My Lady Smuggler by Margaret Bennett Page A

the ton .”
    Denholm leveled a hard look at Melvyrn.  “Thought you were a friend, Melvyrn.”
    Melvyrn chuckled.  “Never fear.  I’ll watch your back, Denholm.”
    ~~~~~
    Taking a cravat from Bailey the next morning, Melvyrn gazed into the cheval mirror and, while tying it in a simple Gordion knot, asked the valet.  “Have you made any inroads with the servants?” 
    Bailey shook his bald ing pate.  “Don’t understand it, milord, but something strange is going on. No one talks about the smugglers, except to say that everyone’s entitled to make a proper wage, and that’s what the free traders are all about.”
    “Have you heard any merchants’ names connected with the Gentlemen?” Melvyrn asked. “I know the proprietor of the Eight Bells is involved.”
    “ Nary a word.  Even Janey, who’s as chatty as they come, clams up when I mention anything about them smugglers.”
    “ Janey’s keeping you on your toes, then?” Melvyrn asked while critically eying the folds of his cravat in the mirror.
    “Oh, Janey’s a handful, all right.”  A broad smile split the valet’s face.  “She’s a bright one, too, and curvy, and sassy.  Don’t expect she’ll stay a scullery maid for long.”
    “ I do believe you’re smitten,” Melvyrn said with a chuckle.
    “What, ho!  Not me, milord !” exclaimed Bailey, the smile replaced with a deep frown.  “There be too many ladies I ain’t sampled yet.”
    ~~~~~
    The Chadlingtons’ alfresco luncheon was everything Melvyrn expected.  When he arrived with Denholm, they were greeted by an effusive Lady Chadlington, who quickly introduced the Viscount to Sylvia. Lord Chadlington was also present.  Slightly overweight, Chadlington was a quiet man with a ruddy complexion and bibulous noise who allowed his wife to take charge of the event.  The party assembled on the back terrace of the old Tudor home, where Squire and Mrs. Hopkins and their daughter Lily soon joined them.  From there the group strolled down to a small lake with a gazebo overlooking its placid water where tables and chairs had been set up.  Looking about for Miss Wensley, Melvyrn was surprised by his own disappointment that she wasn’t present.  
    As he gritted his teeth, Melvyrn took his seat next to Sylvia.  He’d much rather have had the more congenial company of the Squire’s daughter, but that honor was given to Denholm.  The luncheon was less like a picnic than an informal dinner with sundry removes that included lobster bisque, roasted mutton chops, cold meats and cheeses, several side vegetable dishes, and a raspberry tart for dessert. During the luncheon, Melvyrn ventured to interrupt Miss Chadlington to inquire, “Forgive me for inquiring, but I thought Miss Wensley would be here?” 
    Sylvia’s brows drew together in a slight frown.  “Well, we did invite her, but Miss Wensley accepts very few invitations.”
    “Is that so?”  Melvyrn hoped he didn’t sound too interested.  “Most young ladies love the social life, for how else can they meet young gentlemen?”
    “Yes, it is strange of her,” Sylvia said with an engaging smile.  “Perhaps it is because she does not entertain.  Why, Miss Wensley doesn’t even have an at home day and has even turned away visitors,” she concluded in a huff.
    As Melvyrn considered this, he wondered what would make such an attractive young lady a recluse.  Then his attention was drawn to Denholm who had raised his wine glass and said, “My compliments, Chadlington.  The wine is superb.”
    “Thank you, my lord,” the baron responded jovially.  “I do take pride in the contents of my cellar.”
    Throughout the meal, Sylvia presented Melvyrn with a monologue of her London season, whom she met and events she attended.  The only reprieve Melvyrn got was when she quizzed Denholm on the latest on dits of the beau monde.  Afterwards, Sylvia, seizing Melvyrn by the arm, suggested a stroll around the lake.  Fortunately,