‘Miss Neville, my lord,’ he replied, acknowledging the introductions. ‘Yes, Lord Englemere did … all that was necessary.’ Given his already disreputable appearance, he thought it best not to mention that his passage from Spithead through Portsmouth and thence by coach to Ashton Grove had passed in such a laudanum haze that he had little memory of it. ‘I thank you, Lord Bronning, for receiving one so completely unknown to you.’
‘Not at all,’ Bronning replied quickly. ‘I’m happy to oblige Lord Englemere—and your sister, Lady Greaves, of course. Her husband, Sir Edward, is a valued acquaintance. But we won’t keep you standing here with the evening chill coming on! You must be exhausted from your travels. Sands will have a footman show you to your room.’
His room. A real chamber with a bed that didn’t sway with the roll of the ship, doubtless located in a private space he wouldn’t share with a score of noisy, tar-begrimed, sweating sailors.
Heaven.
‘I should like that, thank you,’ he said, summoning his waning strength for the task of climbing the forbiddingly tall stairway towards which a footman was leading him.
‘And, Mr Anders,’ Bronning called after him, ‘please don’t feel obliged to join us for dinner. Cook will be happy to prepare you a tray, if you’d prefer to remain in your chamber to rest and repose yourself after your long journey.’
Rest and repose. He clung to the notion as a drowning man clutches at a spar after a shipwreck. Rest to finish healing his battered body, repose in which to put his fever-dulled wits to examining the implications of his abrupt transition from deckhand on a man-of-war to guest at an elegant English estate.
‘Thank you, my lord, I may do that,’ he said, reflecting as he tackled the stairs upon the irony of greeting the notion of solitude with such pleasure, he who not so very long ago would have done almost anything to avoid the boredom of having only himself for company.
Gritting his teeth in determination, Greville made his way upwards, Miss Neville’s soft floral fragrance still teasing his nose.
Amanda Neville felt disappointment and an entirely illogical sense of being ill-used replace her initial shock, as she stared after the newcomer hobbling up the stairs behind the footman.
Ever since Papa had told her they were to house a relation of the Marquess of Englemere, she’d been bubbling over with anticipation, hoping he would be someone she could meet again in London this spring when she made her long-delayed come-out—mayhap even a handsome young man who might be a potential suitor. She’d had Mrs Pepys prepare the best guest bedchamber and instructed Cook to create a sumptuous meal for the night of his arrival.
Stunned into silence by the appearance of the man who’d limped over their doorstep, she’d barely been able to nod a greeting. That grimy, battered man dressed like a common sailor was their guest? she thought again, still aghast and scarcely able to comprehend such a conundrum. Whatever had Papa been thinking, to agree to house such a person?
Before she could utter a word, however, her father grabbed her arm and steered her down the hallway towards his study. ‘Don’t give me that look, puss, until I can explain,’ he said under his breath. ‘That will be all for now, Sands,’ he added, dismissing the butler who trailed after them, interest bright in his eyes.
‘Really, Papa, I know better than to gossip before the servants,’ she protested after he’d shut the study door behind them. ‘But when you told me you were to host Lord Englemere’s relative—why, he’s a Stanhope, head of one of the most prominent families in England! Are you sure this … sailor is truly his cousin?’
‘He gave the name “Anders” and arrived in a private coach, as I was led to expect, so he must be. Though I confess, I was as shocked by his appearance as you.’
After depositing her on the sofa, her father took an agitated turn about the room. ‘Now that I think on it, though naturally I assumed so, the note from his lordship’s secretary never precisely said Mr Anders was an officer.’
‘He looks more like a—a ruffian!’ Amanda exclaimed, still feeling affronted. ‘A drunken one, at that! How are we to go about entertaining such a person? Is he to dine with us, be presented to our acquaintances?’
Lord Bronning’s troubled frown deepened. ‘Dear me, I hope I haven’t made a terrible mistake, allowing him to come …’ His voice trailed off and he grimaced.
‘Now, Papa, you mustn’t upset yourself and bring on one of your spells,’ Amanda said quickly, concern for her father, who had not been in the best of health of late, quickly overshadowing her irritation and chagrin. ‘Come, sit, and let me pour you some wine,’ she urged, hopping up to guide her father to a chair and then fetch him a glass of port. ‘What precisely did his lordship’s note say?’
‘Only that Mr Anders had been serving on a warship and was being furloughed back to England after being wounded during a skirmish with privateers,’ her father replied, easing back into the cushions. ‘Apparently naval men injured too severely to perform their duties are sometimes posted to the Coastal Brigade while they heal. Having learned that Ashton Grove was not far from one of their stations, the marquess begged me to offer his cousin accommodations while he recuperated. Naturally, one does not say “no” to a marquess, especially one who writes so politely.’
Amanda bit her lip. ‘Nor, after installing this “Mr Anders” in the best guest bedchamber, will it be easy to move him elsewhere. In any event, he didn’t seem fit enough to appear in company, so for dining and entertaining, I suppose we shall wait and see.’
‘That would be best, I expect. Besides, he is also brother to the wife of Sir Edward Greaves, and after that unfortunate incident last spring, I should not wish to do anything that might offend Sir Edward.’
Amanda felt her face flush. ‘I am sorry about that, Papa.’
Smiling fondly, her father patted her arm. ‘Never you mind, puss. You can’t help that you are just naturally too lovely and charming for any sensible gentleman to resist.’
Though Amanda felt a pang of guilt, she didn’t correct her papa. The truth was, she had quite deliberately sought to be at her most enticing when, after last year’s agricultural meeting at Holkham Hall, Papa had brought home to visit a man he’d often mentioned as being one of the most forward-thinking gentlemen farmers in the realm. She’d only thought to flirt a bit, seizing one of the few opportunities that came her way to practise her wiles on a single gentleman of noble birth.
Who could have imagined the quiet, rather stodgy Sir Edward, who had barely spoken to her of anything beyond a boring narration about crops and fields, would have possessed sufficient sensibility to become smitten?
She’d been surprised—and a bit ashamed—when Papa told her, after Sir Edward’s sudden departure, that the baronet had made him an offer for her hand. Thankfully, knowing well that the very last thing she wanted was to buckle herself to some gentleman farmer and spend the rest of her years immured in rural obscurity, Papa had spared her the embarrassing necessity of refusing him.
However, she reassured herself pragmatically, since Sir Edward had married within six months of his departure from Ashton Grove, she could not have wounded his heart too severely.
Still, she could not help but regret that her flirtation had put a rub in her father’s friendship with the man.
‘Of course, Papa, I’m as anxious as you to make amends to Sir Edward and dispel any lingering … awkwardness. Have you any idea how long Mr Anders is to be our guest? And … surely I am not called upon to nurse him?’
‘Of course not!’ her father assured her. ‘Even if it were not most improper, I would never ask you to do something