DISCERNING GENTLEMAN'S GUIDE, THE

by HEATH, VIRGINIA

  She stared at him thoughtfully and he found himself hoping that she might be re-evaluating her opinion of him. ‘I am glad to hear you say that,’ she finally said before closing the door behind her.

  * * *

  Amelia did not see him the following day until he made a late appearance at his mother’s reading salon. He tried to slip in unnoticed while Lady Cecily was reading a sugary poem and stood leaning against the wall in the furthest and most unobtrusive corner of the room. However, his arrival caused a stir regardless. The Potentials were out in force and were falling over each other to impress him with their suitability to be the next duchess. Lady Cecily began to aim her recital directly at him with limpid eyes and trembling lips, to the consternation of Lady Priscilla and Lady Eugenie. As the ethereal Cecily continued to spout rhyming adoration at the Duke, all they could do was primp and preen and hope that he noticed them; Amelia was very pleased to note that he didn’t. It said something about his character that he was not impressed by their obvious public displays, but it was hugely entertaining to watch, especially as she was sitting next to Sir George, who kept making humorous insults which made her giggle.

  Unconsciously, her eyes kept darting back to where he stood, seemingly engaged in the readings. Since yesterday, the Duke of Aveley had occupied the majority of her thoughts, leaving Amelia feeling decidedly off-kilter. The man’s physical appeal was undeniable. She had known that since the very first moment she had clapped eyes on him. But Amelia was not so shallow to allow that sort of superficial attraction to affect her judgement of a person, especially a person in possession of a title. She was far too intelligent to be won over by a pair of striking blue eyes and a broad pair of shoulders. Her pulse might well ratchet up several notches whenever she was near him, and she might well have an overwhelming desire to pat her hair and smooth down her dress out of vanity in his presence, but as she was neither blind nor dead she supposed such feelings were only human. Fortunately, his pomposity at their first meeting had allowed her to put her understandable reaction to his golden beauty to one side. He had been an arrogant, self-righteous aristocrat, just like her awful father, and therefore intellectually unappealing.

  Yet now he was not quite so easy to pigeonhole. She now knew that he had many character traits that were, surprisingly, most admirable and served to bring her harsh opinion of him into question. Yesterday he had selflessly come to her rescue and then had the good grace to apologise for his bullish behaviour afterwards. And he had lain on the floor to look at his painting in order to see for himself if there was more than one perspective. She wished she had seen that. And he had been kind when he had caught her walking home alone in the dark, shared his horse with her and changed his route, when most men of his calibre would have simply ridden on without giving her any thought at all.

  When one got past the formality and starchiness of his ducal exterior, he could be quite charming really. Like him, that charm was understated and contained, but he understood irony and had the capacity to be self-effacing. If he carried on being charming, then she might have to stop thinking of him as pompous—and then where would she be? Already she suspected that his brusque manner might have something to do with his own discomfort rather than his inflated opinion of his own importance. He had admitted that he found large social gatherings awkward when she had found him hiding in the Renshaws’ garden. Was there the chance that he might also find personal interactions difficult as well? It must be quite difficult being a duke and a member of the cabinet. Especially if you were a bit shy.

  Now she also knew that he could be eminently reasonable too. He had apologised, after all. When did titles ever apologise? And, gracious, the man could kiss! Not a day had gone by since the eventful night when she had not allowed her mind to wander back to that unexpected, but not unwelcome, encounter under the stars. If Bennett Montague had not been a dyed-in-the-wool aristocrat, Amelia would be very tempted by him indeed.

  ‘Thank goodness—’ Sir George’s exasperated whisper brought her back from her wool-gathering ‘—I was beginning to believe Lady Cecily might go on all night. That was one of the worst poems I have ever heard.’

  Amelia turned to him, grinning. ‘I am beginning to think that you disapprove of Lady Cecily. Do you not think that she would make a good duchess?’

  He looked about him carefully and then dropped his voice further. ‘Can I entrust you with a secret, my dear?’ When she nodded, intrigued, he bent close to her ear. ‘If you want the honest truth, I heartily disapprove of all of the Potentials.’

  Those words surprised her. ‘Whilst I agree that Lady Cecily is a little too calculated for my liking, surely they are not all like that? They would not have made the list in the first place unless they had the requisite attributes for the position.’

  He waved away her comment, his grey eyebrows drawn together in consternation. ‘I am sure that they are nice enough girls in their own way. But you misunderstand me. It is not so much the ladies themselves that I disapprove of, it is the manner in which Bennett is seeking a wife. Holding these women up against a set of criteria laid down by my brother is not the way to make such an important decision. Now every girl is trying too hard to behave in the manner they all think he expects, it has become virtually impossible to distinguish between them. They have camouflaged and suppressed all of the character traits that might have made them interesting in the first place. It is no surprise to me that he is struggling to choose one. I am not altogether convinced he is particularly enamoured of any of them, despite his insistence that he wants the sort of wife that his father would have chosen for him. But Bennett is not really like his father at all, if you want my opinion, although he might think that he is. I grew up with my brother and I have been there for every step of Bennett’s life and, in personality, they are quite different. My nephew has inherited his father’s talent as a politician but there is more to him than that. With my brother, his political ambitions superseded everything else. Bennett does not have that selfish single-mindedness. He cares about people too much. That is why he campaigns for causes that his father would never have touched. My brother never would have championed reform and risked upsetting the House. But Bennett does so if he intrinsically believes that it is the right thing to do. Therefore, it stands to reason that the sort of woman he should marry would be very different to the sort my brother conditioned him to believe that he should.’

