Page 15 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

An instant later, she was in his arms. He revelled in this perfectly acceptable excuse to touch her…and if his fingers lingered a bit longer than absolutely necessary at her waist, allowing him to breathe in her light flowery scent and savour the sparking burn where his hands pressed against her—oh, that there were not so many layers of cloth and chamois between his skin and hers!—perhaps she’d attribute it to his not being recovered enough to complete the action swiftly.

Though her widened eyes and slight intake of breath as she looked up at him, standing motionless with his hands still upon her, hinted that perhaps she found the contact as stimulating as he did.

To his regret, she moved away, leaving his hands bereft. He turned to find Miss Holton staring at them curiously. ‘What would you know about smugglers, Miss Holton?’ he asked.

To his relief, the query deflected her attention, just as he’d intended. With a tell-tale blush that would doubtless have struck fear in the heart of Lord Bronning, who was already worried about his son’s possible involvement in the trade, she said quickly, ‘Oh, only what anyone hereabouts knows.’

Miss Neville gave her cousin a sharp look, leading Greville to suspect she’d just been struck by the same disagreeable suspicion. He sent her a sympathetic glance over Miss Holton’s head, chuckling softly when she rolled her eyes heavenwards.

Thank the Lord he was not responsible for trying to supervise the Holton chit!

‘The remnants of the hill-fort ramparts are this way.’ Miss Holton turned back towards him, offering her hand. Obligingly he tucked it under his arm and let her lead him about the area, duly admiring the bits of stone and mounds of earth that excited her enthusiasm, Miss Neville trailing after them like a long-suffering chaperon.

Although the idea of the delectable Miss Neville as anyone’s chaperon made his lips tremble with suppressed mirth.

Their inspection complete, they returned to the gig. ‘What else shall we see on the way to Salters Bay?’ he asked Miss Neville.

‘First we’ll pass the Trimmer, Smith and Mercer farms,’ Miss Neville replied, ‘all planted in grain. More pastures, and the cottages of Mrs Enders and the Hill family, lace-makers. Honiton is the centre of the trade, but the lace is actually made at home by a number of individual craftsmen. Papa assists those who occupy Ashton land, taking their products to Honiton in lieu of rent.’

‘We’re still on Ashton land, then?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Yes. We will be, almost all the way to Salters Bay.’

‘I must say, the estate is vaster than I’d imagined,’ Greville said.

‘It’s the largest landholding in this part of Devon,’ Miss Holton said proudly. ‘Nevilles have been here since the Conquest. The ruins of the original family dwelling, Neville Tour, sit on the cliffs just beyond where our road descends to Salters Bay. With its commanding view from the sea to the mouth of the Exe, it was constructed by the first Baron Bronning, who’d been charged with keeping the King’s peace from Exmouth to Exeter, from Honiton to Lyme Regis.’

‘Vast acreage, grazing of cattle and sheep, fields of grain, tin mines to the north, lace-making to the south…Ashton Grove estate is a most impressive property!’

‘It is indeed,’ Miss Neville replied, giving him a warm glance. ‘It’s a vast amount to handle and make profitable, too, especially these last few years since the war, with the price of corn so depressed. Papa is a very skilled manager.’

‘You are quite knowledgeable as well,’ he said with sincere admiration.

Miss Neville blushed and Greville suppressed a smile. Apparently she really was unused to compliments, whether about her beauty or her talents. Once again, he found her unexpected humility endearing.

‘I suppose, having ridden about with Papa since I was big enough to hold on to his saddle bow, I’ve learned a few things.’

‘Far more than just a few!’

After his first two days of observation, Greville had concluded with chagrin that Lord Bronning’s daughter knew far more about estate management than he had learned in nearly two years as titular manager of Blenhem Hill.

Even more surprising, he was finding himself actually interested in her observations about farming, flocks and fields.

Travelling about Lord Bronning’s estate had opened his eyes to the truth he had somehow missed all the time he’d been Blenhem Hill’s manager. Every interaction he observed between Miss Neville and the farmers demonstrated just how much a man of birth like Lord Bronning enhanced, rather than diminished, his stature and the respect in which he was held by intimately involving himself in the life of his land and tenants.

