My Lady Smuggler by Margaret Bennett Page B

Denholm followed with Lily Hopkins in tow.
    On the ride back to the Manor, Denholm roasted Melvyrn over Miss Chadlington’s preference.  “An earl does trump a viscount.”
    “Hmmm, but you said something else that caught my interest.”
    “I doubt it would have taken much to draw you r attention away from the lovely and very chatty Miss Chadlington,” drawled Denholm, meaningfully.  “But what utterance of mine do you refer to?”
    Melvyrn laughed but then sobered.  “It was the comment about the quality of Chadlington’s wine.  There’s little doubt that he purchases stock from the smugglers, but I’m wondering if he might be more involved.”
    “Is there a way of finding out?”
    “Perhaps,” replied Melvyrn, thinking he’d ask Tolly about the baron.  “When do you leave for London?”
    “Tomorrow morning, after you return,” replied Denholm.  “I’d like to give Roeburn a report on the success of your meeting with the French agents.  By the bye, where was your Miss Wensley?  Is she persona non grata with the Chadlingtons?”
    Melvyrn laughed sardonically.  “Not exactly, though Miss Chadlington prefers to have an open field with no hedges to jump.”
    “That I can well believe.  Still, in a backwater society such as Folkestone, I’m surprised Miss Wensley did not put in an appearance.”
    “I did ask about Miss Wensley’s absence and was told that she is rather reclusive.”  Thinking about the young lady in question, Melvyrn had a sudden urge to visit Ashford Hall.  “We’re not far from Ashford,” he said.  “Care to ride over there?”
    Denholm turned in his saddle to look at Melvyrn.  “What about tonight?”
    “I plan to visit, not make a night of it,” he replied.   
    “I’ll leave you to it.  Besides, I’ve got several reports to write.”
    “Then we’ll part here,” Melvyrn said, leading Hector off on to a back road that led to the Hall.
    As Hector trotted down the long lane, Melvyrn smiled as he though t about the feisty Miss Wensley.  He imagined she’d be quite an armful even as petite as she was.  As he dismounted, the old groom appeared to take Hector’s reins, and the butler opened the door. Entering the main hall, Melvyrn nearly tripped over the frisky spaniel pup.  “So very sorry, my lord,” the butler said, scooping Silas up with one arm, then taking Melvyrn’s hat and gloves.  He showed Melvyrn into the drawing room.  “I will inform Miss Wensley that you are here.”
    If the young woman was a recluse, her butler either didn’t know it or hoped to change her ways.  Melvyrn smiled to himself, wondering how Miss Wensley would take his unexpected appearance.  He soon found out as minutes later Miss Wensley sailed into the room with her chaperone close behind her. 
    “What an unexpected pleasure,” Miss Wensley said rather too crisply as she stood glaring at him.  When Mrs. Boroughs coughed gently behind her, Miss Wensley lowered her eyes and gestured for him to sit down. 
    “I’ll ring for tea, my lord,” Mrs. Boroughs said.
    “No need, Mrs. Boroughs.”  Smiling, he said, “Since Miss Wensley is not a good rider, I’d hoped she’d take a walk with me?”
    Miss Wensley appeared ready to decline, but Mrs. Boroughs, apparently in cahoots with the butler, quickly gave her consent. “I will get your hat and shawl, my dear,” she said, exiting the room, leaving the door open. 
    Miss Wensley took a deep breath, raised her chin, and leveled her stormy eyes at him.  “I have work to do, my lord.”
    “As do I, Miss Wensley, but I could not let such a fine afternoon go and thought you’d like to share it with me.”  Again, Melvyrn bestowed his best smile on her as Mrs. Boroughs returned. 
    In silence, they exited the front door and strolled down the now shadowed lane toward the main road.  The wide brimmed straw hat she wore made it difficult for Melvyrn to see her face, though he certainly saw the tilt of her delicate