‘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.
‘The Coastal Brigade office is there,’ Miss Neville pointed, ‘at the end of the quay. I don’t see any cutters anchored at present off the jetty, so perhaps you’ll not have any duties to perform just yet.’
‘I must report in any event. As I’m not sure how long that will take, could I have you ladies leave me at the office and rejoin you later? At a local inn, where I could offer you some refreshment, in thanks for driving with me today.’
‘The Knight and Dragon keeps a fine table. Papa and I often stop there when we have business in Salters Bay.’
‘Oh, yes, do let us meet there!’ Miss Holton said. ‘Mrs Merriweather makes an excellent roast and apple tart!’
‘The Knight and Dragon it is, then,’ Greville agreed.
A few minutes later, they reached the quay and he stepped down, handing the reins over to Miss Neville. After the ladies drove off, he stood immobile, watching until the gig turned down the first street and disappeared from view.
Then, squaring his shoulders, he mounted the steps of the small seaside office where his chequered past and uncertain future were about to collide.
Chapter Seven
Greville entered the building to find a small, swarthy man in sailor’s garb seated on a stool behind a desk in the anteroom. One side of the man’s face was covered with a bandana, while his visible eye focused on the elaborate knot pattern he was creating with a length of twine. One of the hands plying the rope was missing two fingers, Greville noted.
As Greville walked over, the sailor jumped up and touched his forehead respectfully. ‘Kin I help you, sir?’
Greville noted further that the old sailor balanced on one wooden leg affixed below his knee. No question, then, why this seaman was moored in port. ‘Yes, Mr…?’
‘Gunner’s Mate Andrew Porter, sir, late of the Indie.’
‘Ah, Indefatigable, a fine ship! I’m Greville Anders, late of the Illustrious.’
Porter’s one eye brightened with interest. ‘Was you on board for her action against the Algerines a month or so back?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘Ah, what a fine fight it were, or so I’ve been told! Had a dust-up with that ship and her captain back when we was battling the slave trade off the Africa coast. Fierce fighters. Carrying quite a cache of gold this time, I hear, instead of the poor Europeans they used to sell off to them harems and such.’
‘So it was rumoured. I took the sharp side of a cutlass before we breached the hold. Though I fared better than you, the wounds were bad enough that they shipped me back.’
‘Aye, luckier by half,’ the man acknowledged with a nod. ‘I couldn’t tell you’d been wounded, whereas there’ll be no more deep-water sailing for old Andrew, more’s the pity. But why are you not in uniform, sir?’
With him wearing gentleman’s dress, the sailor took him for an officer, Greville realised. ‘I was transferred off in the rags of the clothing in which I fought the action. I had no seaman’s trunk to follow me, nor spare uniforms; I was impressed as a landsman.’
The sailor’s eyes widened as he took in that information. ‘Thought we weren’t impressing no more, now that the war against Boney’s over. And it weren’t never legal to impress gentlemen.’
‘The circumstances of my entering the Navy were rather…unusual. In any event, proceedings are underway to have me honourably released from the service. In the meantime, I am to report to the commanding officer here.’
‘That would be Lieutenant Belcher,’ the sailor said. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here.
Greville was duly escorted into an inner office with a window overlooking the harbour. Behind the desk sat an older man in a naval lieutenant’s uniform. Since he was wearing civilian dress—and if cousin Nicky prevailed with the Navy Board, he would remain garbed that way—Greville did not salute.
After the gunner introduced them, Belcher said, ‘Mr Anders, what can I do for you?’
‘Technically, Lieutenant, I’m still a landsman attached to the Illustrious, although I expect soon to have word from the Admiralty Board directing that I be released from service.’
Belcher frowned. ‘You, sir, are obviously a gentleman. How did you come to do service as a common sailor?’
‘Apparently the ship was vastly undermanned due to an attack of virulent fever among the crew. Eager to set off immediately for the Algerine coast, the captain instructed the press gang to take every able-bodied man they could find. Once underway, he had neither the inclination nor the opportunity to send me back.’
‘If you were confined with the crew, ’tis little wonder you seek a discharge! Most are scurvy knaves, working only for their rum ration and out of fear of the lash.’
Greville’s initially favourable impression of the lieutenant abruptly declined. How could an officer expect to inspire the respect and allegiance of his crew, if he held them in so little respect? There had been one or two such officers among the wardroom of the Illustrious—all uniformly despised by the men.
‘True, there were slackers and malcontents, but the majority were good solid men,’ he replied. ‘The ship ran with an admirable efficiency that would not have been possible without a skilled crew performing their respective jobs as a unit.’
