The Discerning Gentleman's Guide

Silently, he wound his way skilfully through the quiet streets, clearly intent on ignoring Amelia completely. It was difficult not to enjoy the feeling of being held so close to him. Not only did the position ward off the biting cold, but he felt good under her palms. This was not the body of a pampered aristocrat. It was firm and strong. There was muscle beneath the fine clothes that she had not expected to be there. He also smelled deliciously of something male and spicy; the subtle aroma seemed to come directly from beneath his fitted waistcoat and shirt, teasing her nose and making her forget all of the reasons why she disliked him.

‘Why were you in Piccadilly?’

His curt voice rumbled against her ear and broke the sensory spell that had apparently bewitched her. She knew where she stood when he was being pompous; it made him easier to deal with, so the lie came smoothly.

‘It has been such a long time since I have been back in London, I went on a long walk to see what has changed. I lost track of time.’

He was silent for a moment, then she felt his chest rise and fall on a deep sigh. ‘Whilst you are a guest in my house, Miss Mansfield, I must insist that you do not go out alone again. You have my express permission to take a footman with you whenever or wherever you go. These streets can be dangerous for a woman alone.’

The delivery might have been a bit brusque, but the sentiment was sweet. ‘Thank you. I shall do that going forward.’ No, she wouldn’t. A footman would tell him where she had been.

Another awkward silence prevailed.

‘How was your speech?’

‘Irritatingly postponed for another week. Apparently, Parliament needed to have a tantrum today, so all important business has had to be delayed. Again.’

His tone, for once, sounded conversational. If he could be friendly, Amelia supposed she could too—in the spirit of their enforced truce.

‘A tantrum? That is an interesting turn of phrase.’

He sighed again and the last remnants of his tension seemed to disappear. ‘From time to time, or, to be more precise, at least once a week at the moment, the members of both houses feel the need to noisily vent all of their frustrations with the world. When they do, it descends into chaos because so many throw their hat into the ring to shout their opinions loudly.’

‘You sound as if you disapprove.’

‘I heartily disapprove. It is a waste of everyone’s time. Such exchanges never achieve anything. However, it is exactly that sort of nonsense that the newspapers report, so many members play to the gallery in order to get the publicity. That defeats the object of Parliament, in my opinion. It should be a place for educated debate, compromise and purpose—not a circus. It makes it impossible to get anything meaningful done.’

‘What got their dander up today?’

‘The King’s spending habits, or, more specifically, the cost of his extravagant folly in Brighton.’

The papers were filled with outrageous claims about Prinny’s Pavilion, detailing the vast cost entailed in building each part and questioning the need for it in the first place. Yet here was one of his cabinet calling it a folly. ‘Do you disapprove of that too?’

‘The country is drowning in war debts and international trade has virtually collapsed, therefore I can find no justifiable reason why His Royal Highness needs another building for his pleasure.’

His words shocked her. Had he really just criticised the monarch?

‘I can see that I have rendered you speechless, Miss Mansfield.’ He sounded quite pleased with himself at the feat. She peeked up at him from the cocoon of his coat and saw that he was almost smiling.

‘I must confess I am surprised. You are part of his government.’

‘I am part of Lord Liverpool’s government and, as such, our first and foremost duty is to serve the nation—not the monarch. We had a civil war about it a few hundred years ago now, you might recall. I believe we executed the King as a result.’

That was definitely sarcasm, something else about him that surprised her, but a language that Amelia was happily fluent in. ‘But do you serve the nation, sir? Many accuse Parliament of merely feathering its own nest and those of the wealthy gentlemen you represent.’

‘Firstly, I sit in the House of Lords, Miss Mansfield, so nobody has elected me. The only master I loyally serve is my own conscience. I do what I believe is best for the nation, so that England might prosper and its subjects will be happy.’

‘However, as a member of the aristocracy, your personal sympathies will be influenced by the plight of your peers because you have no understanding of any other sort of life. You have never experienced poverty or degradation, for example, so I doubt you have as much sympathy for the plight of those less fortunate as you do for your own people.’

‘My own people? I believe that I serve the people of Britain, madam—those are my people. And it might surprise you to learn that I have eyes and ears, Miss Mansfield. I do see what goes on around me and I am not immune to the poverty and degradation I believe that you are alluding to. My proposal for income tax, for example, which you took particular offence to last night, is a direct response to the plight of the poor.’

As his tone was conciliatory rather than combative, Amelia decided to give him the benefit of the doubt before she ripped his silly proposals to pieces again. ‘How so?’

‘The main problem of taxation in this country is that it is so piecemeal and indirect. Successive governments have taxed everything from windows to sugar and you are quite right; those taxes have had an awful effect on the poor. What I am proposing is a complete overhaul of the entire system. Unfair and indirect taxes would be scrapped and the manner of collecting them, which has been so abused by corrupt officials, would also change. Taxation would be centralised, collected by salaried government tax inspectors and based solely on an individual’s personal wealth. Those who have more should pay significantly more.’

