* * *
Bennett Montague, Sixteenth Duke of Aveley and member of His Majesty’s Privy Council, glanced at his pocket watch in annoyance before slotting it back into his waistcoat pocket. It was already six o’clock and his aunt should have arrived by now. Whilst he did not blame her personally for the inconvenience—even this late in the day travelling in London could be horrendous—dinner was always promptly served at seven. At this rate, it would have to be put back.
His butler, Lovett, appeared at the door to his study. ‘The carriage is arriving, Your Grace.’
‘Thank goodness!’ He would not have to adjust his tightly organised schedule after all. All was well in the world again. As was expected, Bennett went out to the hallway to greet his aunt, conscious that he still had several letters and one speech to write before the night was done. He found his mother and Uncle George already there. As they waited, he noticed something odd about his usually ramrod-straight butler. He was listing slightly to the left.
‘Lovett,’ he hissed, ‘have you been availing yourself of my port again?’ Bennett wouldn’t have minded, but they had guests after all—an uncommon event in recent months due to his enormous workload.
Still listing, Lovett had the good manners to look sheepish. ‘I am sorry, Your Grace. I had a moment of weakness.’
One of many. If the man had not been such a loyal and resourceful servant with a keen sense of timing when it came to helping him to escape, Bennett would have dismissed the man on the spot years ago. However, he was rather fond of him despite his wayward tendencies. Without Lovett, he would have had to have spent hundreds of pointless hours socialising with people he had no interest in. ‘Is it Mrs Lovett again?’ If his butler was to be believed, that woman was apparently the reason why her husband turned to drink on a regular basis, although Bennett was confident this was just a convenient excuse.
‘Indeed it is, Your Grace. I have just found out that she is expecting again.’
‘Again! Clearly I do not give you enough to do, Lovett. How many children are we up to now?’ He knew the answer full well and all of their names, but this was the game they played when Bennett could not muster the enthusiasm to properly tell his impertinent, invaluable servant off and spared his butler from admitting that he just had a penchant for good port.
‘This will be the tenth, Your Grace, providing Mrs Lovett does not have another set of twins.’
Fortunately, the front door opened, relieving Bennett from any further pretence of admonishing his servant, and he stepped forth to welcome them. His aunt looked as robust as usual and would expect him to see that. Another social game that served no purpose. ‘Aunt Augusta, you look well. Clearly the air in Bath suits you.’
She accepted his compliment and presented him with her powdered cheek. ‘You look as though you could do with a little restorative air yourself, Bennett. You are altogether too serious for a young man. I have scarcely been here a minute and already I can see that you wish to be elsewhere.’ He did not correct her assumption because he did have a great many more important things to be doing right at this very moment than standing in his hallway and making small talk, and it would not hurt if she knew that. His aunt smiled at his bland expression. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my new companion, Miss Amelia Mansfield.’
A petite woman with the darkest eyes he had ever seen stepped forward. Usually, Bennett took no real interest in his aunt’s companions. There had been so many of them over the years that their plain faces had all begun to merge into one interchangeable and banal façade and he barely bothered flicking them a glance. But Miss Mansfield was quite different, so his eyes lingered. For a start, and even though she was wearing a very large, very dull bonnet, there was nothing plain about her. The dark, catlike eyes were framed with ridiculously thick sooty lashes. Two bold black slashes formed her eyebrows and her full mouth was quite the most impertinent shade of red. If it had been appropriate, which it wasn’t, and if he had the talent for it, which he most definitely did not, it was exactly the sort of face that might have inspired him to flirt with the lovely owner of it. Therefore, Bennett inclined his head politely because that was the correct thing to do.
‘Miss Mansfield.’
And she just about inclined hers in return.
‘Your Grace.’
Then, as an afterthought, she bobbed him a lacklustre curtsey. It was customary when curtseying that the woman also dipped her eyes in deference to the illustrious person she was curtseying to. That was the correct form, after all, and everybody understood it. Everyone, apparently, except Miss Mansfield. She held his gaze in the most disconcerting way before turning towards the others. There was certainly no attempt at deference in that pointed stare. In fact, if he was not mistaken, he was almost certain he saw a flash of some other emotion hiding in those chocolate depths, although he could not quite put his finger on what it was. Despite her blatant disregard for etiquette, Bennett could not stop watching her as she was introduced to his mother and Uncle George.
‘Do you read, Miss Mansfield?’ his mother asked.
‘Amelia reads everything she can get her hands on,’ Aunt Augusta answered in her stead. ‘And she reads aloud with tremendous skill. It is most entertaining. She has a talent for bringing the words and characters on the page to life.’
‘Then you will be an asset to my reading salon. I do hope that you will join us. Every Wednesday evening a select group of us gather to read and discuss writings that have had a profound effect on us. It makes no difference whether you like fiction, poetry or academia—we are an eclectic bunch and it is a lively way to spend the evening. And it is my only chance to properly entertain at the moment while my son is so busy in Parliament.’
When Miss Mansfield smiled he noticed that it made her unusual eyes prettier.
‘I should like that very much.’
Perhaps Bennett was imagining it, but she definitely greeted them with more enthusiasm than she had him—although why he was put out by that he could not quite fathom. Uncle George was instantly smitten with her and had no problem in showing it. ‘I am positively charmed already, Miss Mansfield, and would be thrilled if you sit with me at dinner. It has been far too long since I have enjoyed the company of such a delightful creature over a meal.’
‘Be wary, Miss Mansfield,’ his mother cautioned, smiling affectionately at the man who had been a surrogate father to Bennett for so many years. ‘I am afraid George still thinks that he is in his prime. He will spend the entire meal flirting with you outrageously or telling you scandalous stories that are completely unsuitable for your delicate young ears.’
‘You wound me, Octavia!’ His uncle pretended to be affronted by this suggestion, which made all of the ladies laugh instantly. Bennett had always envied his uncle’s easy way with the female sex, but this time he found that talent irritating. Unfortunately, judging by the charmed expression on her pretty face, Miss Mansfield was similarly smitten with Uncle George.
‘I shall look forward to it.’ She positively grinned at the old rogue in return. It was like being blindsided by a sunbeam; everything about her lit up. Her rosebud mouth curved mischievously, transforming her face into a thing of complete beauty, two adorable dimples appeared on her perfect cheeks and those big brown eyes grew warm and inviting. ‘It has been far too long since I heard a genuinely scandalous story over dinner.’
A dinner that would be severely delayed at this rate unless Bennett intervened and put an immediate stop to all of this nonsense. He snapped open his pocket watch again and frowned to make the point. ‘I will get Lovett to show you straight to your rooms as dinner is in less than