Playing the Rake's Game. Bronwyn Scott

eyes, but his ever-present grin was benevolent when he spoke.

      ‘Nonetheless, I’m glad you’re here, Dryden. You can take things in hand now and let Emma focus on running the house.’ Goodness, he was in full form today! He’d all but chucked her under the chin like a doting uncle, an identity which was a complete misnomer when it came to their dubious relationship. Gridley had no intentions of being a father figure to her. He had far lustier aspirations.

      ‘I’d invite you in, but I’m busy today,’ Emma said sharply, making apology for her breach in social manners.

      ‘Never mind about me, you go on with your business. As I said, I’m not really here for you.’ He gave another of his winks to indicate a friendly joke. ‘I’m here to see Dryden and give him the lay of the land. We’ll stay out of your way, just send a pitcher of falernum to the back porch where we can have a nice long visit.’ He slapped Ren on the back. ‘I’ll give him a proper welcome to the neighbourhood.’

      ‘A proper welcome?’ Ren shot her a discreet glance and she could almost hear the private laughter in Ren’s voice, laughter that was there just for her, some inside humour only the two of them shared. ‘I think I’d like that very much.’ The inside joke made Arthur Gridley a momentary outsider and in a subtle way let her know she had an ally.

      Emma could feel the beginnings of a smile play on her lips. It could just be part of a larger strategy Ren was playing, but for now it felt good to know he had her back. It was certainly a new way to view Ren’s presence and it just might provide the new gambit she was looking for. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. For now.

       * * *

      Enemy? Friend? Concerned neighbour or ambitious interloper? It was hard to know how to classify Sir Arthur Gridley. Ren took a seat in one of the twin rockers on the veranda, gathering his thoughts. Emma certainly didn’t care for the man. But was that dislike or fear she felt? What was she hiding that Gridley might expose? All in all, Ren thought it would make a rather insightful afternoon.

      ‘What do you think of our little piece of the world so far?’ Gridley stretched out his legs, settling into his chair and looking quite comfortable at a home not his own. He’d said he was Merrimore’s close friend. In all fairness, he was probably used to being here, but the action struck Ren as overtly territorial, the tactic of a man who wants to remind everyone of his superior claim to ownership.

      ‘It’s hot,’ Ren replied affably. It couldn’t hurt to be nice. Knowledge was power and Gridley would want to demonstrate his. If Ren played this right, Gridley would talk all afternoon, thinking he was establishing his ground, when in reality Ren would get precisely what he wanted—information.

      Ren had learned years ago it was the listener who held the upper hand when navigating the social waters of the ton. He had to start making friends in this new place. He wanted those friends to be the right ones. He had a hunch there might be wrong ones and he still had to figure out where Emma fit into the balance. Who to trust? The supposedly crazy woman running Sugarland or the well-dressed, seemingly well-intentioned neighbour?

      ‘It is hot, in an entirely different way than London,’ Gridley agreed. ‘You’ll get used to it. We have our rainy seasons and our fever seasons, but it’s not a bad way to live. There’s no cold, no ice, no grey skies that go on for months.’ Gridley was all friendly assurance.

      A servant brought a tray carrying a pitcher full of an amber liquid and two glasses. She set it down on the little table between them and poured. ‘You’ll like falernum,’ Gridley said. ‘It’s sweet, full of spices and a hint of vanilla.’

      Ren sipped tentatively, relieved Gridley was right. He could pick out the hints of ginger and almond, even a bit of lime. ‘It is good.’

      Gridley chuckled. ‘You sound surprised. Don’t be. Emma has the best falernum on the island, there’s something about how her cook mixes it.’ Gridley sighed and dropped his voice. ‘Emma has the best of everything. The best cook, the best field manager, the best overseer, the best household staff. It’s made her some enemies and I’m worried for her. I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can talk sense into her.’

      Gridley slid him a sideways glance, no doubt looking for compliance. But Ren was more astute than that. He needed information before he made any decisions about his support. Ren decided to play the ‘fresh off the boat’ card. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean?’

      ‘Of course not, no one expects you to. We’ll show you the ropes around here. You’ll get the hang of how we do things in no time at all.’ Gridley gave him another friendly smile, but Ren was cautious.

      ‘I’d appreciate that,’ he said neutrally. Ren was starting to wonder if Gridley had come of his own accord or if the neighbours had elected him to be the one to call and sound out the newcomer. He was used to this discreet vetting process. It wasn’t all that different from the way the gentlemen’s clubs tested a member’s viability in London.

      ‘It’s not Emma’s fault.’ Gridley was quick to establish. ‘It’s the damn apprentice system. It looks good on paper, but it’s costing the planters a small fortune in profits and there’s hardly enough labour to go around.’

      Ren raised an eyebrow in query, hoping Gridley would take it as a sign to elaborate on the process. Gridley took the hint and continued. ‘Under the new system, former slaves can choose if they wish to work on the plantations and they can choose which