Belcher sniffed. ‘If the ship ran with “admirable efficiency”, it was because the captain knew how to get work out of scum. I’m astounded that you, who claim to be a gentleman, could have served for any time aboard ship and remain ignorant of so obvious a truth. Unless your common sense was tainted by the common associations you formed below decks?’ he proposed, chuckling a little at his own joke.
Greville was not amused. Association with hard-working common sailors had made him a better man than he’d been a year ago. His entire view of life had radically altered after spending months as one of the powerless at the mercy of those who exercised power—for good or ill.
Without the compassion and assistance of several of those ‘scurvy knaves’, he wouldn’t have survived the experience.
‘That wasn’t my impression of the men aboard the Illustrious, but I allow you your opinion.’
‘Oh, will you now?’ Belcher cried, drawing himself up stiffly, as if to move away from the contamination of Greville’s views. ‘That’s not the manner in which a sailor addresses a superior officer, a fact I advise you to remember for such time as you remain attached to the Navy. In fact, I’d be of a mind to discipline you for it, but as I haven’t yet received word from Admiralty apprising me of your exact position, for now, I will exercise leniency.’
He leaned towards Greville, a banty rooster ruffling his feathers. ‘Don’t count on it happening again, sirrah. In any event, given your scant experience, you can’t be entrusted with any naval duties. You shall remain in Salters Bay until Admiralty sends me word of their decision.’
‘Am I dismissed, then, Lieutenant?’
Ignoring Greville’s question, Belcher said, half to himself, ‘I’ve got Black John Kessel moving in, intimidating villagers, even attacking my revenue officers. I need more veteran sailors to man my cutters, and they send me a useless landsman with peculiar opinions.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Very well, Anders, you may go.’
By now as angry as Belcher, Greville inclined his head. ‘Lieutenant,’ he said by way of farewell, determined not to accord the man a ‘sir.’
As he turned to the door, the lieutenant said, ‘I suppose I should enquire if you need billeting? I can have Porter find you something in town since you are, apparently, still the Navy’s responsibility.’
‘No need to trouble yourself,’ Greville said. ‘I’ve been offered hospitality for the duration by Lord Bronning.’
The lieutenant was nodding absently, but at that name, his eyes snapped wide. ‘Lord Bronning?’ he echoed. ‘Can you mean…Miss Neville’s father?’
Greville suppressed a smile. Apparently the glorious Amanda had made a conquest here. ‘The same. You are acquainted with his lordship and Miss Neville?’
‘We’ve been introduced, though I’ve never been invited to Ashton Gr—’ Belcher halted abruptly, his ruddy colour deepening with indignation as he realised this man whom he disdained was on familiar terms wit
h the most important family in the locality—and he was not.
‘A most handsome property,’ Greville said. It might be ignoble of him, but he was enjoying Belcher’s chagrin. ‘You must visit it, should you ever have the opportunity.’ Leaving the lieutenant with his open mouth gaping like a beached halibut, Greville walked to the door.
Gunner Porter sprang up as he reached the threshold. ‘Should I add Mr Anders to the duty roster, Lieutenant?’
‘No!’ Belcher barked. ‘I’m not sure what to do with such a person,’ he added, his aggrieved voice still vibrant with anger. Turning to Greville, he said, ‘I shall dispatch a letter to the Admiralty, enquiring about your case. Report back here in a week, Anders.’
‘Mr Anders,’ Greville corrected softly, holding the man’s gaze. He might pay for it later if Englemere’s intervention didn’t succeed and he ended up under this man’s authority, but he had ultimate confidence in cousin Nicky’s influence. And he did not intend to bend to this petty tyrant.
The lieutenant looked away first. ‘You are dismissed.’
Greville closed the office door after him and turned to see the gunner grinning. ‘Mustn’t mind ol’ Belcher, sir. Likes to act important, as if he was still aboard a man-of-war, standing the quarterdeck watch. Hard on him, being passed over for promotion. With the cutbacks in the Navy and the war ended, he knows he’ll probably never get a command—unless he finds a rich wife to buy him one, like that Miss Neville you was speaking of.’
‘Gunny, were you listening at the door?’
‘Can’t help if yer voices was a bit loud,’ the sailor replied.
Recalling Belcher’s contempt for sailors, Greville said, ‘Though I imagine you’d welcome his transfer, I have to say I’m glad the lieutenant will never get a command.’
‘The devil of it is, I understand he’s a damn good sailor. But he’s got the making of a flogging captain if anyone does, and there’s nothing worse in the fleet. So you lived on the deck plates, you a gentleman ’n all?’ Porter shook his grizzled head. ‘Seems near impossible.’
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