Page 16 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

All the hackles Greville had thought worn off by his sojourn at sea arose anew as he watched this sprig of nobility greet Miss Neville. Though he felt sympathy for Miss Holton’s addendum of an introduction, most of his brain was occupied in fiercely resenting how Lord Trowbridge, while bowing and murmuring the appropriate courtesies, managed to sneak a quick, full-body inspection of Amanda Neville.

The swift appreciation registering in his eyes told Greville he found Miss Neville a sweetmeat he’d like to devour on the spot.

Greville struggled to rein in an unexpectedly fierce emotion that could only be jealousy. Why should he be so angry at Trowbridge? No man breathing could look at Amanda Neville without reacting in that manner. Knowing he looked at her like that himself, he should hardly resent another man doing so.

That didn’t mitigate the fact that he minded it very much. Or perhaps it was the unconscious swagger that said Trowbridge, as an earl’s son, thought he had an inherent right to her admiration in return.

In the meantime, Mr Williams was continuing, ‘Miss Neville is to go London shortly for her come-out, are you not, ma’am?’

‘I am indeed, Mr Williams. How kind of you to remember.’

‘How could I forget, when your leaving will deprive the county of its greatest beauty?’ he replied with ponderous gallantry. ‘And one of our most tireless workers. Since the tragic death of her mother last summer, Miss Neville has taken over as chatelaine of her father’s house and angel of mercy for the tenants. Ask Father Bricknell at the church or any farmer in the parish, they’ll tell you no one in need fails to receive Miss Neville’s gracious attentions.’

‘You are too generous, Mr Williams,’ Miss Neville protested, her cheeks colouring, which only enhanced her loveliness—unfortunately, Greville thought, his fingers curling into fists as he resisted the urge to plant a facer in the middle of Trowbridge’s handsome aristocratic nose.

‘Ashton’s loss will be London’s gain, then,’ Trowbridge said. ‘What a charming addition to society you will be, Miss Neville.’

‘Will you be in town for the Season, Lord Trowbridge?’ she asked.

‘I’m in London whenever Parliament is in session, though assisting my father with his work in the Lords generally keeps me so occupied that I don’t take part in many society entertainments. I see I shall need to change that.’

While Miss Neville blushed anew at his implication, Mr Williams said, ‘Indeed, Miss Neville is quite interested in politics. Reads all the London papers and always asks for a report of what’s going on when I return from town. Miss Neville, Lord Trowbridge’s father has much influence with the current government, being often consulted by the Prince and Prime Minister. You will certainly wish to make the acquaintance of all his family while you are in town.’

The shy smile she gave Trowbridge had Greville clenching his jaw. ‘I’ve read much in the journals of Lord Ravensfell, particularly in his capacity as advisor to Lord Wellington and Lord Castlereagh at the Congress of Vienna,’ she said. ‘I should be honoured to meet your family, my lord.’

Trowbridge bowed again. ‘I shall tell Mama to call upon you as soon as you get to town. Will Lord Bronning be taking a house there?’

‘No, Papa dislikes the city. Besides which, having always some new project or planting that requires his supervision, he hates being long from home. I will be residing with Lady Parnell in Upper Brook Street.’

‘Excellent!’ Trowbridge said. ‘Lady Parnell is one of Mama’s dearest friends. We will certainly make a visit after your arrival…though I hope I may see you again sooner than that.’ He gave her a significant look, to which Mr Williams added a wink.

To Greville’s disgruntlement, she replied with the expected invitation. ‘If time allows, you must dine at Ashton before you leave Devon. Papa would be delighted to meet you, Lord Trowbridge. He also has investments at Honiton and might be able to add some insight about the process. As for you, Mr Williams, we’ve not had the pleasure of an extended visit with you and Mrs Williams for far too long.’

Lord Trowbridge smiled, like a sleek, satisfied cat that has just polished off the mouse population of the barn. ‘I should like that very much.’

‘Mrs Williams will be charmed as well,’ her neighbour said. ‘A bit of merriment will do your poor papa good after the sadness of last summer, eh?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll send a note to the Grange.’

‘We shall all look forward to it,’ Lord Trowbridge said.