When he put it like that it sounded reasonable, but she was not prepared to let him know that just yet. ‘Is that what your postponed speech was about?’

‘No. That is about the declining state of public health, another cause that the Commons prefer to ignore. I want Parliament to invest some money to clean up the slums.’

‘Does their foul stench offend your aristocratic nose?’

‘Actually, madam, the unnecessarily high death rate offends my aristocratic sensibilities. If the streets were cleaned, and the unfortunate residents were not forced to live in such squalor, I believe that fewer of them would tragically die so young.’

Amelia was shamed by her own uncharitable assumptions. ‘Then I am sorry for what I said about your aristocratic nose.’

A deep chuckle reverberated through him and then her, sending little tingles to the furthest corners of her body in a very pleasant way, and she found herself unconsciously leaning a little closer to him before she stopped herself. Amelia could not remember ever feeling quite so comfortable in such close proximity to another person, let alone a male person—a titled male person with big strong arms. Had she ever been so intimately held by a man? If she had, it clearly had not had such an intoxicating effect on her, else she would have remembered it. Yet it felt strangely comforting and strangely right.

They rode in silence while he manoeuvred the horse around a crowd into a completely deserted street beyond. Frozen mist had begun to fall, giving the alleyway an eerie, otherworldly air that made everything else apart from them seem fuzzy. Even the noisy hustle and bustle of the rest of the city was muted. It felt as if it were suddenly just the two of them. All alone.

‘I did not know that you were familiar with our capital. How long has it been since you were last here?’ His soft, deep voice encouraged her to draw closer still, perhaps because they were in such close proximity that he barely had to speak above a whisper.

‘Just over a year ago now. I grew up here.’ Amelia winced at her candour. She probably should not have told him that. Lady Worsted had been quite specific in her insistence that Amelia should not make things awkward by mentioning her past to anyone. It made his next question inevitable.

‘Where?’

Two streets away from you, in a grand house with servants. ‘From the age of twelve I lived in Cheapside with my mother.’ They had, for a very short while, while her father plotted and schemed to get his marriage to her mother annulled.

‘Does she still live there?’

‘She died a few years ago.’

‘Ah—I am sorry to hear that. I know how painful it is to lose a parent. My father died when I was fifteen. I still miss his guidance.’ That was a surprising admission from a man who was so stiff and reserved. He had feelings, then? She had wondered. ‘So that is why you became a companion? You were alone in the world?’

How did one explain her odd situation? Technically, no. I still have a father, although he is determined to forget that he has a daughter, especially now that the law says that he hasn’t. The lie he had offered her was easier than the truth. The truth was so awful it made her angry just to think about it and Amelia had long ago promised herself that she would not give Viscount Venomous the satisfaction of rousing her emotions. ‘Yes. I went to work for your aunt. She has been very good to me.’

Another intimate chuckle rumbled behind his ribcage, which played havoc with her pulse. ‘Aunt Augusta is a wonderful woman—although she can be a bit of a challenge. I think she has frightened off at least six companions since she was widowed. There has been a new one every few months. Apparently, you have proved yourself to be most resilient to have weathered almost a year. How have you managed it?’

Amelia found herself relaxing again as this topic was easier to talk about. The rhythmic motion of the horse’s trot, the warmth seeping back into her bones and the gentle timbre of his soothing, deep voice was becoming hypnotic. So hypnotic that at some point she had rested the full weight of her back against his chest so that his body could form a protective heated cocoon about her. It might be a tad improper, but it felt far too good to move just yet. ‘Lady Worsted finds me amusing. She says that I am a breath of fresh air.’

‘You are certainly nothing like any of her previous companions. They were all very straitlaced and sensible—which is probably why Aunt Augusta frightened them off. Much as I adore her, she can be difficult, outspoken, and has a tendency to be naughty whenever she gets the chance. I never quite know what she is going to do or say next.’

‘I think that is why we get on so well. I also have a tendency to be a bit unpredictable. I act first and think about it later. I am not particularly straitlaced and sometimes I am not very sensible either.’

‘Hence you were out alone, in the dark, without a chaperon. I am sure if my aunt heard about this she would be angry that you had put yourself at risk.’ There was no irritation in his voice this time; it had been replaced by a gentler chastisement that was designed to appeal to her conscience rather than a direct order.

‘I will try not to do it again,’ she said, hoping he would believe her. She had another meeting to attend tomorrow with the factory workers, if she could get away, and they were always desperately short-handed at the soup kitchen.

‘That is not the answer I was hoping for. I want to hear the words I will not do it again.’