  Without thinking, Amelia’s eyes flicked back to the man in question and she was surprised to find him staring right back at her. Then a slow smile turned up the corners of his perfect mouth just a little and she found herself drowning in that heady blue gaze, smiling back at him like a doe-eyed fool while her heartbeat quickened and her lips tingled of their own accord.

  Irritated at her own silly reaction, Amelia resolutely refocused all of her attention on his uncle again. ‘At least we have been spared another reading from The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide tonight. That should give you some comfort.’

  ‘Now you have jinxed it.’ Sir George groaned and then rolled his eyes. ‘Lady Eugenie is still to read and she is so very eager to please.’

  ‘Am I interrupting?’

  Chapter Sixteen

  It stands to reason that your wife will understand that your first mistress is your duty...

  Amelia’s insides did a funny flip-flop at the familiar deep voice and she braced herself inwardly to be dazzled by the Duke’s smile before she turned and faced him.

  ‘Not at all, dear boy,’ Sir George replied cheerfully. ‘In fact, I insist you take my chair while I go and find something better to drink than this dreadful sherry your mother insists on serving.’ The traitor had made no complaint before this moment, which led Amelia to believe that he was leaving her alone with his nephew on purpose. As his uncle stood up, the Duke quickly sat in the seat that he had vacated. Amelia tried, and failed, to ignore the wonderful aroma of
bay rum and golden duke that emanated from his well-fitting coat.

  ‘Have I missed anything interesting?’ He was leaning ever so slightly towards her so that he could speak quietly. This had two, very unwelcome, effects. Firstly, it made Amelia intensely aware of her own skin. Every inch of it seemed to have come alive at the sultry sound of this man’s melted butter voice. Whilst her nerve endings danced in anticipation of something they had no place to be anticipating, almost all eyes in the room were suddenly turned in her direction. Wondering why the Duke had singled her out for particular attention, the Potentials, as one, all shot daggers at her.

  ‘Not yet. So far, none of your admirers have entertained us with a reading from your book.’

  Amelia was quite pleased that her voice sounded normal because enormous butterflies had arrived in her stomach and were flapping around ferociously as a result of his close proximity and the unexpected intimacy of their whispered conversation.

  ‘Thank Heaven for small mercies. Try to hide your disappointment at that, Miss Mansfield, or my feelings might be hurt. I know you disapprove of my book.’

  When he was like this, affable, playful and unassuming, it was easy to forget he was a duke. ‘It’s not so much that I disapprove of it—although I do, of course, because it is drivel—just the more I learn about your character, the less likely it seems that you would have written it in the first place.’

  ‘Is it not stodgy enough?’

  Without thinking, she nudged him playfully and that earned more evil glares from his admirers, which she decided to ignore. ‘Oh, it is stodgy to the point that it has atrophied—which I suppose is the problem. Underneath all of that stodginess, there appears to be a reasonable, enlightened man struggling to get out.’

  He grinned triumphantly at her compliment. ‘Reasonable and enlightened. That sounds positively gushing. Are you feeling unwell, Miss Mansfield? All of this unexpected flattery might go to my head.’

  ‘Why did you write that book?’ Because it really did not sound like him.

  The Duke sighed and then looked sheepish. ‘In my defence, it was never meant to be widely published. I simply jotted down all of the advice my father had given me. I wanted to honour his memory with something solid to pass on to the next generation.’ They were not really his words; that was something. ‘I never got to see him in action in the House, but he took a great deal of time to educate me about the legacy that I have inherited and the importance of doing things properly. It was only appropriate that I share that.’

  ‘But you must agree with your father’s advice or you would never have taken the time to write it down.’

  ‘Being a politician is a vocation and a great responsibility. Therefore, to do the job justice, you have to live by example. The difference between a good politician and a great one lies in their trustworthiness. How can the public have respect for their leaders if the leaders do not hold themselves up to a higher standard and, by default, their wives as well?’

  Amelia could not help wondering if those words too had first come from his father’s mouth. ‘I should like to believe that most people have the good sense to judge our leaders by their deeds rather than their choice of wife. And who decided that your father’s high standards were the right ones to judge a great politician by, aside from himself?’

  The Duke went to reply and then stopped himself. His sandy brows drew together in thought and he wore an expression of confusion as if he was contemplating a concept that was completely new but, whatever his answer was going to be, Amelia was denied hearing it.

  ‘Lady Eugenie, have you brought something to read to us?’ The Dowager brought the gathering back to order and smiled at the last Potential benevolently. Amelia could already see The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide clutched in the girl’s hand like an amulet.