‘Haven’t we kept the horses standing long enough?’ Miss Holton inserted, her tone acerbic. ‘They must be getting chilled.’

Greville sympathised with her annoyance. Out or not, it couldn’t be very appealing to a girl to be totally ignored while men made much of her beautiful cousin.

Not that Miss Neville could help being beautiful. And irritated as Greville was by the invitation she’d extended, with her close neighbour hosting a distinguished guest, there was almost no polite way she could have avoided issuing one. Unfortunately, since Lord Bronning had insisted on treating him like a guest, he’d probably have to suffer being present at that dinner, even though Trowbridge appeared to be exactly the sort of complacent, self-satisfied aristocrat Greville found most annoying.

After an exchange of farewells, Williams and Trowbridge returned to their curricle and the two vehicles drove off in opposite directions.

‘Well, that was certainly pleasant,’ Miss Holton remarked. ‘Being treated as if one were of no more importance than the carriage wheel.’

Glancing down at the girl’s affronted expression, Greville had to grin. ‘A carriage wheel is not nearly as noisy and troublesome as you can be, Miss Holton,’ he teased, trying to amuse her out of her pique.

The ploy seemed to work, for her brow cleared and she threw him a saucy glance. ‘I would have thought you felt so too! Since the conversation never allowed mentioning your relationship to a marquess, you might have been the other carriage wheel.’

‘Then we could have rolled away, could we not?’

Miss Holton giggled. ‘Oh, that we might have! Very pleased with himself, isn’t he, that Lord Trowbridge? I wonder he dares ride out in an open curricle, lest his Brutus-cut locks or his elegant cravat be disordered by the wind.’

‘You must not fault a town-bred lord from wishing to look his best, even in the country,’ Greville said mildly, recalling the days of his own sartorial splendour. Some imp of jealousy forced him to add, ‘A very handsome gentleman. Did you not think so, Miss Neville?’

‘He’s well looking,’ she allowed.

‘He’s just the sort of man you are looking for, Amanda!’ Miss Holton said. ‘Titled, influential political family, government connections. Having made his acquaintance now, you’ll be sure to see him again during your Season. You should be in alt!’

‘I would hope to know more of a man’s character before becoming overwhelmed with enthusiasm for his company,’ Miss Neville replied a bit sharply.

Trowbridge might well be a prime contender for Miss Neville’s hand, Greville realised; certainly he possessed all the right qualifications. Since Greville did not—and never would—he found the fact that she had not gone off into transports of delight over the earl’s son more satisfying than he ought.

‘It’s never good to assume virtue—or lack of the same—based solely on someone’s family name and connections,’ he said. Hadn’t he always been proof of that?

‘Meaning many a wastrel bears a title?’ Althea said. ‘From what I heard the girls at school discussing, it seems most spend their days in idleness and dissipation.’

‘London gentlemen, like any other group, consist of both good and bad individuals,’ Greville said. ‘Some of my Cambridge friends ended up being frugal, industrious guardians of their estates and family. Others…are less conscientious,’ he concluded, his own conscience smiting him at the knowledge of which category, until recently, he’d fallen into.

Still, he had to acknowledge that sticking in his gut, indigestible as a biscuit after two months at sea, was the idea of Trowbridge cosying up to Miss Neville.

Never before having seriously vied for any woman’s attention, he had little experience of jealousy. He found he didn’t much like the feeling.

‘You are quite right, Mr Anders,’ Miss Neville was saying. ‘One should refrain from judging upon first acquaintance. Character will out eventually, leading one to make a more informed decision later.’

Was that another subtle apology for her less-than-courteous initial treatment? With a swell of satisfaction that did much to dissipate his irritation, Greville hoped it was.

Around the next bend, they emerged from the stone walls sheltering the road to find spread out below them the small seaport of Salters Bay. An attractive collection of houses crowded together along several streets, their centre punctuated by the spire of a church, while in the far distance beyond a jetty unrolled the limitless vista of the sea.

‘A lovely view, is it not?’ Miss Holton asked.

‘Lovely indeed,’ he replied, feeling an instant connection to the tossing waves that had been the scene of his deepest desperation and the beginning of his transformation.

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