A fact the perceptiveness honed by his months aboard the Illustrious now made seem completely obvious.

What an opportunity he had wasted at Blenhem Hill! Not for the first time, he wished he might have the last three years back to live over again.

He wasn’t sure when or how he would make amends to the tenants his ignorance had harmed or the cousin whose trust he’d abused. But some day, after he obtained his release from the Navy and built a new career, he intended to do so.

‘Is your shoulder paining you, Mr Anders?’

Miss Holton’s enquiry interrupted his reflections. Realising he must have been frowning, Greville replied, ‘Not at all, Miss Holton. Just concentrating a bit too much on the road. Forgive me.’

‘Around this next curve is the Trimmer farm, which has quite an extensive orchard,’ Miss Neville said. ‘We can rest the horses—and probably beg a mug of their excellent cider.’

‘A mug of cider would be most welcome,’ Greville said, dismissing the last of his lingering regrets and turning his attention back to his companions.

Chapter Six

Several hours later, after cider at the farmhouse drunk under the still-bare branches of the apple trees, stops at several other farms and a visit with the lace-maker Mrs Ender, they left Ashton Grove land and began the descent to Salters Bay. Conversation languished as the narrow, twisting lane and the steep grade forced him to focus all his concentration on driving.

Though Greville didn’t mind the slow pace. He was in no hurry to get to their final destination and exchange the company of the glorious Miss Neville for that of a passel of crusty sailors. Though perhaps he ought to be.

In the camaraderie of admiring farms and fields, it had been all too easy to forget he had intended to keep his distance. Rather than tease and antagonise her, with each engaging conversation he moved closer to falling into an easy friendship with the beguiling Miss Neville, whose tantalising proximity made him yearn for the more intimate relationship that both honour and common sense forbade.

A good part of the effect she had on him, he reassured himself, doubtless arose from his being so long without attractive feminine company. The eager anticipation with which he’d awaited each of these day-long outings, the way it seemed as though the spring sun emerged after the chill clouds of winter when she smiled—all stemmed from a temporary fascination that would fade, as former fascinations had, once he could freely avail himself of the intimate contact he had lacked for so long.

Though he acknowledged, regretfully, such contact would probably not be possible until he was free of the naval service and residing in a metropolis large enough that one’s neighbour didn’t know about one’s every indiscretion.

Suddenly a carriage careened around the corner, headed right for them. Returning to his duties with a start, Greville hauled back hard on the reins, pain searing his recovering shoulder as he struggled to control the rearing, plunging horses.

The other carriage was doing the same, and after a few moments of chaos, with the ladies crying out and hanging on to rails, the groom from the other vehicle ran to the horses’ heads while two men jumped down and hurried over.

‘Miss Neville, Miss Holton, are you both unharmed? I fear, while showing off my new curricle for my guest, I took that last corner far too swiftly.’

‘Althea and I are quite safe, Mr Williams,’ Miss Neville assured the newcomer.

‘My thanks to the gentleman handling your reins for avoiding a collision! Had he not reacted so swiftly…’ Mr Williams’s voice trailed off and he shuddered.

‘Fortunately, he did a magnificent job, for which we are all grateful,’ Miss Neville said. ‘May I introduce our guest? Mr Anders, late of the Royal Navy, recently wounded in action off the Algerine coast, is staying with us as he recovers. Mr Williams, our nearest neighbour, has property that marches with Papa’s to the south-east.

After bows exchanged all around, Greville said, ‘You were just as responsible for averting disaster, Mr Williams. I’m only glad we were able to avoid injury to the horses and assembled company.’

‘Amen to that, Mr Anders. Now, ladies,’ Mr Williams continued, ‘may I present my own guest, whom I was foolishly trying to impress with the speed of this vehicle! Lord Trowbridge, son of the Earl of Ravensfell. I have the honour of hosting him whilst he looks over the mills in Honiton as a possible investment for his papa. Lord Trowbridge, let me offer the pleasure of acquaintance with Miss Neville, the loveliest lady in Devon, daughter of my good friend and neighbour Lord Bronning! And Lord Bronning’s niece, Miss Holton.’

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