anders, you’ve met my daughter, Miss Neville. Allow me to present my niece, Miss Holton, who always dines with us, although she is not officially out. As you see, we don’t stand on formality among family.’ His genial smile faded a bit. ‘After the events of last summer, we treasure those still left to us.’

‘It’s I who am honoured, my lord, at being included,’ Mr Anders replied.

Bows and curtsies exchanged, Amanda was about to take Anders’s arm when, to her surprise, her brother George strolled in. She felt a pang of both resentment and concern to see how Papa’s expression brightened upon realising that his son and heir had deigned to dine with them.

Fortunately, she was relieved to note, along with bestowing upon them that honour, George taken the trouble to remain sober, don fresh, crisply starched linen and wear proper evening dress, rather than show up still in riding breeches, as he had on several previous occasions.

It was Althea who offended propriety, dashing over to seize Mr Anders’s arm and claim his escort into the dining room. Not wishing to reprimand or argue with her—though Mr Anders would know as well as she did that, as the highest-ranking lady present, it was her responsibility to escort in their guest— Amanda gritted her teeth and took her father’s arm.

Her irritation over Althea’s lapse was mollified by observing her brother’s surprisingly good behaviour. Instead of remaining silent, staring moodily into his wineglass, as he had on the handful of other evenings he’d chosen to dine at home, George roused himself to enquire of his father how he had spent his day, then followed up by asking several quite intelligent questions about the state of the fields and cattle. Her heart twisted anew to observe how eagerly Papa responded to just the slightest indication of interest from his heir.

Poor Papa, who’d worked so tirelessly to exact a good return from a thin begrudging soil, deserved to turn over his acres to someone who loved them as he did, she thought, an angry tightness in her chest.

Still, the feeble interest George was now displaying was greater than she could remember his evincing upon any other recent occasion. Had her jobation of the other evening provoked some results after all?

Whatever the cause, George had definitely set himself to be pleasant. After speaking with Papa, he took a few minutes to tease Althea, who couldn’t seem to decide whether to be flattered or annoyed by this unexpected interest, before turning to Mr Anders to politely enquire after his health and add a compliment about his recent naval service.

‘You’re to report to the Coastal Brigade station?’ George was asking. ‘Will you be working with the revenue cutters based there?’

‘I’m not sure what my duties will be. I’m still not hale enough to man a tiller or haul a sail, but once I’ve recovered sufficiently to be of more use, I would expect to be assigned some duties. Although I understand Lord Englemere is working to obtain my release from the service, so I may not be here long enough to lend much assistance to the Navy in hampering the local trade.’

‘I’m sure the Gentlemen will be happy to hear that,’ George said. ‘Though the men hereabouts know every rock and inlet of this coast so well, not many cargoes are hampered by the excisemen’s presence.’

To Amanda’s surprise, her normally genial father frowned at his son. ‘And how would you know about the local trade?’

George shrugged. ‘Everything about the Gentlemen is common knowledge hereabouts. The Devon coast has been a hotbed of smuggling since the days of the ban on wool trade with Flanders.’

‘Though the wool is used locally, too,’ Amanda pointed out, trying to steer the conversation away from a topic that seemed to distress her Papa. ‘The Axminster Carpet works nearby recently began weaving floor coverings of exceptional beauty, some of the fibre in them from Ashton Grove sheep.’

Her father smiled at her. ‘We’ve built up quite a good herd. Devon soil is often poor; corn planting alone cannot always earn the tenants a sufficient income, especially with the fall of agricultural prices since the war.’

‘Although Papa encourages them to adopt the newest methods of enriching soil, rotating crops and planting new species,’ Amanda continued, with a jerk of her chin at George, trying to silently key him to continue the conversation.

Though she failed to catch her brother’s eye, Mr Anders joined in. ‘I’ve not yet had a chance to see the fields and flocks, but I did walk a bit about the terrace today. The house and grounds are exceedingly lovely, Lord Bronning. I understand from Miss Neville that their pleasing arrangement was the work of renovations undertaken by your wife.’

Anders could scarcely have hit upon a better means of delighting her father than by praising the lady he’d loved so dearly. Even if he were not the most attractive man she’d yet to meet, Amanda could have kissed him.

She almost forgave him spending time as a common sailor.

‘Thank you, Mr Anders,’ her father was replying, a smile of genuine delight lighting his face. ‘The renovation project was the consuming passion of my dear wife. The magnificent court and gardens you enjoyed today are her legacy to every succeeding generation of Nevilles. Only the children she bore me are dearer to me.’

‘’Tis a legacy every observer must cherish,’ Mr Anders said—and focused on Amanda such an potent, heated gaze she felt scorched right to her stays.

Surely he wasn’t saying he wanted to cherish…her, was he? Rattled by the intensity of his eyes, she tried to shake off that disconcerting, and surely erroneous, conclusion. Indeed, she must be mistaken, for no one else seemed to find anything untowards about his statement. Oblivious to any undercurrents, her brother continued, ‘What type of ship were you on, Mr Anders?’

‘The Illustrious was a two-decker, 74-gun ship of the Common Class.’

‘How well would she sail, compared to the Coastal Brigade’s revenue cutters?’

‘Since I’ve not seen the vessels yet, I couldn’t say. The 74-gun is considered a good sailor for a line-of-battle vessel, well proportioned and weatherly. I understand the cutters, with fore and aft and square sails on a single mast, are quite swift. And very busy, if the county is as favoured by smugglers as I’ve heard.’

‘The cutters might be busy,’ George replied with a laugh, ‘but they aren’t usually successful, according to the sailors at the Sloop and Gull.’

Her father frowned. ‘The Sloop and Gull isn’t the best place to honour with your custom, George. It’s known to be frequented by free-traders—dangerous men, many of them.’

‘Really, Papa, I’m not a child. The sailors there are just drinking and lazing about. As for dangerous, “Rob Roy” and his men have never harmed anyone that I’ve heard of. Such wonderful stories of his exploits are told in the pubs in Beer. Besides, I wouldn’t be too pious about disapproving of the trade. I’ll wager there wasn’t any duty paid on the brandy in our cellars.’

To Amanda’s indignation, her father flushed. ‘True, there’s always been trade, and Rob Roy has been an honest dealer. But lately others, more ruthless than he, have been contesting his control of the coast. There’ve been some ugly skirmishes, I’ve heard.’

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