  ‘I should like to hear Miss Mansfield read us something,’ Lady Cecily interrupted pointedly while her eyes shimmered with spite in Amelia’s direction. ‘This is the second time she has attended the reading salon and we are yet to hear anything chosen by her.’

  Amelia smiled sweetly back at the girl, trying not to be intimidated. Stupidly, she had not brought anything even vaguely suitable to read because she had not thought that anyone would call on her to do so. Companions were usually ignored, so it was easy to blend into the background in situations like this. But now she had inadvertently incurred the wrath of the Potentials, who were all staring maliciously at her in the hope that she would disgrace herself, so she had become fair game. To make her discomfort worse, the political pamphlet she had brought to pass the time was a little too large to slot in between the pages of her book of poetry, so Amelia had chosen a substantial tome from the Aveley library, purely on the basis that it was large enough to hide the pamphlet. She glanced down at the book on her lap at exactly the same moment as the Duke. The Cultivation of Potatoes and Other Root Vegetables glared mournfully back.

  ‘Do you have an interest in horticulture?’ She could tell by his hushed tone that he was vastly amused.

  ‘Not particularly.’ Everyone in the room was watching her expectantly. Lady Cecily was smiling from ear to ear. It was blatantly obvious that the girl had also seen the potato book and was hoping to humiliate Amelia with it. It was inconceivable that she would read about root vegetables. Her pride would simply not allow that to happen, even if the alternative meant offending her hosts and all of their guests.

  ‘I have been studying the writings of Edward Poole.’ Boldly, Amelia slipped the controversial pamphlet from its hiding place between the pages. ‘I should be honoured to read you a small passage.’

  The group stiffened at the mention of Poole; they would all be aware of him as a staunch Radical and supporter of the American Revolution. Undeterred, Amelia stood and began to read.

  The rich have little concept of how their fortunes are made. They blindly make their investments without knowing how the profits come from the sweat and toil of honest working men.

  Mining, for instance, is one industry that the aristocratic sensibility is happily ignorant of.

  They do not see the deep, dangerous tunnels or the men that are forced to squat in the darkness and chisel away at the walls.

  They do not see the bleakness in the eyes of the women and children who are forced to drag the black gold out of the ground.

  They are happily ignorant of the noxious fumes that can rise unexpectedly from the mineshaft, poisoning the lungs of these people.

  Nor do they hear their tortured cries when the walls of the mine collapse, killing all still inside. All the rich see is their profits. It matters not the human cost of such bounty.

  A stony silence prevailed for what seemed like an eternity after she had sat down and slotted the offending pamphlet back into the folds of the book. Next to her, the Duke was the first to break it.

  ‘Have you ever been to a coal mine, Miss Mansfield?’

  Expecting a public set-down for daring to read the work of a Revolutionary when he had expressly requested that she avoid all Radicals, she shook her head and waited for the onslaught.

  ‘I have. I visited the Felling mine a few years ago and I have never seen a more wretched place in all of my life. At the time, I was concerned for the safety of the workers but was assured that everything was perfectly safe. A year later, there was a horrific explosion deep under the ground. Over ninety perished, many of them children. I have petitioned Parliament many times since to make laws to force the mine owners to improve safety. Unfortunately, so far, my pleas have fallen on deaf ears.’

  She really had not been expecting that to come out of his mouth. He had compassion. He did care. A small part of the wall she had built around her heart crumbled at the realisation.

  ‘I think it is time for some refreshments.’ The Dowager hastily rang the bell for tea, thus sparing her privileged guests from witnessing a di
scussion about the depressing and harrowing topic Amelia had inadvertently introduced to the room. All around them, the gathering began to rise to their feet and wander towards the sideboard, but the Duke was not one of them. Several seconds ticked by until Amelia risked peeking at him from under her lashes. Instead of a frown, she saw that he was watching her thoughtfully.

  ‘I wonder, Miss Mansfield, if you would show me around Seven Dials. I would be very interested to see it from a different perspective...now that I know there is a different perspective.’

  What did that mean exactly? ‘I will happily show you around, Your Grace, but I am not sure how I can show you from a different perspective.’

  ‘What if I went as a common working man rather than the Duke of Aveley? Do you think I would see things as they really are?’

  ‘Are you suggesting that you will don a disguise?’ The very idea was as preposterous as it was intriguing. Would he lower himself that much? Was he truly brave enough to seek the truth? Yet, at the same time, a part of her was heartily impressed that an aristocrat was prepared to learn something new. Oh, the things she could teach him! This might be the perfect opportunity to finally do something which might make a real difference to the poor in the slums. It was also immensely flattering that he wanted to entrust her with the task, when most men would choose to ignore the words of any woman. Another piece of the defensive wall around her heart crumbled into dust and blew away in the breeze. And, just like that, Amelia was all aquiver again as she stared into his earnest, gorgeous, tempting blue eyes.

  ‘Why ever not? I am sure Lovett can procure me a set of clothes so that I do not stand out.’ He could be wearing a sack and he would still stand out, but that had nothing to do with his breeding and everything to do with his glorious good looks and fine shoulders. ‘I have nothing too pressing to do tomorrow that cannot be postponed. Would tomorrow be too soon?’